“The fruits of your intelligence.” My father tossed a small packet in the center of my plate, the cream sauce from dinner soaking into the paper.
It had been a handful of days since I’d told him that Marc was bringing in something illicit via the human traders, and my guilt over having betrayed his trust had grown steadily throughout. I’d tried to tell myself that I’d been doing the right thing. That Tristan was my father’s target, not Marc. That my success would benefit my sister. But no amount of rationalization had alleviated my feeling that what I was doing was wrong.
Trying to keep my heartbeat in check, I used my fork to flip through the contents, which were pictorial in nature, with only a limited amount of text. The print quality was poor, each page marked with identical streaks and flaws. The difference between using machinery and magic, and one reason why the Guild held their monopoly so easily. Only that which they’d refuse to print would ever be sourced outside of Trollus, which explained these. Inappropriate as they were, though, they were hardly treasonous. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed. “What the artist lacks in talent, he makes up for in creativity.”
“How do you know it’s a man?”
“It’s obvious.” Leaning back in my chair, I gestured at a servant to take away both plate and pamphlet. “I can only tell you what I learn, Father. I can’t make it useful. Not that this isn’t, in a way. It proves contraband can be brought in and out of Trollus.”
“I already knew that.” He circled the table to sit across from me. “Proof would be catching one of the traders with propaganda, not indecent representations of the Regent of Trianon commissioned by those idiots you call friends.”
Propaganda? I frowned, uncertain why he believed the traders would be caught with that, then shook my head. “This was for the twins?”
“They picked them up from the market. When they were searched, they claimed the work was to broaden the horizons of the more prudish citizens of Trollus, though no doubt it will form part of some larger prank.”
Vincent and Victoria’s pranks were frequent and memorable, but this wasn’t their style. Not in the slightest. “No doubt the end results will be quite amusing.”
He said nothing. Did not so much as blink. But the doors to the room began to shut. Slowly. One by one. Each individual lock falling into place under the firm hand of his magic.
“Do you think this is good enough, darling?” He rested his cane across the flat plane of the table.
My stomach hollowed, and it took every ounce of willpower in my possession not to shrink back in my chair. “There’s nothing else to tell. Maybe you’re wrong to suspect them.”
“I am not wrong!” He was across the table, screaming the words in my face. I scrambled back, tripping over my chair and falling in a heap.
“Temper, temper, Father.”
Ana?s’s voice wafted over me, then her hands were under my arms, lifting me onto my feet. “We’ve discussed how I feel about you threatening my sister.”
I backed against the wall, unsure whether I should flee or remain where I was.
“Her efforts are inadequate.” He settled down into his chair. “As are yours, frankly.”
Ana?s sniffed. “So you say, and yet every day Tristan spends more hours in my company, bending my ear with his desires and grievances.”
“He is supposed to be spending hours in your bed, but you haven’t managed that much, have you?”
“Patience.” Ana?s righted my chair, then sat, carefully arranging her skirts. “Tristan is observant, particularly when it comes to changes in character or behavior. If I throw myself at his feet, he will question why. He will mistrust me. Better to have him believe he is the seducer than the other way around.”
“I’m beginning to believe that your request for my patience is nothing more than a way to deflect from your failure to deliver.”
Ana?s shrugged. “Believe what you will.”
I was equal parts amazed and envious of her flippancy. Of her ability to brush off my father’s questions with no fear of retribution.
“As it stands, I do have something for you.” She picked up my glass of wine and drank deeply. “He intends to question the practice of sending half-blood miners into the labyrinth for missed quotas at the King’s public audience tomorrow.”
“Question how?”
“He wants the practice ended. For the half-bloods to be punished in ways that aren’t fatal.”
My father’s eyebrows shot up. As did mine. Such a move was entirely out of character for Tristan, and unease bit at my insides, along with the sense that I was missing something. Something important.
“I’m always pleased to prove my worth, Father.” Ana?s rose to her feet. “But now, I’m off to bed. He wants me there tomorrow, and the King insists on holding his audiences so painfully early. Come, Pénélope. You look as though you could use some rest.”
I let her take my arm, but it felt as though I held onto a stranger.
Once we were out of earshot, she asked, “Did he hurt you?” Her voice was anxious.
“No.”
Ana?s gave a long exhale. “Thank the stars and fates I came home when I did.”
“Indeed.”
“You have to do better, Penny,” she said. “You have to at least appear as though you’re trying to seduce Marc, not like you’re avoiding him. He’s going to be at the audience tomorrow – you should seek him out.”
We reached the door to my chambers, and she turned into me, pulling me close, resting her forehead against mine as she had when we were younger. “I know this is hard, but for now, it’s the only way.”
I did not return her embrace, only stood frozen in her grip. “Why?”
“Because if you don’t, he’ll–”
“No,” I interrupted. “Why did you tell Father that Tristan was going to try to get the law changed?”
“It’s information everyone will know by tomorrow,” she said.
“That’s not the point,” I exclaimed, pushing her away. “If the law had been changed, think of how many lives could’ve been saved. But now Father will go to the public audience tomorrow, and you know he’ll argue against it.”
“Penny–”
“I thought you were better than that,” I said. Wasn’t that half the reason I was doing this? To pull Tristan from the throne and put Ana?s on it in his place because she’d be an improvement? Or had I been wrong to believe that? “Don’t you care about making Trollus better at all?”
“What has that got to do with anything?”
I glared at her. “If you were Queen, you’d have a chance to undo laws like these. A chance to improve circumstances for the half-bloods – to allow them lives worth living. Haven’t you ever thought of that?”
“I’m not a sympathizer,” she blurted out. “What exactly do you expect from me?”
So much more.
“I never thought I’d say this, but you’re cut from the same cloth as Father,” I spat. “Self-interested to the core, no matter what it costs everyone else.”
A flash of something crossed over her eyes. “Penny, that’s not… I…”
She couldn’t even say it. Couldn’t even deny that it was true.