“If Oak were dead, that would thin the Greenbriar line by half,” says Jude. “Mere chance might do the rest. Cardan was hurt—he might not survive the night. I schemed my way to the throne, despite being mortal. Make me your ally instead of him. I am the better bet. I know Elfhame politics, and I am mercenary enough to make practical choices.”
He knows she’s not serious about her offer. But that doesn’t mean she’s not serious about wanting to kill him.
How foolish Oak has been, making himself seem like Cardan’s enemy. How can he prove to Jude now, here, that he has always been on her side? That he never plotted with Randalin. That he was trying to catch the conspirators so that something like this could never happen.
But how could Jude ever guess what Oak was planning to do when she has no idea what he’s already done?
“Oak wouldn’t fight you,” Wren says.
Bogdana’s eyes glitter. “Oh, I think he will. What if I make the prince this bargain—win, and I will let Wren keep you as a pet. I will let you live. I’ll even let you marry her, if she so desires.”
“That’s very generous,” he says. “Since Wren can already marry whomsoever she wants.”
“Not if you’re dead,” says Bogdana.
“You want me to fight my own sister?” he asks, voice unsteady.
“I very much do.” Bogdana’s lips pull into a grim, awful smile. “High Queen, I will not merely accept the prince’s head, struck off by one of your soldiers. Just as I was tricked into murdering my own kin, it will be justice to see you kill yours. But I will spare the one of you who kills the other. Let the High Queen abdicate her throne, and I won’t chase her. She may return to the mortal world and live out the brief span of her days.”
“And Cardan?” Jude asks.
The storm hag laughs. “How about this? Take him, and I’ll give you a head start.”
“Done,” Jude says. “So long as you’ll let me take my people, too.”
“If you win,” Bogdana says. “If you run.”
“Don’t do this,” Wren whispers.
Oak takes a step forward, his head spinning. He ignores the way Wren is looking at him, as though he is a lamb come straight to the slaughter, too stupid to run.
As he walks closer to his sister, an arrow hits the ground beside him from Jude’s camp. A warning shot.
He really hopes that was a warning shot and not a miss.
“Prince Oak,” says Jude. “You’re making some very dangerous decisions lately.”
He takes a deep breath. “I understand why you’d think I was planning to betray—”
“Answer me on the field,” Jude says, cutting him off. “Ready for our duel?”
Wren steps forward. The rain has plastered her long, wild hair to her throat and chest. “Oak, wait.”
Bogdana grabs her arm. “Leave them to sort out their own family affair.”
Wren wrenches free. “I warned you. You can’t keep me your thrall. Not without Bex.”
“You think not?” says the storm hag. “Child, I will have my revenge, and you are too weak to stop me. We both know that. Just as we know that the falcons will listen to me once you collapse. And you will—you overextended yourself when you broke the curse on the troll kings and again on the ship, and you’ve used your power twice today already. There’s not enough of you left to face me. There’s barely enough of you to remain standing.”
Jude is adjusting her dress, slicing it so that she can tie the sides of the skirt into makeshift pants. What is her game?
Had they not been isolated on Insear, the army of Elfhame would have easily cut down Bogdana and Wren and her falcons. But so long as Bogdana’s storm keeps them isolated, so long as Wren stops arrows, Jude won’t be able to keep them from Cardan’s tent forever.
Jude will never abdicate, though. She will never run, not even if Cardan is dead.
Of course, if Cardan is dead, Jude might well blame Oak.
He wants to see hesitation in his sister’s face, but her expression reminds him of Madoc’s before a battle.
Someone is going to kill you. Better it be me.
Oak thinks about being a child, spoiled and vain, making trouble. It shames him to think of smashing things in Vivi’s apartment, crying for his mother, when they took him there for his protection. It shames him more to think of ensorcelling his sister and the delight he felt at the red sting of her cheek after she slapped herself. He knew it hurt and, later, felt guilty about it.