“Please.” Tarkin pulls out one of the chairs at the table. “Sit.”
The last thing I want to do is sit. But I doubt how much longer I can stand, and so I allow myself to perch lightly on a chair.
“I believe we’re starting off on the wrong foot.” Tarkin refills his glass. “I am not repulsed by your Vila blood. In fact, I quite admire it.”
Something between a snort and a laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “If that’s true then why am I treated as if I have some kind of disease in this realm?”
Tarkin examines one of the thick medallions on his doublet. “Not everyone at court is as enlightened as myself.” I suppress another snort. “Lord Ambassador Endlewild, for example.”
Ice water floods my limbs. The look the Fae lord gave me the night of the dinner—that I was something to be scraped off his shoe—still haunts me. I’ve no doubt he was the one who counseled the Briar King to end my life.
“You do not like him,” Tarkin guesses.
I hate him more than words can express. But I must tread carefully. “I have no issue with—”
The Briar King waves me off. “You do not need to lie. I share your sentiment.”
Another surprise. One I’m not sure I like.
“The Lord Ambassador is always so dour. Acting as if his position is a prison sentence instead of one of the most coveted in the realm. I’ve tried to have him replaced multiple times since I married the queen.” He sighs, drinking deeply. “To no avail.”
For the first time in my life, I feel a shred of sympathy for Endlewild. One dinner in the midst of the Briar court was torture enough for me. And he has to endure it every day of his unnaturally long life. But that twinge dissolves in the throbbing of my scar. “We have different reasons for our distaste, sire.”
He chokes out a laugh. “Quite. And you should thank the dragon that you are not full-blooded Vila. And that your power did not manifest under the Lord Ambassador’s scrutiny. He would have insisted on your death. Or killed you himself. But I embrace your abilities. And I want to use them—for the good of Briar.”
It takes every ounce of self-control to keep my expression neutral. “In what way?”
Tarkin’s jeweled chains clank as he moves. “I will send you commissions. I take it from what I’ve seen that you are capable of producing far more than simple elixirs.”
There’s no point in denying it. I continue to use enhancements with my patrons to avoid suspicion. But I won’t tell the Briar King everything. Dragon knows what he would have me do if he knew I could Shift. I merely incline my head.
“Good. You will craft such things as I need. And in return I will reward you handsomely. Coin at first, titles and prestige later.”
Titles? He must be mad. The small council would never approve it, and the Grace Council would have a fit. Mariel would rather see me thrown into the sea. He must think me an idiot if he imagines I will believe such a promise.
“What things might you need?” I venture.
“Does it matter?” His mustache twitches, the only sign that I’m grating against his infamous temper. “I’m offering you wealth and power and influence. Other courtiers would kill for such an opportunity.”
“I am not a courtier,” I counter. “And the Grace Laws prevent me from causing intentional harm.”
Tarkin’s small mouth screws into a snarl. I brace myself, expecting that ringed hand to leave welts on my cheek. Expecting the guards to be called to haul me to the prison cells beneath the mountain. Instead, his expression softens. It is far more terrifying than a slap.
“Do we really need to concern ourselves with such petty trifles?”
I grip the arms of my chair until I feel the blood drumming in my fingertips. Those “trifles” have kept me bound to Briar for the last two decades.
“You will harm no one,” he reasons. “And no one else will know of our arrangement. That’s rather the point. I’m prepared to pay you triple your normal rate, off the ledgers. It won’t help you much in the Grace standings, but perhaps we will see about awarding you your own house. Chambers in the palace, perhaps. You would be an asset here.”
I’d rather live at the bottom of the sea. But something else about Tarkin’s offer is ridiculously appealing. Three times my rate, and I don’t have to give any of it to Lavender House. My gaze travels out the windows, over the grid of buildings and homes, to the sea and into the endless blue of the horizon line. Ships crowd the harbor. With enough gold, any one of them might take me away to a new life. Still, it would mean submitting to a monster.