Page 78 of Sharpest Court

“As they should be.” His eyes flicked to Keil and tightened at the corners. “Your king welcomed my cousin only recently, no? I hope he wasn’t too much trouble.”

I laughed airily, noting Holden’s pricked attention. “Oh, Ambassador Arcus was no trouble at all. Our courtiers all agreed that he made a charming addition to Rose Season.”

“Did your king share that opinion?” Finbar asked, with enough doubt that I gave him a pointed smile.

“One thing about Daradonian courtiers, Your Highness, is that they do not adopt any opinion unless the king has formed it first.”

From the way I’d pitched my voice—with cool authority—my own position at court was clear. I was not to be considered with the courtiers, whose minds were ever-changing, but alongside the king, who held the power to shape those minds.

Meaning that I held the power to now speak for us both.

“Don’t mind him, Lady Alissa,” Keil chimed in pleasantly. “My cousin can’t stand being the only Ansoran prince with a scandalous history.”

Still, Finbar watched me with an odd severity as we journeyed into an ornate gold building, rich with the scent of wine and sugar. More partygoers filled the interior—romping on the dance floor, passing coins across games tables, tearing into platters of meat and bread.

“Our treasure hall,” Holden explained. “You’re sure to discover within these walls every treasure you might desire.”

I took in the sparkling surroundings with new wonder, because the treasure hall was a worship house built in the pursuit of indulgence. Most among the Banarrati court hail from their own aristocracy, Valeria had told me earlier, but a few mainlanders remain from when the tribute system was still in effect—courtiers who were gifted to Banarrat.

Now I understood why those Ansoran courtiers had volunteered to reside on the island. Because when caught in the golden threads of this tapestry, one might easily ignore the markers of the surrounding warfare, even those as large as the ravaged cliff outside.

“Our fete tells the story of the campaign that led to Saxon’s demise.” Holden led us past a miniature of the beach outside, complete with soldier figurines. As someone ran a spoon up a cliff, scooping off a layer of white frosting, I realized the structures were formed from cake, the figurines wrought of biscuit dough. “And on the first night of the campaign,” Holden continued, gesturing to the vibrant festivity, “the Banarrati soldiers prepared for battle with rich foods, hearty drinks, and battle songs.”

“Careful, Holden.” Valeria smirked. “Say that too loudly, and Lye will want to duet.”

I was gazing up at a golden archway—carved with two people reaching toward each other—when Holden grabbed my gloved hand and yanked me aside.

I gasped, bumping sideways into Keil, who instantly curved an arm around my waist to steady me. Our eyes locked.

“The lovers’ embrace,” Holden declared, and I stiffened. But just as Keil dropped his arm, and our eyes quickly skimmed away, Holden nodded toward the archway. “The lovers should not be separated. Pass under their arms, and you risk losing your own love.”

I looked back toward the carving, hiding my panic-induced flush. “Who are they?”

“One hundred years ago, a lost traveler used his mother’s old compass to find north but instead found the Wielder who became his true love.”

My interest piqued, my thigh pouch feeling suddenly heavier. There were many accounts of the compass throughout history, Keil had told me. Clearly, this was one of them.

“You’ll humor our foolish little tales, I hope,” Finbar said with a tight smile, as though to erase my new look of curiosity.

It was unnecessary. One hundred years ago, the compass was with the Capewells, being used to Hunt Wielders in Daradon. I already knew that this particular account was a foolish little tale.

We slowed as an attendant approached, dressed in black-and-white livery. “Welcome, Your Highnesses and Lady Alissa.” He bowed, then gestured outward. “We have refreshments prepared for your entourage, if they would kindly join me.”

We all hesitated. Was Holden trying to separate us?

Goren crossed his arms. “I’d rather take the tour.”

“You want to scope out my territory, Lister?” Holden’s mouth pulled up at one corner. “I thought your days of reconnaissance had caused you enough trouble.”

Though I didn’t understand the jibe, it was clearly designed to provoke; even Keil couldn’t hide a jaw-flicker of irritation. But Holden surprised me by weathering Goren’s glare with a challenging smirk. Holden was a Hollow, the others had said. And now I wondered whether he could outmatch Goren in combat, if the playing field was evened with dullroot.

“Go ahead,” Valeria said to the group at last, defusing the tension. “We’ll meet back at the accommodations.”

After another prolonged silence, Goren strode away. The attendant scrambled after him, and Lye and Dashiel followed, the latter throwing a look of caution over his shoulder.

When only Valeria, Keil, and I remained, Finbar said cooly, “Let’s continue.”

Holden drew us toward a quieter area, thick with pipe smoke and whispers, where a few lanterns hung between black-curtained alcoves.