“If you will allow us a patch of grass, this is where myself and my people will stay,” Wren says.
Jude glances toward Oak, and he shrugs.
“By all means,” says the High Queen, gesturing toward the guard. “Clear a space.”
A few of her knights disperse the crowd until there is an expanse of grass near the edge of the black rocks overlooking the water.
“Is this enough room?” Jude asks.
“Enough and more than enough,” says Bogdana.
“We can be generous,” says Cardan, clearly choosing his words to irritate the storm hag.
Wren takes a few steps away from them, then tosses the walnut against a patch of mossy earth, reciting the little verse under her breath. Cries of astonishment ring out around them as a pavilion the white of swan feathers, with golden feet like those of a crow, rises from the dirt.
It reminds him of one of the tents in the encampment of the Court of Teeth. He recalls seeing something very like it when he came to cut through the ropes that tied Wren to a post. Recalls listening for Madoc’s voice among those of the other soldiers, half in longing and half in fear. He’d missed his father. He’d also been afraid of him.
The prince wonders if Wren is reminded of the encampment, too, not far from where they currently stand. Wonders if she hates being back here.
Mother Marrow was the one who gave her the magic walnut. Mother Marrow, who keeps a place at Mandrake Market. Who gave Oak the advice that sent him off to the Thistlewitch, who sent him straight to Bogdana, in turn. Passed him from hag to hag, perhaps with a specific plan in mind. A specific version of a shared future.
All his thoughts are disturbing.
“What a clever nut,” says Cardan with a smile. “If you will not stay in the palace, then we have no recourse but to send you refreshments and hope to see you tomorrow.” He gestures toward Oak. “I trust that you don’t also have a cottage in your pocket. Your family is eager to spend some time with you.”
“A moment,” the prince says, turning to Wren.
It’s almost impossible to say anything meaningful to her here, with many eyes on them both, but he can’t leave without promising that he will see her. He needs her to know he’s not abandoning her.
“Tomorrow afternoon?” he says. “I will come and find you.”
She nods once, but her face seems braced for betrayal. He understands that. Here, he has power. If he was going to hurt her, this would be the time to do it. “I really do want to show you the isles. We could go to Mandrake Market. Swim in the Lake of Masks. Picnic on Insear, if you’re feeling up to it.”
“Perhaps,” she says, and lets him take her hand. Even lets him press a kiss to her wrist.
He isn’t sure what to make of the tremble in her fingers as he releases them.
And then Oak is herded toward the palace, with Tiernan behind him and Randalin complaining vociferously to the High King and Queen about the discomforts of the journey.
“Youinsisted on going north,” Jude reminds the councilor.
As soon as they pass through the doors of the Palace of Elfhame, Oriana embraces Oak, hugging him tightly. “What were you thinking?” she asks, which is so exactly what he expects her to say that it makes him laugh.
“Where’s Madoc?” he asks between being released by his mother and Taryn sweeping him into another hug.
“Probably waiting for us in the war room,” Jude says.
Leander comes up to Oak, demanding to be swung around. He lifts the boy in his arms and whirls, rewarded with the child’s laughter.
Cardan yawns. “I hate the war room.”
Jude rolls her eyes. “He’s probably arguing with Grima Mog’s second-in-command.”
“Well, if there’s an actualfightto watch, that’s different, obviously,” Cardan says. “But if it’s just pushing little wooden people around on maps, I will leave that to Leander.”
At the mention of his name, Leander capers over. “I’m bored and you’re bored,” he says. “Play with me?” It’s half request, half demand.
Cardan touches the top of the child’s head, brushing back his dark coppery hair. “Not now, imp. We have many dull adult things to do.”
