Curiosity flared in side of me. “About?”
“I knew what the half-bloods were constructing would never work,” he said softly. “I could hear where they were building, and it didn’t feel right. And I wasn’t the only one. Others noticed it too.” He wrung his hands together. “We knew he’d tricked them, but we’d be fools to say anything against your father.”
I hesitated. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because we want you to know that it isn’t only the half-bloods who will rise up against your father to put you on the throne.” He turned his face back to me, and even though he had no eyes, I could have sworn he was seeing me.
“The guilds are full of your supporters – full-bloods who believe you are the key to our survival. That you will be the one who sets us free.”
A thousand thoughts chased each other through my mind, but I couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
Pierre’s whistle stole away the moment. “Visitors,” he hissed, jerking his chin in the direction of the bobbing light coming swiftly down the street.
I rose, backing away from the tree and letting my light dim in the foolish hope that whoever approached wouldn’t recognize me.
A boy near to my age skidded to a stop in front of us, his uniform marked with the Builders’ Guild emblem of a hammer and chisel. “News from the palace!” His eyes widened when he saw me. “Begging your pardon, Your Highness.” He started to bow, then stopped, his eyes flicking between his elder fellows for guidance.
“Don’t hold back on my account,” I said, leaning against the wall. “Tell us the news.”
“It’s about your brother,” he said. “Prince Roland.”
“I know who my brother is.” My voice was light, but if I’d had hackles, they would have risen. “What about him?”
“The King has announced his betrothal.”
I grimaced. He wouldn’t be bound to anyone until he was at least sixteen, but I still pitied whatever girl had been chosen. The idea of anyone being emotionally tied to my insane, sadistic little brother made me sick. “To whom?”
The boy licked his lips, looking anywhere but at me. My unease grew – something wasn’t right. What was my father up to? “Spit it out,” I snapped, ignoring how he jumped, eyes bright with fear.
“It’s just that I don’t think you’re going to like it very much, given that you… and her…”
The lights of those around me began to spin. No, no, no! “Tell me who!”
The boy swallowed hard. “To Lady Ana?s, Your Highness. Prince Roland has been betrothed to the heiress of the Duchy of Angoulême.”
Twenty-Five
Cécile
“Please let me go out,” I begged, flinging myself onto the sofa where my mother sat reading.
She turned a page and didn’t look up. “No. I don’t trust you not to go running toward trouble.”
“You’re driving me mad,” I muttered. And she really was. It had been over a week since I’d stolen Catherine’s memory, but I’d been able to do nothing about it thanks to my mother. The only time I was allowed out of the house was for performances or masque rehearsals – none of which Marie had attended – and she never let me out of her sight for more than a moment. Compelling her with magic might well get me free of her for a few moments, but the effects were fleeting and I knew no way of permanently altering her thoughts. Nor was the idea of doing so particularly conscionable.
As it was, rare was the moment when I was alone with her, and I was not sure if I could compel two people at once. I’d been forced to satisfy myself with setting Sabine and Chris to keeping an eye on Catherine, but that wasn’t progress. I was becoming desperate enough to try anything, and well I knew how desperate people made mistakes. “Are you going to keep me locked up like this forever?”
“Just until after the masque, darling. After that, I’ve no concern over what you do.”
The masque, the masque, the masque. It was all she cared about, acting as though it were the most important night of my life. There was no arguing with her, and no, I’d discovered, getting around her. The trellis running along the side of the building had been removed, a lock was installed on my window, and when I’d picked that in an attempt to escape, she’d had the cook’s husband nail the window shut. My door was bolted from the outside at night, and whenever we went anywhere, she kept a firm grip on my wrist to keep me from running off.
Any and all attempts to look for further clues toward Anushka’s identity had been thoroughly and effectively stymied. But my need to hunt her had not. I hadn’t slept for days, and I’d started throwing up everything I ate. A quick glance in the mirror showed hollow cheeks and shadowed eyes, but my color was high. I should’ve been exhausted, but instead I felt jittery, like a child who has consumed too many sweets.