Elodie sighed. “I’m certain he did.”
“Then why—?”
“Cleo…” Elodie raised her eyebrows, waiting for her savvy sister to put the pieces together.
“Oh.” Cleo pursed her lips. “It was a ruse.”
“And a half-decent one at that,” Elodie added, “considering you fell for it.”
“I would have realized eventually,” Cleo sighed, sinking into a velvet chair. “Can I have this cake?” She gestured to the final lemon finger.
The queen nodded her permission. “Anything else you’d like to berate me for?”
Cleo did not speak until she had finished her pastry. “Oh. Artur asked me to give you this.” She held out a folded piece of parchment. It was not sealed.
Elodie frowned as she flipped the paper open. It contained only a handful of words. The Whispering Willow. Iron District. Tomorrow. Six bells. The queen turned the note over, hoping to locate further context on the back. She found nothing.
“What does this mean?”
Cleo shrugged. “I haven’t the faintest idea.” She paused. “Want me to find out?”
“If you wish,” Elodie said. “But if you do, don’t come back for at least an hour. I’ve had a terrible day and I wish to take a bath.” Her shoulders were so tense that she could hardly lift them. Her neck was littered with knots.
“Certainly, sister,” Cleo said, before disappearing as quickly as she’d come.
Elodie closed her eyes. The rhythmic sounds of Marguerite preparing the bath very nearly lulled her to sleep. Just as she sensed her lady-in-waiting’s reappearance in the room, there came yet another knock on her door.
“Whoever it is, turn them away,” Elodie said firmly. The water would stay warm for only a handful of minutes. But before Marguerite had time even to cross the room, Tal flung the door open and strode inside. His lip was split, and his cheeks boasted bright red scrapes. Otherwise, he looked unharmed.
“I just heard,” the Loyalist said, kneeling on the carpet at Elodie’s feet. “I cannot thank you enough for taking my side.”
“It’s nothing.” Elodie hoped her careful expression belied her discomfort. “When I heard about the senseless attack, it was not even a question.” She swallowed her disgust and put a hand to his cheek. “You look a fright.”
Tal chuckled softly, leaning into her touch. “It doesn’t hurt so much, now.”
Elodie worried her lip between her teeth. This tender side of Tal had been the foundation of their friendship. She’d first met the blacksmith’s boy in the stables when they were eight. After delivering a package of newly forged horseshoes, Tal hung around to feed sugar cubes to the animals. Elodie, preparing for a riding lesson, had found him in her horse’s stall, whispering to Lula, her spotted mare. His cheeks flushed pink when he noticed the princess, hastily rolling down his sleeves to hide his bruises and burns.
This one’s my favorite, Tal had declared, patting her horse’s speckled rump affectionately.
She’s mine, Elodie had told him, not wanting Lula to like anyone more than her. I picked her because of her spots. They make her special.
Tal had blinked at her with his green eyes. I wish I was special.
Elodie had never met anyone else who had expressed this sentiment aloud. For eight years, she had believed herself to be the only person ever to feel less than. The only person who ever cursed her existence or regretted her station.
She skipped her afternoon riding lesson that day, instead sharing stories with Tal while sucking on sugar cubes, laughing through their sticky lips. It was a wonder, to be understood. To escape the insurmountable isolation that came with being Tera Warnou’s daughter. To avoid the crushing disappointment that came from knowing she would never be queen.
She saw that tender boy again now. The glimpse of Tal as he had once been only served to discomfit her more, knowing what malevolence he now contained.
“Do I have your loyalty, Lo?” Tal closed his eyes, his cheek still resting in Elodie’s hand.
The question caught her off guard. “Of course you do,” she lied.
“I must admit,” Tal said, voice lazy and low, “there were many moments when I questioned your allegiance.”
“It pains me that I ever gave you reason to doubt,” Elodie said, the sentiment far emptier than when she had offered it to Sabine.
Tal fluttered his eyes open, his smile unbearably soft. “It is a welcome change, knowing the New Maiden no longer resides under this roof. Her madness was unnerving, I feared for my life.” He shuddered theatrically, rising from the floor to join the queen on the couch. Elodie suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. “Now that I know you are truly on His side, He can recruit more openly.”
“More posters?” Elodie asked. Tal looked pleased that she’d noticed the Second Son’s tactics.
“We’ve begun meeting with potential followers around the city,” he said. “Identifying those daring enough to suck the poisons from their wounds.” He grinned. “We have a gathering tomorrow. Oh, Lo, you can’t imagine the energy that fills the room. There is something so powerful about the moment He is accepted into their hearts.”
“Don’t leave me to imagine it, then,” Elodie insisted, skin prickling with excitement. “Take me with you.”
“Not yet.” The two words knocked the wind out of her. “Your presence will only serve as a distraction, when they should be focused on communing with His word.”
Elodie nodded placidly. Pushing Tal further would only make him suspicious. But she was not discouraged by his tight lips. She slid a hand into her pocket and wrapped her fingers around the scrap of parchment. Sabine was wise and her brother no less cunning. She was certain Artur Anders had supplied Cleo with the address of the very meeting where Tal would convert new followers to the word of the Second Son. “Whatever serves Him best.”
“It is nice to hear you speak of Him,” Tal said, nudging her shoulder gently. “I can’t tell you what it means to me.”
She offered him a weak smile. “Anything for you.”
But Elodie was already plotting her next betrayal. She could not wait. She would not wonder. Tomorrow, she would don a disguise and sneak into the city, where she would learn everything she could about the Second Son.
17
