He turns toward her, and a kind of desperation rises in him. If she gives this up, then the conspirators scurry away—rats back into their holes—and he learns nothing.
Oak can fix this. He can use his honey-tongued words on her. He can feel them, sitting on his lips, ready to fall. If he says the right things, if he draws her into his arms, then she will believe in their plan once more. He will be able to convince her that Wren means nothing, that it will be her counsel he heeds once he is on the throne. He can even persuade her to take him to the conspirators, if perhaps not tonight.
But if he does nothing, then she gives up treason. Maybe the plan falls apart, becomes idle discontented conversation and nothing more. Then she will not be shut up in a tower, or cursed into a dove, or executed in a bloody spectacle.
He gives her hand a squeeze. Gives her one last sad smile. Maybe this can be over and everyone can live. “Perhaps you’re right,” he says. “Sadness just doesn’t suit me.”
CHAPTER
19
Oak wakes with dread in his heart. As he lingers over a coffee-like substance that is made from roasted dandelions and picks at a plate of acorn cakes, his mind spins. His thoughts fly between Wren in his arms, her eyes bright and teeth sharp, kissing him as though they could crawl into each other’s skin—then Lady Elaine and the capsizing of his plans—then circling back to what he learned about the Ghost.
Who gave Oak’s mother poison.
Who gave Oak’s mother poison so that Oak would die.
How could the Ghostlookat Oak when, if not for Oriana, if not forsheer luck, he could have been the prince’s murderer?
It galls Oak to think of Taryn and Jude watching him be trained, letting the Ghost clap him on the shoulder or reposition his arm to swing a sword.
Somehow, it’s Taryn’s betrayal that strikes Oak the most sharply. Jude has always been constrained by position and politics while Madoc has been constrained by his nature. Oak thought of Taryn as the kind-hearted one, the one who wanted a gentler world.
Maybe she just wanted an easier one.
Oak kicks one hoof against the low table, sending the coffeepot and the tray it was sitting on crashing to the floor, crockery smashing, cakes going everywhere. He kicks it again, splintering a wooden leg and causing the whole thing to collapse.
If his mother came in, she would frown, call him childish or petulant. Summon servants to clean up. Ignore any reason he may have for his anger.
That’s what his family does. Ignores everything uncomfortable. Talks around betrayals and murders. Papers over bloodstains and duels. Brushes all the bones under the rug.
Since he was old enough to really understand why he had to be the one to put the Blood Crown on Cardan’s head or live with Vivi and Heather in the mortal world, away from his parents, Oak wasn’t able to think of his sisters without being aware of the debt he owed them. The sacrifices they made for him. Everything he could never repay. So it is entirely new for him to think of them and be absolutelyfurious.
Then his thoughts slide back to Wren. To her expression of horror when he told her he loved her. To her warning of the night before, after he kissed her, while she dug her nails into his nape.
He was playing fast and loose back in the Ice Needle Citadel, determined to win her over despite the danger. And then he came up with a desperate plan to avoid a conflict when it was clear that Elfhame considered Wren a dangerous enemy.
When she agreed to come home with him, he thought it mighthelpto be away from the Citadel. Wren was focused on survival for so long—and whatever else you may say about the isles, they are full of wine and song and other lazy indulgences.
But ever since they arrived, she’s been different. Of course, he could just as easily say that she’s been different ever since he confessed his love.
You’ve always been clever, she told him when she asked him to break things off.Be clever now.
Does she think that if she is the one to dump him, Elfhame will take her crown for breaking his heart?
And yet, he can’t shed the feeling there is a greater wrongness she was trying to communicate. Could someone be leveraging something against her in order to stop their marriage? Was it one of her retinue? One of his family? He didn’t think it could be Bogdana, who was so vocal in support of their union.
Or perhaps itwasthe storm hag—maybe Bogdana threatened Wren if she strayed from that path? And yet, if that was the case, why not tell Oak outright?
A knock comes on the door. A moment later, it opens and Tatterfell enters. She frowns at him, her inkdrop eyes taking in the wreckage of the table.
“Leave it,” he tells her. “And leave off lecturing me about it, too.”
She presses her thin lips together. She’s been a servant in Madoc’s household, paying off some debt, and then moved to the castle with Jude, possibly as a spy for their father. He’s never much liked her. She’s impatient and prone to pinching.
“The hunt is today,” she says. “And then that farce on Insear right after. There are tents for you to change in, but we still need to select what garb to send over.”
“I don’t need your help with that,” he tells her. Her wordsthat farce on Insearecho in his head.
