“Aerinne said he acknowledged my Lord.” Édouard means Maman, not Baba, though my father’s expression remains serene.
Manuelle is silent for a moment. “We may be able to use this.”
“You mean use her.” Juliette, quiet until now, interjects from down the table. “If you think we’ll let her become your stalking horse, then you’ve flown to close to the sun too many times.”
They stare at each other and to her credit, my knight does not back down. But it gives me a headache. If he wanted, Lord Wyvenne could whine challenge. My hackles rise as he continues to stare down a female ofmyHouse.
Numair shifts in his seat as if to rise, and I note Lela’s feral gaze on Manuelle as well. Shit.
“Lord Wyvenne,” I say, flexing my shoulder blades. He should know better than to rile up Faronnesse females—especially warriors. We’re vicious when angered.
He settles—slowly—back in his chair.
We erupt into argument.
Not everyone wants a cessation of hostilities, and those of us who do see no path toward it and fear a scheme.
I almost can't believe we’re still having this argument. Have we learned nothing in the last several hours? I’ve learned plenty.
That any battle between us is because he allows it.
That the moment he tires of the game, all my strength, my ferocity, my Skills mean nothing. He’dhandledme. Like a doll. Like a puppet.
That he doesn’t want me dead. Not at all.
That what he does want, I will not like.
And what I like matters nothing.
I have to try anyway, and not only because of the Vow. If he won’t let me surrender in honorable combat, I’ll refuse to surrender in any other fashion. If I can’t kill him, I’ll make him kill me.
It will hurt him more.
“Aunt Nora?” She slipped into the room, and I've been watching her face.
“An Old One's definition of establishing peace is simply to crush everyone under their heels and start over with fresh stock,” she says, as she often has before. “Be wary. But negotiate in good faith.”
Baba speaks. “If Prince Renaud is sincere, House Faronne will accept the white flag. We will not fault any House that chooses to wait and observe.”
Louvenia tilts her head. “I believe we already rejected a similar offer from Lady Aerinne. Faronne House seems to believe others lack courage.”
“It won't work if we aren't all at the table,” Manuelle growls. “If Faronne goes, so will we.” He slants his gaze at me. “If the Prince wants something from you, Lady Aerinne, I advise you tread carefully. He didn't offer that flag to us.”
Peace is the right decision. My feud with the Prince is personal. There’s no need to drag everyone else onto that field.
“One hopes Faronne plans to punish Sivenne,” Louvenia drawls. “Though such plans might need to play out on a different battlefield.”
I sip my water. I'd rather it was something stronger, but I'll wait till I'm alone.
“I think your days of avoiding the Low Court, perhaps even the High,” Manuelle says, “are coming to a close, Lady Aerinne.”
Chapter
Eighteen
SANITY, A DREAM OF DISTANT YOUTH
I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
