All night, as I sit through dinner, I am conscious of the secret I hold. It
makes me feel, for the first time, as though I have a power of my own, a power
Madoc cannot take from me. Even thinking of it for too long—I am a spy! I am
Prince Dain’s spy!—gives me a thrill.
We eat little birds stuffed with barley and wild ramps, their skins crackling
with fat and honey. Oriana delicately picks hers apart. Oak chews on the skin.
Madoc does not bother to separate off the flesh, eating bones and all. I poke at
the stewed parsnips. Although Taryn is at the table, Vivi has not returned. I
suspect that hunting with Rhyia was a ruse and that she has gone to the mortal
world after a brief ride through the woods. I wonder if she ate her dinner with
Heather’s family.
“You did well at the tournament,” Madoc says between bites.
I do not point out that he left the grounds. He couldn’t have been too
impressed. I am not even sure how much he actually saw. “Does that mean
you’ve changed your mind?”
Something in my voice makes him stop chewing and regard me with
narrowed eyes. “About knighthood?” he asks. “No. Once there is a new High
King in place, we will discuss your future.”
My mouth curves into a secretive smile. “As you wish.”
Down the table, Taryn watches Oriana and tries to copy her movements
with the little bird. She does not look my way, even when she asks me to pass
her a carafe of water.
She can’t keep me from following her to her room when we’re done,
though.
“Look,” I say on the stairs. “I tried to do what you wanted, but I couldn’t,
and I don’t want you to hate me for it. It’s my life.”
She turns around. “Your life to squander?”
“Yes,” I say as we come to the landing. I cannot tell her about Prince Dain,
but even if I could, I am not sure it would help. I am not at all sure she’d approve
of that, either. “Our lives are the only real thing we have, our only coin. We get
to buy what we want with them.”
Taryn rolls her eyes. Her voice is acid. “Isn’t that pretty? Did you make it
up yourself?”
“What is the matter with you?” I demand.
She shakes her head. “Nothing. Nothing. Maybe it would be better if I
thought the way that you do. Never mind, Jude. You really were good out there.”
“Thanks,” I say, frowning in confusion. I wonder again over Cardan’s
words about her, but I do not want to repeat them and make her feel bad. “So
have you fallen in love yet?” I ask.
All my question gets me is a strange look. “I am staying home from the
lecture tomorrow,” Taryn says. “I guess it is your life to squander, but I don’t
have to watch.”
My feet feel like lead as I make my way to the palace, over ground strewn
with windfall apples, their golden scent blowing in the air. I am wearing a long
black dress with gold cuffs and a lacing of green braid, a comfortable favorite.
Afternoon birdsong trills above me, making me smile. I let myself have a
brief fantasy of Prince Dain’s coronation, of me dancing with a grinning Locke
while Cardan is dragged away and thrown in a dark oubliette.
A flash of white startles me from my thoughts. It’s a stag—a white stag,
standing not ten feet from where I am. His antlers are threaded with a few thin
cobwebs, and his coat is a white so bright that it seems silver in the afternoon
light. We regard each other for a long moment, before he races off in the
direction of the palace, taking my breath with him.
I decide to believe this is a good omen.
And, at least at first, it seems to be. Classes aren’t too bad. Noggle, our
instructor, is a kind but odd old Fir Darrig from up north, with huge eyebrows, a
long beard into which he occasionally shoves pens or scraps of paper, and a
tendency to maunder on about meteor storms and their meanings. As afternoon
turns to evening, he has us counting falling stars, which is a dull but relaxing
task. I lie back on my blanket and stare up at the night sky.
The only downside is that it is hard for me to note down numbers in the
dark. Usually, glowing orbs hang from the trees or large concentrations of
fireflies light our lessons. I carry extra stubs of candles for when even that is too
dim, since human eyesight isn’t nearly as keen as theirs, but I’m not allowed to
light them when we study the stars. I try to write legibly and not get ink all over
my fingers.
“Remember,” Noggle says, “unusual celestial events often presage
important political changes, so with a new king on the horizon, it’s important for
us to observe the signs carefully.”
Some giggling rises out of the darkness.
“Nicasia,” our instructor says. “Is there some difficulty?”
Her haughty voice is unrepentant. “None at all.”
“Now, what can you tell me about falling stars? What would be the
meaning of a shower of them in the last hour of a night?”
“A dozen births,” Nicasia says, which is wrong enough to make me wince.
“Deaths,” I say under my breath.
Noggle hears me, unfortunately. “Very good, Jude. I am glad someone has
been paying attention. Now, who would like to tell me when those deaths are
most likely to occur?”
There is no point in my holding back, not when I made a declaration that I
was going to shame Cardan with my greatness. I better start being great. “It
depends on which of the constellations they passed through and in which
direction the stars fell,” I say. Halfway through answering, I feel like my throat
is going to close up. I am suddenly glad of the dark, so I don’t have to see
Cardan’s expression. Or Nicasia’s.
“Excellent,” Noggle says. “Which is why our notes must be thorough.
Continue!”
“This is dull,” I hear Valerian drawl. “Prophecy is for hags and small folk.
We should be learning things of a more noble mien. If I am going to pass a night
on my back, then I’d wish to be lessoned in love.”
Some of the others laugh.
“Very well,” said Noggle. “Tell me what event might portend success in
love?”
“A girl taking off her dress,” he says to more laughter.
“Elga?” Noggle calls on a girl with silver hair and a laugh like shattering
glass. “Can you answer for him? Perhaps he’s had such little success in love that
he truly doesn’t know.”
She begins to stammer. I suspect she knows the answer but doesn’t want to
court Valerian’s ire.
“Shall I ask Jude again?”“Shall I ask Jude again?” Noggle asks tartly. “Or perhaps Cardan. Why
don’t you tell us?”
“No,” he says.
“What was that?” Noggle asks.
When Cardan speaks, his voice rings with sinister authority. “It is as
Valerian says. This lesson is boring. You will light the lamps and begin another,
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