Page 81 of A House of Cloaks & Daggers

Spooked—again, like I was a wild horse or a feral cat. I decided against offering commentary on that particular description of my unstable opinion on Faerie.

The bastard brothers were waiting for us, but the seats at the long dining table were empty, and the wood was as bare as it had been the previous day. I straightened my spine against a shudder as the memories touched me like a lover’s caress—with the tip of a knife in hand.

Instead, the High King and his Hand were sitting in the reading nook, the former occupying the two-seater couch and the latter sprawled out across a small chaise lounge on the other side of the coffee table. Wren’s hands were tucked behind his head, and a book was lying open across his face.

“Straight to business today, please,” Morgoya said as she settled into one of the armchairs between them.

Refusing to meet Lucais’s guilt-stricken gaze, I took the other armchair and completed the square. The High King didn’t look at all affected by my choice of clothing in one way or another. There was only a pleading softness in his eyes as they searched my face for signs of forgiveness.

“We will be hosting the Court of Wind tomorrow night,” Morgoya declared. “Arrangements are already underway, and my spies have confirmed that the High Lord of the Court ofEarth is indeed alive and well. The Watch is operational, but there are no signs of the caenim near the inland borders.”

The book slid off Wren’s face and landed on the ground with a thump.

Very slowly, he raised himself to sit, blinking sleepily as if the commencement of the meeting had woken him up from a nap. His neutral gaze fell on me as he made to shuffle around to face the High Lady. Before the turn was complete, his head snapped back towards me, an expression of utter surprise on his face.

I have stopped listening to you, and I do not care,I thought.

Wren gave Morgoya a withering glare and said to the High King, “We consider Gregor a lost cause, then.”

“It’s a shame,” Lucais murmured, leaning back in his seat. “We should keep trying to make contact, but the situation is precarious. The Guard will remain at the border, exercising an increased amount of vigilance, but no one should cross over into his Court. Not until we know for sure what might await us.”

“All going well tomorrow night, we may be able to remain here to conduct our business until the Malum send their next message—whether that be another proposal or another army.” Morgoya clicked her tongue. “It’s not safe to bring Aura into Caeludor yet.”

“It’s not safe to leave her here either,” Wren muttered.

“We’ve been over this.” Lucais’s voice was weary. “Nobody isleavingAuralie anywhere.”

“Fine.” Wren exhaled in a long-suffering sigh and ran a hand through his blond, sleep-tousled hair.

“I do agree, though,” the High King continued quietly. “It’s not safe anywhere, and we can’t pull any more of the Guard from the city without leaving it vulnerable.”

“What do you suggest?” Morgoya questioned.

The High King looked at me, deep-rooted sorrow in his eyes, and the ghostly presence of magic lunged for me in response. For the first time inweeks, damn him.

“No.” I folded my hands in my lap obstinately. “Absolutely not.”

Lucais sighed. “You took out a Banshee by yourself but nearly died at the hands of the caenim. If you were willing—”

“I am not.”

“—then one of us could show you how to get past that mental barrier,” he finished with a small, amused smile.

Blinking at him innocently, I pretended I hadn’t heard the last part of the sentence. He glanced at Morgoya, and then to Wren, and finally threw his hands up in the air and shrugged.

“Fine. Weapons, then.” The High King fixed Wren with a hard look. “Show her the armoury. Teach her to use at least something effectively in case the caenim return here and grab her during one of her tight-rope walks along the perimeter.” His stern eyes darted to mine for a split second, causing my cheeks to redden instantly. I hadn’t realised he knew what I’d been doing out there each day.

Wren’s mouth slackened. “What?”

“She could have died during the last attack,” the High King stated. “And I’d like to be sure that won’t happen again.”

“The wards are secure. I’ll push them out past Sthiara. If she hadn’t tried to run away the first time, the caenim never would have gotten within a mile of her—”

“Would you like to take that chance again?”

There was a long, tense pause.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, trying to find the words to convince them I knew how to use weapons perfectly well without them sensing that it was a lie. The only things I’d ever raised in self-defence before, aside from the blade I’d used on the caenim in the field, were my hands.

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