Page 66 of Thorn Season
I wondered if Tari realized she was engaging in court maneuvers herself. If she realized how seamlessly—andskillfully—she was navigating this world.
I was watching her, lost in thought, when a glimmer under the vanity caught my eye.
I reached toward it, then startled as I withdrew my attacker’s knife—the knife I’d sliced across his thigh. A swirling, near-round symbol engraved the ashy white mineral of the handle. As I stood, the blade gleamed iridescent beneath dried blood.
Tari gasped softly. “Eurium.”
My specter jolted. Eurium could gouge into spectral muscles with unparalleled force.
“These copycats can afford to commission eurium weapons?” Tari sounded slightly horrified. “And can afford tolosethem?”
“How many smiths in Daradon work with eurium?” I asked, holding the knife at a distance though it couldn’t harm my flesh more than any other blade.
“A handful, maybe. Eurium is rare on this side of the continent, and even scarcer since the king purchased all the eurium ore hecould find at the beginning of his reign.”
I shuddered. Of course Erik would hoard the metal most harmful to Wielders.
“Would these smiths work from Parrey?” I asked.
“Henthorn is more likely. They’d need a license to build the specific type of forge, and legislation is most lax in the capital.”
I bit my lip, awaiting the offer.
Tari’s face slackened. “No. I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is no.”
“I just need names,” I pleaded. “Your father must have contacts. If I find the right bladesmith, I can obtain their client list, and I’d know exactly who commissioned this blade.”
This could confirm my suspicions about Nelle, or at least point me toward the truth. I would get one step closer to the compass—and to stopping the copycats for good.
But Tari shook her head, braid swinging. “I won’t help you dig yourself deeper into this hole!”
“Fine.” I chucked the knife on the vanity with such disregard that Tari squeaked. “Then I’ll question every bladesmith in Daradon. Approaching the wrong people might raise suspicion, but what choice do I—?”
“All right!” Tari threw her hands up, scowling. “I hope you’re happy, using guilt as a weapon.”
Glancing at the knife, I felt an impossible twinge of hope. “Very happy.”
I sent Garret a report that afternoon, grateful that the halls had been empty last night and news of my attack wouldn’t spread. The gentry would’ve feasted on every morsel of gossip with their teacakes andalmond pastries. Worst of all, Father would have rushed over and begged me to leave.
And after receiving Garret’s response, I wouldn’t leave for anything. The copycats had struck again, in Avanford. A family of five.
The youngest had been fourteen years old.
Over the following days, I kept my specter on a tighter leash than usual. The sensation was stifling and uncomfortable, like trying to inhale through a blocked nose, but I couldn’t risk exposure. The copycats hadn’t yet brought the compass to the palace, or else they would’ve discovered my specter the night of the attack. But I didn’t know how my attacker had stolen the silver-tipped boots of the palace guards—whether he’d been previously stationed here, or the keeper had somehow accessed those uniforms. Either way, it meant they could be watching me now.
And while they may have spared me as a Wholeborn, they would slaughter me as a Wielder.
I was about to retire from an early dinner with Erik when Tari tumbled into my lounge, cheeks flushed.
“Carmen’s leaving the palace,” she panted. “The stable master said she mentioned Backplace.”
I rushed to my bedchamber for a cloak. “The stable master just told you this?”
“I may have borrowed some gold from your purse. For bribing purposes only!”
This was it. Carmen had to be meeting Nelle.
“One more thing.” Tari thrust out a note. “Papa sent a list.”
