Each guest laughed and smiled and hung on every word that spilled from Montegue’s mouth. Halfway through dinner, one of the women, who had already drunk too much, danced around the table and conveniently fell into his lap. The hair piled atop her head fell loose, and more fawning ensued. Your Majesty this, Your Majesty that, followed by a slurred feigned apology and a protracted kiss on his lips. He soaked it up like a dry sponge, his lips stuck to hers for a good half minute, his hands roaming over her
hips, until Banques finally cleared his throat, reminding them we were all there watching.
Throughout dinner, Montegue had glanced at me numerous times, expecting what, I wasn’t sure. To join in the praise? I contemplated it. At some point I knew I had to backtrack and gain his confidence, pretend that I’d been won over and was ready to take “a place” in this new kingdom, as Banques put it. Pretend that I was one of Montegue’s admirers. I knew how to do it. This was my specialty. Even the wary were not impervious to flattery—because they deserved it, after all. It was all about making them believe. But the timing had to be right. It was a delicate matter that had to be carried out smoothly, like sliding a razor-sharp knife beneath the thin skin of a fish to separate it from the flesh. And I was not feeling delicate nor smooth right now. Instead I was a miserable jumble of hesitation and second-guessing.
Why was this so different? I remembered trembling with fear the first time I engaged a quarterlord, certain that my intended larceny blazed in my eyes. I’d had to lock my knees to keep them from shaking. The quarterlord was huge and powerful and intimidating, and I was none of those things, only a disgusting six-year-old bug to be crushed and forgotten. But I hadn’t let that stop me. Hunger had already honed a sharp edge within me. In spite of my fear and knocking knees, I’d found a way to disarm his suspicions and make off with two juicy figs. I glanced up at Banques and Montegue. Think of them as quarterlords, Kazi. Play them. Feed their egos. Earn their trust. Throw them crumbs, then hook them behind the gills like openmouthed fish.
And then cut their throats.
But this game had a different risk. Back then, I only had myself to lose. Maybe that was what had made me bold. Now I was playing for far more than one dirty street urchin’s life. I was playing for Lydia’s and Nash’s freedom—and their lives. I was playing for Jase, and the vows I made to him and, by default, his family. His blood vow was mine. And I had yet another vow—to the queen. Find the papers and destroy them. You can juggle all that now, can’t you, Kazi? Just don’t drop an orange. Not a single one, or you’re done.
Laughter erupted around the table. Something Montegue said was apparently quite entertaining, and I had missed it. I was failing miserably. Another glance from him. Expectation shimmered in his eyes. Was I shaming him with my silence? Grovel, Kazi. Smile. Juggle. Compliment the bastard. Make him believe. You can do it one more time.
I searched my mind, trying to think of one small thing to add to the conversation, the first seed to plant, but only hatred bubbled up.
Such a creative use of the tembris, Your Majesty. How did you get all those nooses up on those high branches?
Nice work of demolishing the temple.
So convenient that the corpses aren’t stinking yet. I guess the cold weather helps. The gods must be with you.
“The stew is quite good,” I commented. “My compliments to the chef.” The tinkling of crystal and laughter around the table came to a dead stop. They were the first words I had spoken. I made eye contact with Montegue. “And my compliments to His Majesty for choosing such a fine menu.” It was pathetic, I knew. It was not my smoothest moment. I had to do better.
The compliment seemed to eat away at his concentration. After a few minutes, he leaned back and set his napkin beside his plate, done with his meal.
When the foolishness around the dining table grew tedious, the king announced we were finished and leaving for the arena. A carriage was brought around because the evening was cold. “We” included Banques. Oleez and the children were called from their rooms to join us. Everywhere he went, they went.
* * *
“What do you think of it?” The sweet earthiness of wine was on his breath. His hair was disheveled, and his eyes, glassy.
It was just the two of us in the Ballenger apartment. He had dismissed Banques, Oleez, and the children to go check on some other quarters he had acquired. He sauntered around with a wineglass in one hand and running his other down marble pillars, or peering up at the high ceilings and chandeliers. His boots clicked heel to toe, deliberate on the polished floors like he was tapping out ownership. “Far more elegant and fitting for a king than the inn,” he mused. “And more secure too. I’m having the bedchambers refurbished and then we’ll move over.”
We. I didn’t know whom that meant.
When I didn’t answer, he paused from his inspection of a drape panel and faced me. “Are you still upset about the children? I promise you, I did ask them, but they continue to refuse to speak to you.”
“If you’d just let me—”
“I’ll ask again tomorrow. Maybe they’ll change their minds, but I’m afraid the Ballengers poisoned them against you. It may take a while. You need to give them the time they need. They’re only children.”
His concern appeared genuine, and yet he used them as leverage against me? I wondered if the threat to harm them was only a hollow one crafted by Banques to make me comply. “Would you really kill them if I stepped out of line?”
His brows rose with interest. “Do you plan to step out of line?”
“No.”
“Then it’s a moot point, isn’t it?”
“Maybe so, but it’s a terrible pressure to live under minute by minute, afraid that I might do something inadvertently that could bring them harm.”
He grinned as if amused, letting the brocade drape slip leisurely from his grasp, and turned to face me fully. “Rahtan are quite well trained, I understand, and you don’t strike me as the kind of person who does anything inadvertently. I’m sure you needn’t worry.”
“But I do.”
“You did threaten to kill me, remember?”
“With a pickle fork.”