“You never loved her. You just bedded her, used her, like you have a hundred others.” Amilia could see the muscles straining in Sir Mallister’s neck, limbs tensing, coiling as though ready to spring. “That girl, at the wedding. That redhead. You went off with her to have your fun, right there in front of my sister. That’s love to you, is it? Taking off some random wanton while the woman you love watches on?”

“Nothing happened,” Elyon said. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know. I know the guards burst in to find Mel’s blood all over your hands. I know her screams were heard from halfway across the palace. Lady Cecilia told me that herself.”

Elyon gave a scoff. “And you believed her? That scheming bitch?”

“You’ll answer for what you did, Daecar,” Sir Mallister growled, refusing to listen. He took a step forward, reaching to the hilt of his blade. Six inches of steel came slicing out. “My sister would never have killed herself. Never. She was strong, stronger than you. She…”

“I don’t have time for this,” Elyon cut in, waving him away, dismissive. “Take your grievances elsewhere, Monsort. I’ve things I need to discuss with the princess.”

“My grievances? Grievances! You murdered my sister, you godsdamned bastard! I’ll see you pay in blood!” The rest of his blade came ringing from its sheath, catching the light of a torch, gleaming.

“Stop,” Amilia said. “Mally…just stop…”

“Mally?” Elyon looked between the two of them. “So it’s Mally, is it? You two…?”

“That’s none of your business,” Sir Mallister snapped. He brandished the blade forward, all but ready to swing. “Come, draw your sword. Steel to steel to settle it.”

Elyon looked at the blade in Sir Mallister’s grasp, a flat disdainful look on his face. “I have no interest in killing you, Mallister. I have no time for you at all.” He looked away, putting his eyes on the princess. “Amilia, tell your dog to stand down and return to heel before he does something he’ll regret.”

That didn’t much help matters. “Dog?” bellowed the Emerald Guard. “You call me a dog for defending my sister’s honour? For seeking vengeance for her death?”

“You want vengeance, find your king. Melany was working for Janilah Lukar, Monsort. For years, she told me. That’s why she stole into my bed in the first place. To get close to me and my family. Close to Aleron. So she could…” He paused, breathing out.

“Could what?” Amilia asked. “What did she do?”

Elyon gave a shake of the head. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“It does. It does matter. What, Elyon? Tell me…”

“It was her,” he blurted. “Melany. She was the one who poisoned Aleron before the final of Song of the First Blade. She confessed it to me that night. In the room. She hoped it would make me kill her, but I didn’t. I didn’t, Mallister,” he repeated. “So put that bloody blade away.”

Sir Mallister Monsort hesitated. A hundred things seemed to be running through his head. He loved his sister too much, Amilia thought. To believe all that would be to dishonour her. At last he shook his head. Then he reached down and ripped off a glove, throwing it to the floor. “I’ll have my vengeance, Elyon Daecar,” he said. “Tomorrow. Dawn. The Sentinels. Let the gods decide.”

“Fine.”

Sir Mallister rammed his blade back into its sheath. “Done, then. I’ll see you at first light.” He stormed straight past him, all but knocking into Elyon’s shoulder as he marched on down the steps.

Amilia couldn’t quite believe what was happening. These men and their damnable honour. “Elyon, you don’t actually mean to…”

He kicked at the glove. “I’m honour-bound. Yes, I mean to. Maybe I’ll be able to knock some sense into him.”

“You’ll kill him,” Amilia said, gasping. “He won’t stand a chance against you with that blade.”

He snorted, glancing down at the Windblade. “Wouldn’t stand a chance against me anyway. But don’t worry, I’ll fight him evenly.”

There was still a great deal of noise coming up the steps, the guards puffing and panting as they finally poured out onto the landing. Amilia recognised their captain, an old palace guardsmen by name of Tollin Hodge with a sour face and milky left eye. “My lady,” he said, breathless, as he saw them. “This man…there’s a warrant…for his arrest. He barged straight in without my leave, and…”

“He has my leave now. You may go, Tollin.”

The man spluttered. “But my lady…that warrant was by order…of the king.” He squinted at Elyon. “He’s a murderer.”

“And the king? What is he?”

The old guardsman was stumped. “My lady?”

“The king, Captain. The king who issued the order. Is he not a murderer too? Do you not recall the riots in White Shadow?” She did not care to hear his answer. “Go and return to your posts. Now, before I issue some arrest orders of my own.”

That got the men scampering back off, though old Tollin Hodge stopped to give Elyon a final distrustful squint with that good eye of his before he left. Elyon could not have looked less interested in all of that. This is beneath him, Amilia thought. She’d heard all about Elyon’s heroics, and no doubt he’d festooned himself with a good many more triumphs since then. I can’t let them fight, she thought. They were friends, good friends before. No one needs to suffer for a dead girl’s honour.

“Was that true?” she asked, when the guards were gone. “What you just said. About Melany?” She could barely even say it. “She poisoned Aleron?”

“Yes.” The word came out a grunt. “She told me she never expected him to die. Aleron was only meant to lose. And she had no choice, lest she incur your grandfather’s wrath. The rest…”

“I know,” she said.

He nodded, slowly, a hard look on his face as he reflected on those times. “I remember your scream,” he said, softer. “When Aleron’s throat was cut. That sound…and the crowd…and the rain…”

“I know,” she said again, in a way that made him look at her. “About your brother,” she went on. “About Jonik.” She paused, watching his eyes change. “I spent time with him, Elyon. There are some things you ought to know.”

He stared at her, disbelieving. “You…spent time with him? Where?” He looked around, eyes sharpening. “Is he here?”

“No.”

“Where is he?” By instinct he reached to his blade, wind stirring, as though the Ghost of the Shadowfort would come creeping from the darkness, Nightblade to grasp, cackling like a demon. Amilia had thought that of her cousin too, once before. Until I got to know him.

“He isn’t here,” she said. “Though he was, briefly.”

“When? When was he here? When did he leave? When, Amilia!”

She withdrew half a step at the force of voice. “That’s a long story. I…”

“I’ll hear it. All of it. Every word and every detail of it. Right now.” His eyes blazed down upon her, those silver-blue eyes that Aleron had had. She saw in them a terrible rage, a bloodlust and something worse. Something deeper and darker. The Windblade has a grip on him.

“I don’t want you to kill him,” she said. “You need to swear me that, Elyon. By godsteel. I’ll have your oath.”

He laughed aloud. “No. That’s an oath I’ll never make.”

“Then I’ll not tell you where I met him, or when he was here, or for how long, or what he intends to do now. Your oath for information. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

He looked at her as though she’d gone utterly mad. “He killed your betrothed, the man you loved! He killed my brother, Amilia!”

“That wasn’t his choice. And you know it wasn’t.”

“He might have said no!”

“He’s my cousin, Elyon.”