Page 112 of Hollow Court

“That’s really the sum of it,” Da’ added. “Not to mention the Uprising, the attack on our villagers, and their suspicious lack of action since then. He and Charlie are walking a very fine line with very little information.”

The lack of information was the most frustrating part, and perhaps the most alarming. Why were we hitting so many dead ends?

We still couldn’t even definitively link the village attack to the Uprising, and we couldn't link either to Tavish. There wasn’t so much as a whisper in the wind about The Viper.

“Aren’t we all?” I took a deep breath, steeling myself to relay the contents of my own letter. “Rowan wrote something similar. She also mentioned that they were forced to approve an envoy for Mikhail to come here to argue the finer points in the treaty language.”

If I hadn’t been studying Galina for her reaction, would I have noticed the way the blood drained from her face?

Her mask shot into place, but her fingers moved to anxiously trace one of the charms on her bracelet. It was the wolf’s head, presumably a gift from her former betrothed.

Charm bracelets were important in Socair. Every woman I had ever met there had worn one, though the maids’ had been made of braided leather, rather than silver. So I understood why she didn’t take the bracelet off, but Lithlinglau had its own jeweler, one she knew she had access to.

Why not have that charm removed?

This wasn’t the first time I had seen her toying with it. Was it a source of comfort for her? Something to remember Lord Overbearing by?

When Galina saw me noticing, she froze, her back going ramrod straight, her hands returning to her lap.

“Apologies, my lo–aird,” she murmured, uncharacteristically stumbling over the word.

Fortunately, or possibly by design, Gwyn chose that moment to say something ridiculous to Gal, creating a steady back and forth of banter so Galina didn’t have to feel quite so scrutinized.

“For what?” I asked neutrally, keeping my voice just as low as hers had been.

Was she apologizing for thinking about him?

“Fidgeting.” Her cheeks flushed, and she raised her cup of coffee to her lips to try to hide her expression.

I blinked several times, putting together her excuse with the reason she had nearly misspoken.

My Lord, she had been about to say.

Like it was a reflex for her. Like she was used to being chastised like a child for something as innocuous as displaying her anxiety on a rare occasion, in relative privacy.

Mikhail was an arse, to be sure, but she didn’t call himMy Lord. She called him Uncle.

An overwhelming surge of anger rushed through me, and I fought to keep it from my expression.

“You’re fine,” I told her, trying and failing not to picture Alexei’s head on a pike for ever making her question herself.

“It’s just…not proper,” she explained quietly, smoothing out some imagined wrinkle on her skirts.

Strictly speaking, she was right. As a child, Mamá had often covered my hand with hers to still my movements. But it certainly wasn’t an apology-worthy offense.

“It’s just us here,” I reminded her gently. “And if propriety was that important to us, Gwyn would have been ousted from the family years ago.”

I said the last part a little louder, and my cousin didn’t miss a beat.

“To be fair, if propriety was that important, none of us would have been born to begin with,” Gwyn added with a shrug, before taking a large bite of pastry.

“Gwyndolyn!” Mamá cut in, exasperation lacing her tone, while my father and Gal laughed.

Galina had a ghost of a smile on her lips, but she still looked far away.

“Lina,” I said softly, pulling her attention back to me. “We haven’t come close to exhausting our options, and we still have time. No one is going to take you from here…unless you want to go back.”

I wasn’t ready to think about what those options were.

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