A few moments of silence passed while Rielle tiredly sorted through Ludivine’s words.

Unable to make sense of them, she shifted to look up at her. “What do you mean?”

Something flickered across Ludivine’s face—too fleeting and small for Rielle to pinpoint. Then Ludivine bent low to kiss her brow.

“Audric’s coming,” she said. “I sent for him once you’d recovered yourself a bit.”

She directed Rielle’s attention toward the door, and Rielle could not find it in herself to be irritated with Ludivine for taking hold of her mind so firmly, for forcing her away from their conversation. Because, in the next moment, Evyline was knocking on the door to announce Audric’s arrival, and then Audric himself was hurrying toward the bed, his weary face alight with a smile that cleared Rielle’s thoughts of everything but the desire to touch him, to ground herself against the warmth of his body. She opened her arms to him and welcomed him into Ludivine’s bed, greedily accepting his kisses and his words of praise, listening to Ludivine recount to him her accomplishment, until, very soon, Ludivine’s strange mention of deliverance had disappeared from her mind—a discarded, distant memory.

• • •

The next day, they all gathered for supper in Queen Genoveve’s private dining hall—for, of course, Merovec was family. The queen’s nephew and Ludivine’s brother.

But from the moment Rielle stepped into the hall, she was made all too aware that this meal was about more than simply enjoying time with family.

It was about loyalty.

The room had been draped in the colors of House Sauvillier—navy-blue carpets bordered with silver flowers, a tablecloth of silver-spangled russet, tapestries of snowy northern scenes. Sauvillier colors in Baingarde were not themselves so outrageous, not since Bastien had married Genoveve. But they had never been displayed quite so obviously and at the exclusion of all others.

A quick glance around the room showed Rielle that any trace of House Courverie colors—emerald, gold, plum—had vanished from the space, as if they had never existed.

She found Audric sitting at his mother’s side. Her stomach clenched to see Queen Genoveve’s mute, gaunt form. Several times over the last few days, she had asked Audric if she could pay the queen a visit, and each time he had suggested she wait until his mother wasn’t resting, or until she was feeling a little better, or until her black mood had brightened.

Rielle suspected the truth behind his deflections. Queen Genoveve did not want to see her, and Audric was trying to spare her feelings. A theory supported by how the queen’s eyes, across the dining hall, landed on Rielle’s face with a subdued, unimpressed sort of hatred, as if she had spotted a bug whose existence had long nettled her.

Rielle looked away, focusing instead on Audric. To anyone else, the tension in his body might not have been noticeable. He was in conversation with one of Merovec’s advisers, and he looked entirely interested in what the woman was saying.

But then his eyes met hers, and with that one glance, she understood several things at once. That he, too, had noticed the room’s colors. That the pleasantness on his face as he spoke with the adviser was entirely fabricated. And that he would be proceeding with caution through this evening—and hoped Rielle would as well.

A wave of nerves passed through Rielle’s body. Evyline’s ominous words from the day before returned to her: I very much dislike the things I have heard about stirrings in the north.

But if there were truly anything to worry about, Audric’s spies would have uncovered it. Ludivine would have been able to read it in Merovec’s mind. Whatever rumors Evyline had heard, then, were merely that—gossip that could be dismissed. And Evyline herself tended to worry about anything and everything.

So Rielle put Audric’s worried gaze out of her mind and went to Ludivine, who sat beside Merovec with her newly healed left arm hooked through his.

“Lord Sauvillier,” Rielle said warmly, settling in the seat beside Ludivine. “I do hope you and your party enjoyed a restful night.”

“Indeed we did, Rielle.” Then Merovec smiled. “And, please, call me Merovec. As I’m certain I’ve requested of you before, years ago.”

His voice teased her, and his long-lashed blue eyes held a merry light—but then Ludivine sent her a quiet warning.

Step carefully around him tonight, she said, the feeling of her thoughts slightly harried.

Rielle tensed. Why should I? What is he thinking?

I can’t see it clearly. But I see enough to fear him.

But I healed you, said Rielle. Why can’t you read him?

Ludivine hesitated, the feeling of her frustration rising in Rielle’s mind like the heat of a blooming fire, and she understood at once.

It’s Corien, isn’t it? she said, a tiny shiver seizing her from her toes up to the blush of her neck. He’s hiding Merovec from you.

One of the castle servants rang the soft dinner bell; others brought in food from the kitchens.

I wonder, said Ludivine, her thoughts bitter and sharp, if someday you might be able to use your power to make my mind stronger than his.

And with her words came such a feeling of desire, with hatred right on its heels, that for a moment Rielle lost her breath.

I would never try such a thing, she said. I would never risk your mind. Risking your body was more than enough.

But what a thought it was, the idea of being able to strengthen Ludivine’s mental abilities to the point where Corien would no longer be able to touch her, even with all his might.

Rielle wasn’t sure if this was a thought that pleased her—or terrified her.

A servant set a plate of food before her. She found Audric’s curious eyes across the table, forcing a smile for him, and then, after a few quiet moments of eating and low conversation, Merovec began to speak.

“I’ve heard such interesting talk in the last few days,” he said mildly over the rim of his cup. “News travels quickly even from Mazabat, it seems.”

Rielle faltered only slightly as she raised her spoon to her lips.

“What sort of talk is that?” Ludivine’s voice teased. “You’ve always been such a gossip.”

Merovec’s answering smile did not meet his eyes. “Perhaps that’s true. But this time, it has served me well. Word has reached my ears, Rielle, of your adventures in Mazabat.”

Her fist clenched around her spoon. She fought to keep her voice pleasant. “Adventures?”

“Oh, my apologies.” Merovec set down his glass and looked at her. “I meant your cold-blooded murder of thirteen Obex soldiers.”

Any lingering conversation vanished, a terrible silence enveloping the room. One of the queen’s advisers cleared her throat.