Page 154 of Sharpest Court

My heart twisted for her. Because Perla’s family—or, most likely, her mother—had probably gifted Erik those vessels to regain his favor after Perla’s alleged treason.

Now, with Carmen’s image fresh in my mind, I couldn’t help but compare the upbringing of the two young women who had both, at different times, saved my life. And I knew that while Carmen’s mother would destroy the world for her daughter, Perla’s mother would destroy her daughter for the world.

Then a new theory emerged. “Her mother,” I murmured. “Carmen’s mother, Lady Nelle, would have been around at the time of the queen’s affair.”

I’d spent most of Rose Season believing that Carmen’s mother was the keeper of the compass. While I’d been wrong, I’d learned that Nelle, otherwise known as the Mantis, was cunning enough to have gotten away with murdering her abusive husband. Was it so outlandish to imagine that she’d known about Queen Wilhelmina’s affairs? And that she’d therefore raised her daughter as the true, legitimate heir?

“I remember Nelle,” Perla said, nodding slowly. “She once teamed up with my mother to beat Lady Sabira at a game of Silvers. The pair cornered Sabira in the best maneuver I’d ever seen.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Nelle joined forces with your mother?”

“Oh, Nelle never liked her. I think she just saw a powerful player in my mother and knew she was better off allied with her than against her.”

“So Nelle chose sides based on who would help her win.”

“Don’t most courtiers?”

I thought of Junius and his family, who had risked their lives to bury their Wielder staff members. I thought of Carmen, who’d refused to endanger the Wielder refugees when she’d believed I was a Hunter. Then I thought of Perla herself, who could have left me in that dungeon, but had chosen instead to make an enemy of the king.

“I used to think so,” I said quietly. “But not anymore.”

We left my chambers together, my black dress slinking against me, the absence of the compass at my thigh feeling like a phantom limb. I was still mourning the fact that Erik was its keeper once again, and that he could use it to Hunt and imprison more Wielders.

I didn’t yet know how to save those Wielders. But now that he’d confirmed they were alive, I knew that, somehow, I would have to find a way.

First, however, I had to get through tonight—a feat already proving difficult since, halfway down the staircase, I was halted by a familiar, stomach-wrenching sight.

Keil was waiting for me by the hallway table, arms crossed, exactly as he had been on the first day of our alliance. Only now, rather than glowing in the golden air of his home, he was all furrowed brows and flickering jawline, the bruised light of dusk carving severe shadows across his face. He wore a more pristine, slightly embellished version of his usual matte black armor. A ceremonial uniform, I realized.

I continued ahead, and Keil’s eyes moved toward me instantly, as though drawn by a magnet. But they didn’t journey all the way down me as they might have done once. He only looked at my face, his expression intense and pained, then sharply looked away.

“Ready to go, my lady?” he asked, straightening.

My stomach sank. My lady, he’d said, but without the intimate meaning with which he usually said the words.

That was exactly what I’d wanted, wasn’t it? So why did I not feel glad?

I cleared my throat. “Yes.”

“Then I’ll be outside.” With that, he was gone.

My chest was aching as I looked toward Perla and noticed she’d gone tense beside me. Because Goren was approaching from the morning room. He held Perla’s gaze without so much as nodding in greeting, and I knew that whatever tentative amity they’d found on Banarrat had been discarded at the bottom of that pit.

As Goren stopped before me, his steeliness transformed to something that oddly resembled discomfort. “You look better.”

“I am,” I said, and I could’ve sworn he looked relieved.

“Well?” Goren nodded toward my Gallery brooch. “Does it make you feel any different?”

I shrugged. “Taller. Wiser. Suddenly able to bake bread.”

“I shouldn’t have turned it down, then. I’ve always wanted to make a sourdough.”

I huffed in amusement, then glanced over his casual attire. “You won’t be attending?”

“Shockingly, I’m not very good at pretending to cry. Dashiel will be there to watch your back.”

“Somebody should,” Perla said, with enough bite that Goren actually winced.