“You might have mentioned the dangersbeforeI agreed to be the king’s singer,” she said as they arrived at the end of the hall, where two large arching doors were flung wide and bordered by hedgemen in bronze armor. The smells of roasted meat and pungent spices wafted out, followed by clinking silverware and conversation.
“Would it have made a difference?”
Before she could answer, Rooke pulled her into a darkened ballroom.
The ceiling was the height of her grandfather’s barn, and Emeline counted four exits, each one guarded by a pair of hedgemen. Candles burned along the walls in iron brackets, their honey-colored wax dripping to the floor. Long tables set with food were arranged in a circle, and in the center a band of musicians played while couples danced. Over their heads, fireflies flickered intermittently.
As Rooke led her towards the tables, conversations quieted around them. Eyes widened and heads turned as the dining courtiers whispered behind their hands, watching the king’s new minstrel.
More than once, Emeline heard her name.
Placing bets on how long I’ ll last?
Rooke sidestepped benches and bodies, maneuvering Emeline towards a nearly full table close to a massive fireplace set into the far wall. Emeline spotted Sable Thorne first, seated near the crackling fire, its flames setting her golden skin aglow. Her russet hair was unruly, but someone had managed to pin it up, tucking a sprig of rosehip into the brown folds.
She looked … wild and pretty.
Beside her sat Hawthorne.
His gray woolen shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows, showing off darkly tanned forearms. Both he and Sable sat on the bench against the wall. But while Sable leaned into the shadows, one arm looped around her knee, Hawthorne leaned over his drink, listening to a young woman across from him, her hands animated and her face alight.
“Friends!” Rooke roared over the din of their conversation. “Meet the king’s new minstrel: Emeline Lark.”
The whole table went quiet at their arrival, turning. Some lifted their drinks in welcome; others smiled wine-bright smiles behind their goblets; still others stared, their hungry eyes searching her. Emeline’s skin warmed beneath their gazes as Rooke pushed her towards the one empty spot on the bench, right next to Hawthorne—who quickly glanced away from her. But not before Emeline glimpsed something fierce flash in his eyes.
The only other person who didn’t look her way was Sable.
“Good evening, singer,” said Hawthorne, staring firmly into his cup as she shuffled in beside him.
“Hello, Tithe Collector.”
In the cramped space beneath the table, their knees brushed, and the jolt of it startled Emeline. Like two polarized magnets, they simultaneously leaned away from each other.
Rooke slid in on Emeline’s other side, trapping her between them. Hawthorne shot Rooke an accusatory look. Ignoring it, Rooke shouted to Sable, “Where’s Grace?”
Sable pointed her thumb in the direction of the dancers.
Hawthorne reached for a copper pitcher filled with a honeygold liquid that smelled like wine.
“I’m afraid I have unfortunate news.” It took a moment forEmeline to realize Hawthorne was talking to her and not to the pitcher of wine as he filled her glass.“Your singing instructor was attacked by shadow skins on the road. She survived, but her horse did not. I’ve sent an armed guard to escort her. Depending on what they encounter on the way, it could be a few days before she arrives in the city.”
Emeline reached for her glass, cupping it with both hands. “But if I need to learn the songs within the week …”
He nodded. “It won’t be enough time.” He refilled Sable’s glass, Rooke’s, and finally his own. After setting the pitcher down, he said, very softly, “I could do it in the meantime.”
She turned to stare at him.“You?”
“I can read music,” he said, not quite meeting her eyes. “Which, I understand, is all you need.”
The prospect of working one-on-one with him made her break out in a hot rash. Claw’s words echoed through her mind:He betrays you in the end!
“Is there no one else?” She pointed to the musicians currently playing a waltz in the middle of the room. “One of them, maybe? Someone who …”Isn’t you.“Someone who knows what they’re doing?”
He opened his mouth to answer, then closed it instead.
“There are many capable musicians in the king’s court. Unfortunately, none of them are willing to risk their lives for what they consider a doomed cause. It’s why I had to reach out to another court. Calliope has agreed to be your instructor at great risk to herself.”
Emeline frowned.What risk?
