Cardan turns toward Wren. “I’d appreciate it if you went with my knights,” he says. “We have questions for you. Tiernan, show us your loyalty and accompany her. I am personally charging you with not letting her out of your sight.”
Tiernan looks in Oak’s direction in alarm.
Wren closes her eyes, as though her doom has come upon her. “As you command.”
“Your Majesty,” Tiernan begins, frowning. “I can’t leave my charge—”
“Go,” Oak says. “Don’t let her out of your sight, as the High King said.” He understands why Tiernan is concerned, however. Sending him away may mean that Cardan doesn’t want Oak to have anyone to fight at his side when the High King questions him.
Randalin clears his throat. “If I may, I suggest we move to Insear. The tents are already set up and guards sent ahead. We will not be so out in the open.”
“Why not?” says Cardan. “A perfect place for a partyoran execution. Tiernan, take Queen Suren to her tent and wait with her there until I call on her. Keep everyone else out.”
The vulture on her shoulder jumps into the sky, beating black wings, but Wren makes no protest.
Oak wonders if he could stop them. He doesn’t think so. Not without a lot of death.
“Let me go with her,” Oak says.
Jude turns toward him, raising her brows. “She didn’t deny it. She isn’t denying it now. You’re staying with us.”
“Furthermore,” proclaims Cardan to the rest of his knights, “I want the rest of you to find Hyacinthe and bring him tomytent on Insear.”
“Why not suspect me?” Oak demands, voice rising.
Taryn gives a little laugh, at odds with the tears staining her cheeks. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it? I found his body,” the prince insists. “And I have a motive, after all.”
“Explain,” Cardan says, mouth a grim line.
Jude seems to sense what’s coming. There are too many people around, guards, courtiers, Randalin, and Baphen. “Whatever Oak has to tell us, he can tell us in private.”
“Then by all means,” says Cardan, “let’s depart.”
But Oak doesn’t want to be quiet. Maybe it’s the blusher mushroom in his blood, maybe it’s the sheer frustration of the moment. “He murdered my first mother. He’s the reason she died, and you both—you all—hid it from me.”
A hush goes through the courtiers like a gust of wind.
Oak feels the delirious abandon of breaking the rules. In a family of deceivers, telling the truth—out loud, where anyone could hear it—was a massive transgression. “You allowed me to treat him like a friend, and all the while you knew we were spitting on my mother’s memory.”
A drawn-out silence follows his last word. Oriana has a white-fingered hand pressing against her mouth. She didn’t know, either.
Finally, Cardan speaks. “You make a very good point. You had an excellent reason to try to kill him. But did you?”
“I urge you all,” interrupts Randalin, “if for no other reason than discretion, let us repair to the tents at Insear. We will have some nettle tea and calm ourselves. As the High Queen says, this is not a conversation to be had in public.”
Jude nods. This may be the first time Randalin and Jude ever agreed on anything.
“If my family had their way,” says Oak, “this isn’t a conversation we’d have at all.”
Then, from across the Milkwood, there’s a scream.
Moments later, a knight steps into the clearing, looking as though she’s run all the way there. “We found another body.”
Most of the remaining knot of courtiers begin to move in the direction of the scream, and Oak goes along, though he still feels unsteady. They know he’s poisoned, at least. If he falls down, no one will have many questions.
“Whose?” Jude demands.
