“It’ll work,” Victoria had insisted. “We pulled it on Tristan once, and his mouth was stained purple for the better part of the day.”
“Would’ve been longer, but he insisted on washing his own mouth out with soap.” Vincent had smiled. “So vain. Would’ve been better if it had been Ana?s, though.”
“I’m not sure you would’ve survived if it had,” Marc had said. Then he’d sighed. “But it did work. And using the ploy eliminates much of the risk, so best we find ourselves some sugar.”
And so I found myself approaching the rear door of the tavern, not with a weapon, but with two desserts.
“What’s this?” One of the guards stepped into my path.
“Confections for His Highness,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t notice the trembling of the tray. “We heard he was partial to sweets.”
The guard leaned closer, and it was a struggle not to recoil from the sourness of his breath. “How do we know it’s not poison?”
I wanted to retort that it wouldn’t matter if it was, but instead I handed him the decoy. “Spun sugar and cherry cordial.”
He held it up to the light, then bit off a piece of the sugar lattice work, the candy crunching beneath his teeth.
“Avenge me if I drop dead,” he declared to his fellows, then bit into the globe. Cherry cordial poured out of his mouth and down his chin. “S’good,” he said, wiping his lips with the back of his grimy hand, then licking the cordial off. “I’ll take another.”
I stepped back. “I’ve heard His Highness handles disappointment poorly. And already it’s a shame there isn’t one for his female companion.”
Their eyes took on a lascivious gleam and I had my confirmation that Lessa was present. “You’ll bring them to His Highness yourself,” I said, filling my words with power. “And you’ll be sure to tell him how much you enjoyed the one you ate.” It was malicious and cruel of me, because I knew how Roland would react to a human taking his sweets. But I found I didn’t care. They were traitors to their kind.
“I will.” He took the tray, and the globe trembled on its candy legs. “Careful, now,” I murmured, watching his arms steady under my command. When he’d disappeared inside, I nodded once at his companions. “You never saw me.”
Their eyes glazed, and I scuttled around the corner before they could take notice of me again. Then I got in line.
With weapons and threats, the guards herded us in single file toward the tavern, the guard at the door allowing one person in for every one who left. All their attention was for those who had yet to swear, and those who had just done so seemed confused by their newfound liberty as they exited the building.
“Where do I go?” one of them asked. “What do I do?”
“Don’t rightly care,” the guard responded, cracking a staff across the man’s shoulders. “Move.”
The man stumbled away, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Where do I go? Where do I go?” He looked right at me, and I averted my eyes, but not before I noticed that his clothing was singed, his hands red with burns.
“Next!”
There was no one left in front of me. I stepped inside.
My eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimness, sunspots dancing across my vision as I moved forward, bumping into the woman in front of me.
A platform had been constructed where I expected the bar had once stood, and, on it, Roland perched atop a large overstuffed chair, his feet swinging back and forth just above the floor. There was a man on his knees in front of the platform, and Lessa stood next to him, mostly hidden by the crowd. “Repeat exactly what I say,” she ordered. “I, your name, swear fealty to Prince Roland de Montigny, and promise to obey his summons and commands for as long as I live.”
“I, your name,” the man whispered, and Lessa kicked him in the ribs.
“Say your name, you idiot.”
Weeping, the man complied, and when he’d finished, Roland reached over to pat him on the head like a dog.
The next person was shoved forward, but before Lessa could speak, the guard I’d compelled approached. Bowing, he set the tray on the table next to the young troll. Roland seemed so innocent from afar, cheeks curving with delight at the sight of Victoria’s sugar creation. He plucked the dessert from the tray and snapped off piece of the lattice, popping it in his mouth.
Crunch, crunch, crunch. I imagined the sound of his perfect white teeth chewing the sugar, and I tensed, drawing magic up from the earth even though I wouldn’t use it – all the power I needed was in that little crimson globe clutched in Roland’s pale fingers.
He snapped off another piece of lattice. Crunch, crunch, crunch.
My breath was coming in short little gasps, my heart pounding so loud I was surprised those around me couldn’t hear it.
Was I close enough?
Would it work?