Page 153 of Sharpest Court

He shrugged. “Marginally.”

I went to shove his chest, but he grasped my hand, squeezing lightly. His voice softened. “Don’t scare us like that again, all right?”

I returned the pressure on Lye’s fingers. “I’ll try.” Then my eyes flicked to Stian, who was tinkering with the medical supplies so as not to intrude on this moment. My voice dropped. “Can you get a message to someone for me?”

Lye seemed to know which someone I was referring to, because he nodded. “Anything you need.”

When Calytrix’s response arrived the next day, I tore into it, ravenous for answers.

I cannot explain the failure of the compass when brought within close distance of its Spellmade sibling, she’d written. By all accounts, the king’s plan should have worked. But if he has all he needs, and he still cannot claim victory, then we should be grateful.

Grateful.

The term had puddled inside me, marbling with the mental images of Marge’s blood—and the images of the Wielders still trapped within Erik’s grip back in Daradon.

Every drop of Wielder blood I draw from this moment forward will be on your hands, he’d said. Though I couldn’t have given him answers I didn’t possess, those words had shaken me, my old guilt blistering to the surface.

I almost wished I could contact Finbar, although he was likely responsible for Erik’s attack. Judging from the prince’s tattoos, and his wariness under Erik’s prodding, I now suspected he knew more about Hollow history than I’d imagined. Which meant he could possess more information about the Unbreakable Blade than anyone I knew.

But as it stood, I had no idea how to get the blade to function, and I was certain that Erik didn’t, either. If he’d succeeded, he would’ve somehow made it known to me—the equivalent of a victory cake sent across the ocean. So it now felt as though I was outrunning the rapid pour of an hourglass without knowing how much sand there was left to fall.

Without knowing how to stop him from finding the answers I didn’t know how to find myself.

43

“Do you think Carmen knows that Erik’s a bastard?” Perla asked from the foot of my bed.

After three weeks of recovery in these chambers, tonight was the first time I’d seen her since Banarrat. My eyes had instantly moved to her wrist, which I knew—thanks to Keil’s testimony—would now be free of Erik’s oath band. Still, I’d exhaled at the sight as she’d marched inside carrying a black mourning dress for this evening.

Rheya was still on Banarrat, swaying the remaining soldiers to her side. While she hadn’t disclosed to the public that Erik was responsible for the island attack, many mainlanders assumed it had been an assault by Orren—an escalation of their brutality in the Western War. So tonight, Ansoran courtiers would gather at the palace in memory of the fallen Banarrati soldiers.

I would be attending that memorial alongside the Arcus siblings. Not truly for the Banarrati soldiers, who had targeted me in battle and had stood beside Holden as he’d taunted Perla. But for my own sense of closure. For Marge, whose body they hadn’t found on Neyamay. Who hadn’t been allowed a funeral even all those months ago.

“Don’t forget to wear that,” Valeria had said earlier today, nodding to the Gallery brooch that signified my political immunity. “We want to make sure the news spreads.”

Because Mara Capewell had, for the first time in weeks, been sighted again. And while we hoped that she’d already learned about my Gallery initiation, and had therefore given up Hunting me, we couldn’t be sure.

So I attached the brooch at my breast, then finished twining half my hair up with Keil’s golden hairpin, using my specter for the places my still-tender arm couldn’t reach. Stian had urged me to use my power during daily activities, too. After confining it for so long, he’d said, you would do best to let it breathe. And yesterday, I’d caught myself reaching for my hairbrush from across the room—an action I’d never made in Daradon, even in privacy.

Now, as the air turned softly purple with twilight, I met Perla’s eyes in the vanity mirror. “Do you think Carmen knows about Erik?”

Perla pursed her lips, considering. “She wants the crown,” she said slowly, and I nodded, having already divulged that much to her while I’d been getting dressed. “And yet she’s never possessed the air of a thief.”

“What constitutes the air of a thief?”

“Subtlety.” Perla arched a brow. “And I’ve seen rainstorms with more subtlety than Carmen.”

I huffed a laugh, turning to face her fully. “Even if Carmen had an inkling about Erik’s heritage, she would need proof to depose him. And she wasn’t even born at the time of Queen Wilhelmina’s affair.”

“I know,” Perla admitted. “Still, there’s a difference between wanting to steal the crown and wanting to take what she believes is rightfully hers. And Carmen has always been possessive of the throne. She even looked into my background when she thought I would become Erik’s consort.”

“You knew about that?”

“Of course I knew.” Perla rolled her eyes. “She kept trying to bribe my household staff for information. My mother ended up firing the cook who finally gave in.”

My mother. The words came out with bite.

I hadn’t asked Perla about her mother, reluctant to poke this sore spot the way Erik had on Banarrat. But my deliberate silence must have induced Perla to open up to me after all, because she looked down and said quietly, “The ships used to attack Banarrat were private Avanish vessels, specifically designed for both stealth and combat. They belong to my family.”