The red-orange glare of the sunset was blinding in her eyes by the time Cassie's escort clattered up to the Mackay stronghold. He was given little welcome as he dismounted and helped Cassie down.
A few curious nobles had been in the courtyard, eager to see the arrival of a new visitor. No doubt already planning how to reinforce their own petty positions in the pecking order.
As Cassie found her balance and turned, clutching her injured arm to her chest, she made eye contact with one of them. Count Dolem, well enriched by the decade-long demand for the war horses he bred. He recoiled, recognizing her.
At least one other spectator covered his eyes, afraid to look upon the cursed Mackay. The rest pulled back but continued staring, their suddenly ravenous attention circling like a buzzard.
She had survived Longheirce to come back like this?
Cassie firmed her spine and strode through the doors that led to the drafty, unwelcoming halls. She would not stay to see the Guard member who had delivered her like a distasteful message would get the reward he had hoped for. Let the rest of the court here deal with him. She owed none of them an explanation, and would not wait like a starving beggar for someone to announce her. If she caught her father unawares, so much the better.
What was the worst he could do to her, throw her out?
The constant stares, unwelcome and unwelcoming, those were what she had been dreading. What she dreaded spending her entire life drowning in.
Someone's jaunty whistle turned to a warning as she strode past, another man halted mid-step and backed around the corner he had just been rounding as he caught sight of her. Every step she took attracted more attention, more fear.
Her cap had been lost back in the forest and her hair was tangled and dirty, sticking out in every direction in wild curls. Her plain, peasant dress, stained and ripped from fighting the bandits, moved between cloth of gold and silver like a cardinal through fresh snow. With the uneven flowers that Leora had spent days embroidering on her cuffs, with not a single adornment save her battered knife, with a fiery song crackling in her heart, ready for confrontation, Cassie had never felt more like a queen.
"He in there?" she asked the sentry at the door to the meeting room, which her father used so often it was practically his private sitting room.
The sentry stood up straight, gulping as he recognized her. He moved—either to block her from entering or to open the door for her, Cassie did not care.
Unwilling to lose her momentum, she seized the handle and pulled the door open herself. The heavy wood swung open slowly, giving the voices inside time to quiet. The usual occupants, she saw as she stepped into the room. Lord Beauford, Lord Flor, Miles, a harried secretary making notes. And her father.
There was utter silence for the span of two breaths. Three.
Unsurprisingly, her father was the first to speak. "I thought you were dead."
Cassie sketched a rusty bow. "Sorry to disappoint," she said, the words sticking like chalk in her throat.
"Are you?" His brows raised.
"I am...sorry for much of what has transpired in the past year," Cassie said, picking through her words as carefully as a quagmire. "But not for disappointing you. It is time we both admit I have little control over your opinion of me, Father."
"Enough of the hysterics," Lord Mackay said, rolling his eyes. "Sit."
He waved at an empty seat at the enormous table, the topographical map that served as its surface spread before him.
Contrary to all her intentions, Cassie hesitated at the door, certain she had misheard him.
"You're at the age of maturity, and you're the only one left. You might as well sit in and start being informed."
As many other things she had been jealous of Elisabet for—her voice, her beauty, their father's favor—her position as heir was one thing Cassie had never coveted. "I never wanted to be the only one left," Cassie said quietly, lowering herself into the seat next to Miles. As the only untitled one in the room, he might be the closest thing to an ally.
"And yet, here we are."
The others kept their eyes riveted to the table, rather than risk being caught staring.
Had there been a proper funeral for Elisabet here? Had they sung Elisabet's favorite songs? Had their father grieved at all?
She could not ask those questions here. Not in front of these men.
"Well, then." She forced her shoulders to square. Her chin to lift. "If one of you would be kind enough to send for the healer, the rest of you can catch me up on what I've missed."
Not much, as it turned out. Lord Flor was uneasy at how quiet the Citakens had been lately, and Miles had been gathering as much intelligence as he could from his sources inside the enemy kingdom. They had caught wind of the unusual number of messages going back and forth across the border lately—it must have been James' correspondence with his family, she realized with a pang. Not that she could tell them that, precisely.
Her father's main concern seemed to be the loss of his closest connection with King Marius—Elisabet and Lottie had been best friends—and how to best forge a new one.
"As we understand it," Miles said as the healer hummed over her wrist, "the army is undermotivated since the mess of the last battle. Too many casualties, and nothing gained."
The healer curved his hand around her wrist without touching the skin, and Cassie gave a quick gasp of relief as she felt the bone slide back into place. She rotated her hand, flexed her fingers, and gave the man a grateful smile. She had almost forgotten what it was to move, to breathe without feeling pain.
"Any sign of the Citakens gathering forces again?"
Her father stared at the doll-sized model of the Mackay stronghold in the southeast of Esre, its buttresses well-worn. "Not yet," he answered. "It's only a matter of time, and we intend to have the armaments in place when they do."
"The blacksmith's guild has recruited ten more apprentices," Lord Beauford put in eagerly.
The healer backed out of the room as Cassie poked at one of the mountain ranges scattered across Trenoriah's section. She had never been allowed to touch the table before.
"And thanks to the marriage treaty, we can get the iron deposits from Trenoriah at even better prices than last year."
They thought churning out more swords and shields for the king's war would increase their already substantial wealth. "You'd be better off saving your money," Cassie spoke without thinking, too busy wondering if the roof of the thumb-sized Windhaven model could come off.
Silence greeted her words.
She looked up to find them all staring at her.
"Learned a lot about finance while you were gone, did you?" The cool amusement with which her father delivered his condescension would always set her teeth on edge.
Nails digging in her palm, Cassie fought to keep her voice even. "It's simple enough logic to not waste your money on a war that's ending."
"It will be ending, yes," Lord Flor said. "Soon. Once the Trenorish fulfill their end of the treaty, we'll have enough to crush—"
"But the—" Cassie sat forward. "Oh." Against her best intentions, the corners of her lips curved up in a tiny smile. "You don't know." It was not funny, far from it, but for once having information before her father did, for once having the upper hand—it was just as satisfying as she had always imagined.
Her father drummed his fingers on the table impatiently. "Is there something you would like to share, Cassandra?"
"The treaty with Trenoriah's been broken," she said.
The drumming stopped.
A storm of questions erupted.
Miles asked, "How do you know?"
"How can you be sure?" This from Lord Beauford.
"What could have possibly been worth the breach of contract?" Miles again.
Lord Flor wondered nervously, "If Trenoriah sues for it, will we have another war on our hands?"
Her father said nothing, but he stared at her, waiting for her to say more.
"Charles and Marius came to an agreement. End the war with a marriage treaty." Her heart clenched, but she swallowed and got the words out. "The Findlays offered their Prince James for Princess Maelie."
"James...which one is he?" Her father looked to the men for an answer.
Cassie forced herself not to give one.
"The third—no, the fourth," Miles volunteered. "Far removed from the line of succession."
Her father nodded to himself, steepling his fingers together. "Anything else?"
Cassie looked down at the table, unable to meet that icy gaze. Elisabet's eyes, if her sister had been given to casual cruelty. "The prince is already in Esre."
"The marriage is that close to completion?" Lord Beauford looked alarmed at the thought.
"I do not think so," Cassie said. "Although it will be soon. King Marius does not know the prince is nearly at his court." How long would the Guard take to regroup after the bandits' attack? They should have reached it by moonrise, but the men had been scattered, and there were injuries and losses to contend with.
"How is it you bring me information the king does not yet have?"
She could hear it in his voice, the eagerness. The angle. She had just become a resource.
Below the table's edge, Cassie fiddled with the embroidery on her cuff. "I was living in the forest," she said, forcing herself to face her father's stare. Forcing herself to not show weakness. "The trees whisper secrets to each other on the wind."
"Well, Cassandra." Her father swept an invisible speck of dust from the table. "Perhaps there is much yet we have to learn from each other."
***
Her father's machinations kept Cassie busy for days. Once the news of James reaching the Esren court spread, validating the information Cassie had given her father, she was summoned to meetings every day, and expected to give something useful at all of them. What people in the forest were plotting, what they were fed up with, and any information she had on bandit activity. She did all she could to make a distinction between bandit and banisè, to avoid mentioning anyone who would not be a threat, but any plans the advisors made for purging the forest were indiscriminate. Outlaws were dangerous, regardless of label.
Fortunately, for the time being their priorities were aligned against Longheirce, who had disappeared after his failed attack on the Guard. She and her father spent hour after hour pulling together information and resources on the best way to go after him. When the time came, Cassie would ride out with the knights tasked with pursuit. His head belonged to her.
That would be a battle for another day, however, as Lord Mackay's most pressing concern took priority: How he was going to get invited to the betrothal ceremony.
It would be his best chance at pressing his connection with King Marius, and through that he would angle for an invitation to the Advisors Council—his ultimate goal, the extent of power possible to him.
The note, when it came, arrived addressed to Cassie.
She had been trying to understand what her father was teaching her about settling disagreements between inhabitants of the local town, although she still didn't see what one having two goats had to do with the final ruling. Head pounding, she accepted the message at her desk and waited for the page to back out of her sitting room.
"Who would be writing to you?" her father asked. He laid his paper down, watching her examine the envelope from his seat by the fire.
Cassie broke the seal carefully. Who was it from? The paper was far too rich to be from Wynne or anyone left in Telyre. If Skylar ever got his hands on stationary like this—but the Gemmaros had never even suggested they exchange letters. "I made a few friends in the forest."
"And your curse did not destroy them?" Her father raised an eyebrow, a small, mocking smile hovering in his trimmed beard.
Cassie's fingers clenched compulsively, crumpling the paper. He was just trying to get a rise out of her, she told herself. She had not killed Leora. She had not.
After two shaky, steadying breaths, Cassie smoothed the paper enough to read. "Princess Maelie invites me to her betrothal ceremony."
"Why is she sending it to you?"
Cassie shrugged, tucking the invitation back into its envelope, wishing she could toss it into the fireplace. "We crossed paths at one point. Seems she remembers me." She would rather burn herself than see James tie himself to Sarita for life. The idea of it had been bad enough, but the reality—it made Cassie want to scream. Or throw something. Or throw up.
"You 'crossed paths' with the person second in line for the throne?" her father said, amused doubt in his blue eyes. "Where were you in the 'forest,' exactly? The Bergstrom summer estate?"
Cassie inhaled deeply and pushed herself up out of her seat. She had made friends—and enemies—her father could never comprehend in the time she had been free of him.
"Here's your invitation," she said, dropping it on the desk. "Best of luck to the couple."
She made it halfway to the door before her father spoke.
"You are coming, too, Cassandra."
Cassie halted and slowly turned on her heel. "Excuse me?"
"That is not made out to me," Lord Mackay said, nodding at the slightly battered envelope. "The princess remembered you enough to invite you. Your presence will be useful."
The day of the betrothal, Cassie wanted to be anywhere other than at court. Being forced to attend, playing her father's pawn, was not her idea of a good morning.
"You know how I adore being useful, Father," she said, feeling the venom welling up from within as she bowed jerkily.
Her father's expression flattened, a warning sign she would have heeded a year ago. "Sarcasm does not suit my heir, Cassandra."
Little did suit her, as he had been sure to remind her for most of her life. What difference did one more unpleasant trait make? Instead of heeding the warning, Cassie could not resist answering him. "As I am an entirely unsuitable heir, it rather fits, does it not?"
The icy rage that slid into his eyes as he stood had her taking an automatic half-step back, hating herself for giving that much ground.
Don't be afraid.
Her hand curled around the hilt of her knife as she walked back, staring her father down. Saw, for the first time, hesitation creep into his eyes. Saw him check.
"I'll go," she said, and curse her voice, it shook. "But not to help you. I will be there because Sarita—because Princess Maelie has asked it of me, and she deserves the support." She deserved someone being there for her, not a bunch of jackals like her father jostling each other for position and favor. Because if it had been Cassie—she would want someone who cared about her happiness there. Even if they could not change it. "If you attend, I will not stand with you. I will move within court where and when I like." She would not be stuck to her father's side for the entirety of that torturous day, feeding him information and clues, unable to show any of the jagged heartbreak that was already tugging at her.
"You're hardly in any position to be making demands—"
"I hold the card." Cassie tapped the invitation on her desk, emphasizing her point. "I am in the position to make demands."
Her father pulled his cuffs straight. "I cannot in good conscience unleash your curse on the court. The damage it could cause, you coming into contact with so many people—"
It could not be worse than what had already happened to her, what had already happened to Telyre. "I'm willing to take that chance," Cassie said, breathing hard. She was strong. She could do this. "Are you?"