“Then what is it you want?”
“I saw a most interesting meeting last night,” Jack says. “Bogdana and a man with golden skin. He was carrying a large trunk. He opened it to show her the contents, then shut it again and took it away.”
Oak remembers the hag with the golden skin from the Citadel. He was the one who didn’t give Wren a present. “And you have no idea what was inside?”
“No, indeed, prince. Nor did he seem the sort who would take kindly to being followed by one such as myself.”
“I appreciate your telling me,” says Oak. “And it’s good to see you.”
Jack grins. “I share that sentiment, yet I would be away from this place if you put in a good word with your sister for my release.”
At that, Oak laughs. “So you wish to complain after all?”
“I would not wish to turn your good nature ill,” says Jack, looking around him uncomfortably. “Nor would I wish that ill nature directed at me. But I am not well suited to your home.”
“I’ll talk to my sister,” Oak promises.
On his way back to Wren, he spots Taryn speaking with Garrett. Oak’s gaze picks out Madoc in the crowd, leaning heavily on his cane. Leander is telling a story, and the redcap is listening with what seems rapt attention to his grandchild.
It occurs to him how strange a family they all are. Madoc, who murdered Jude and Taryn’s parents—and yet somehow, they consider him their father. Madoc, who almost killed Jude in a duel. Who might have used Oak to get to the throne and then ruled through him.
And Oriana, who was cold to his sisters, even to Vivi. Who didn’t trust Jude enough to leave Oak alone with her when they were young, but asked her to lay down her life to protect him just the same.
And Vivi, Taryn, and Jude, each different, but all of them clever and determined and brave. Then there is Oak, still trying to figure out where he fits in.
As the prince approaches Wren, he clears his throat.
“Your water,” he says when he’s close, his voice loud enough that the courtiers surrounding her make their excuses. He offers her the goblet of water, which she drinks thirstily.
“I was waylaid,” he says by way of apology.
“As was I,” she tells him. “We should go back to your family’s table.”
He hates that she’s right but offers her his arm.
She takes it, leaning on him with some force. “When you said you loved me . . .” It begins as a question, but one she cannot seem to complete.
“Alas that I cannot lie,” he tells her as he guides her through the hall, the smile easy on his lips now. “I hope you will try to find the humor in my feelings. I shall endeavor to do so myself.”
“But . . . don’t you want revenge?” she asks, her voice even softer than before.
He glances at her swiftly and takes a moment to decide how to answer. “A little,” he admits finally. “I wouldn’t mind if there was some dramatic reversal where you pined while I remained aloof.”
Wren laughs at that, a startled sort of sound. “You are the least aloof person I know.”
He makes a face. “Alas once again, my dreams crushed.”
She stops smiling. “Oak, please. I’ve made a mistake. I’ve made several and I need . . .”
He stops. “What do you need?”
For a moment, it seems as though she will answer. Then she shakes her head.
Just then, the musicians cease playing their instruments. The rest of the courtiers begin to move toward the banquet tables.
Oak guides Wren back to her chair. Predictably enough, the leaf place card with her name on it is set across the table from him, in the place of honor, beside Cardan. His own seat is two down from Jude, next to Leander. A snub.
He’s almost sure that’s not where his chair was before he took off.
A servant comes with pies in the shape of trout.
“You’ll like this,” Taryn says to him and Leander both. “There’s a coin inside one of the dishes, and if you find it, you’ll receive a boon.”
The High King is speaking to Wren, perhaps telling her about the coin as well. Oak can see the effort she’s making not to shrink in on herself.
Slabs of mushroom, grilled and shiny with a sweet sauce, are brought out. Then stewed pears alongside platters of cheese. Seed cakes. Sweet, fresh cream. Broad beans, still in their pods. More fanciful pies arrive. They’re shaped like stags and falcons, swords and wreaths—each with a different filling. Partridge stewed in spices. Blackberries and hazelnuts, pickled sloes, mallow fruit.