“Nothing!” Eli whispered back. “I haven’t said a word!”
“Yes, and I think he noticed.” Rey leaned in close. “You don’t have to be charming, but you can say hello.”
“But he’s so…” Eli gestured to the extravagant house, decorated with mirrors like a beaded gown. “So ostentatious.”
“I thought you said you were used to that.”
“Well, I…” Eli drew back as he realized that he hadn’t, in fact, been used to any of it. He had always gone just as stiff andwooden when his mother dragged him everywhere, it was just that he had looked so much like an ornamental doll that no one really noticed. “I guess I wasn’t.”
“It’s just jewelry and flash, Eli.” Rey slipped a hand under the table, taking Eli’s hand in his. “People are usually the same underneath.”
According to Eli’s mother, it was almost the opposite. Eli had been trained to believe that wealth and title meant everything—and he realized, as Rey squeezed his hand and sunlight glimmered off the mirrors of the House of Silver, that he’d been trained to be terrified of it, too. Nobility and Aline de Valois were intertwined, turning Eli into a cowed teenager every time he sat down at a table with more than one spoon.
“I’m dreadfully sorry for the interruption.” Eli jumped as Absolon sailed through the door again. The rings were gone, save for one simple silver band on his left ring finger, and his elaborate dressing robe was replaced with a much plainer one in dark blue. Eli flushed pink—Absolon must have guessed what was making him uncomfortable. “Have you tried the pastries? I bought them from the shop down the street.”
Eli knew Absolon most likely had them made by a cook in the house, but he smiled weakly at the attempt and picked up a pastry. He could feel Rey squeezing his hand under the table, but there was no way around it; he had to be polite, since Absolon had spent all that effort trying to make him comfortable.
“Wonderful,” he said, as the pastry turned to ash on his tongue.
“I’m glad I could monopolize the man of the hour,” Absolon said. “But don’t worry, someone will do something scandalous soon, and you’ll be free again. I can even arrange something—one of my more ambitious courtesans has been asking to ride in on the back of an elk for a year now.”
“Is that common for courtesans?” Eli asked. “Dramatics, I mean. You hear things, but then when we met Lord de Rue the other night, he seemed so…”
“Aloof?” Absolon’s eyes twinkled. “Uptight? If Sabre was around, I bet he looked like he was on the verge of dragging them both off into the bushes. Dear Laurent is as possessive as a cat, and he used to be as ambitious as I am before Sabre was dropped on his doorstep.”
Eli opened his mouth, but Rey squeezed his hand again and interrupted. “So the rumors are true then? Duke de Valois was a courtesan?”
Absolon sighed. “It’s all muddled, really. I was a courtesan myself at the time, but I didn’t see him when it all happened. I don’t like to talk of unpleasant things like treason,” he said to Eli, tilting his head as though speaking to him in confidence. He had a strange way of weaving the conversation around himself with little gestures and poses, drawing the eye every time Eli’s mind wandered. It was almost like Rey’s magic. “And anyone who looks at Sabre—Duke de Valois—knows he wouldn’t hurt a fly. Though you do hear stories about him saving King Adrien’s life once, so perhaps he does know how to use that sword of his.”
“He does,” Eli said, and cleared his throat when Absolon gave him a curious look. “I mean, I used his sword when I fought last night. It was perfectly balanced. An amateur wouldn’t notice or care.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Absolon smiled. “And that fight! It’s about time someone gave Olivier Blanchet a thrashing. Tell me every detail so I can pretend I was there.”
Eli stumbled through what he could remember of the fight, but he wasn’t a storyteller. The fight had been so simple, after all—Olivier was hardly a proper swordsman. It had been just what Absolon said it was, a thrashing plain and simple. Olivier hadinsulted Sabre, so Eli had beaten him for it. It all felt so much more ridiculous now that Eli had to recount it out loud.
“I shouldn’t have done it,” he said, finally. “Duke de Valois can likely defend himself.”
“Except he never does.” Absolon shrugged. “He’ll let the worst of the noble gossips talk about how much of a masochist he was in bed, then smile and ask them how their families are doing. Though most of the people who, ah, used his services…” Absolon gestured vaguely with one hand, “are smart enough to try to get on his good side now that he’s the most powerful man in Staria other than the king. And Isiodore de Mortain, of course. Have you heard of him?”
“We met,” Eli said, a bit too bluntly.
“He broke up a fight in the street when we arrived,” Rey said, and Absolon’s sharp gaze snapped to Rey instead. Eli let out a soft sigh as he felt Rey’s magic start to sink into the air. “But that’s not why we’re really here. I’m sure you’ve heard of the first King de Guillory’s lost sword…”
Rey hadn’t used so muchof his magic in decades. He usually didn’t have to—a touch here or there was enough to spread a rumor or three—but in Duciel, where rumors came and went faster than a summer storm, he had to make an impression.
Eli wasn’t helping. While he’d softened somewhat around Absolon, he turned into a block of ice again the moment they visited the next noble on their list. The noble didn’t care, and fawned over Eli as though it didn’t matter if he were a living man or a statue, but Rey could feel Eli’s patience fraying like a rope as the day wore on.
When they finally made it back to the townhouse, rain was falling lightly over the lawn, sending poor, dejected Unicorn back into the stable. Rey fussed over her while Eli took a bath upstairs, and when Rey finished his own bath, Eli was lying on the bed with nothing but a towel draped over his middle, holding up a card to the lamplight.
“You missed an invitation,” he said. His voice was dull and inflectionless.
“We can ignore it.” Rey tied his bathrobe as he walked into the bedroom, but Eli wasn’t even looking. He just held out the card, which was a simple, unadorned paper with fine calligraphy in the middle. Rey took it, brows raised, and read, “His Grace Duke de Mortain, consort of King Adrien, requests your presence at a duel one day hence. Dawn, at the palace training yards.”
“It’ll be a mud pit if it keeps raining like this,” Eli said. “Anyway, I’m guessing we don’t go?”
“Absolutely. The less you see of Isiodore de Mortain, the better.” Rey set the card on the dresser. “Kings and consorts are more trouble than they’re worth.”
“Don’t I know it. Weren’t you around when Staria was swimming in kings?”
