Page 56 of Vale of Dreams

My fingers tighten around the stem of my glass. I can feel all the eyes on me and the sharp tension piercing the room.

I lean in closer to her. Nia Melisende might be a people-pleaser, but Nia Vaillancourt is an absolute bitch in the right circumstances. I can’t exactly change personalities now.

“I’m the dull and inconsequential one, am I?” I say loudly enough for everyone to hear. “And yet here you are, throwing a public temper tantrum to get my attention, demanding that I look at you. Desperate for me to acknowledge you. Because it hurts, doesn’t it, to sit so far, far away from the prince? To not earn his pledges of devotion?”

Her features pale, and then pink splotches appear across her neck. “When I am queen, you will regret your words. People who cross me always live to regret it.”

“Weird. You don’t seem as if you are about to become queen, at least not anytime soon.”

“I remember one of his girls from six months ago. He met her during some holiday trip. She was his favorite toy for a few weeks. Later, they fished her corpse from the nearby lily pond. That’s what happens when the prince tires of his playthings. You get a beautiful moment basking in the warm, dazzling sun of his attention. You get little trinkets and baubles like the necklace you’re wearing, and you think he loves you. Then he casts you into the shadows. Soon, they’ll dig up another bloated corpse of a whore. Or they’ll find you trampled by a horse. The world won’t mourn the loss of another desperate harlot. But I will still be around.”

“All those bodies you referenced—are you accusing His Highness of murder?”

Her smile falters, and panic flashes in her eyes. “Of course not. I’m suggesting they ended their own lives after they found he no longer wanted them. The nobodies like you who come from nowhere, who bask briefly in the light of wealth and power, of seduction by a prince. You’ll get a taste for the intoxicating nectar of what belongs to people like me. You’ll grow addicted to the prestige, the money. And when you’re sent back to the dark obscurity of the filthy pig farm that spawned you, you will want to die, too. Then he will return to me. If I were you, Nia, I would get lost now before you learn how it feels to plunge from the lofty heights of Perillos back into the squalid Lauron dirt. Don’t forget, Talan and I have known each other for years. Much longer than your two-day romp.”

This monstrous harridan seems perfect for Talan, really. But with someone like her, I can’t afford to back down. Fear fuels her strength.

I sigh loudly. “Well, that’s just the thing, isn’t it? We all tire of the boring old things we grew up with. Those comfortable but worn-out belongings that no longer seem quite so exciting, like an old pair of slippers. He’s had so long to marry you. Quite frankly, it doesn’t seem like he wants to. All of this is starting to seem a bit sad, I think.”

I turn sharply away from her to find Talan draped over his chair, watching us with amusement. I think he likes having women fight over him.

I walk over to a bowl of fruit laid out on the tables and pluck a raspberry, popping it in my mouth. The crowd starts murmuring again, no doubt gossiping over the scene we just caused. I pick up my glass of mead and take a sip as I watch Arwenna discreetly. Mentally, I make a note of every person she speaks to, memorizing their descriptions. Later, I’ll run them by Nivene to see what she can tell me.

At last, I spot the bright white hair of Duke Ker-Ys. When I turn to look at him, I realize he’s watching me, leaning against one of the hall’s pillars. I school my expression to look lost—a remnant of the girl I used to be before Avalon Tower. Staring into my glass, I pretend that I don’t know what to do with myself. It works like a charm. Instantly, the duke is heading toward me.

He stops a few feet away and bows deeply. “May I have this next dance, miss?”

“It would be my honor, my lord,” I say shyly. I slide my glass onto the table and try to prepare myself for what will come next, the disorienting rush of mind-control powers, followed by a skull-shattering headache. I have little desire to repeat that experience, but a job is a job.

The duke leads me to the dance floor, then grabs my hand stiffly. Duke Ker-Ys isn’t nearly as good a dancer as Talan. He manages to step on my toes twice within the first minute, then chuckles. “A bit clumsy, aren’t you, dear? Don’t worry. Enough time with us at court, and you’ll learn.”

I’m now desperate enough to end this dance that I start to summon my telepathy powers—the strings of crimson magic like red ribbons I unfurl. As I draw on my powers, pain lances my skull, nearly making me gasp, and my fingers tighten. I command a ribbon of red energy to slide into Ker-Ys’s mind.

It’s hard to concentrate on Ker-Ys’s thoughts through the constant pain, but I just about manage. He’s old, his mind byzantine, a labyrinth of desires and fantasies. Foremost in his mind is the way he imagines how dominant he is, dancing with the royal prince’s mistress. Everyone around him can see that he doesn’t fear the prince, that he is a real man who can lead.

But diving deeper into his mind, I find the source of those thoughts—the ever-present, gnawing terror of the crown prince and his father. What will they do if he loses their favor? Will he end up bleeding on the banquet floor, dragged out by servants because of the wild whims of a mad prince?

What will he do if that twisted prince suddenly covets his lands—or, horror of horrors, if they find out what he has planned? It’s treason, of course. There’s no way around it. And the way they kill traitors in Brocéliande is enough to make anyone’s blood curdle. Considering what might have happened to Ael, the slow, excruciating public evisceration, he was given a merciful death. What would they do to Ker-Ys, though? Something far worse. He knows it would be worse, and that he would not be brave in the face of that punishment, that he would shriek like a girl as the horses pull him limb from limb, as they peel off his skin.

I can make his fear work against him. I could do it right now and stop this torment. My head throbs as if my brain is being skewered repeatedly with a blunt sword.

But I force myself to keep digging. I have to make sure he’ll keep his mouth shut about Goulven.

I run deeper into the maze of his mind, searching for the plot to take down Auberon. I glimpse it there—the meetings with several lower nobles—and then a shady individual called Goulven. A commoner who could help with some of the more unsavory, bloody tasks.

I clench my teeth and ram my powers into that memory, crushing it. I wipe the name Goulven from Ker-Ys’s mind. He doesn’t remember what he’s called or what he looks like. In fact, he’s not even sure if he was there.

Done.

Now my body is shaking with pain, skin sweating, my jaw clenched. I feel like I’m about to throw up. Just a bit more…

I focus on Ker-Ys’s fear of discovery.

Talan already knows, I whisper into his thoughts. He must’ve unearthed the secrets in your dreams. That grotesque display with Lord Ael was a warning for you, a prelude to the fate that awaits you. Talan probably intends to arrest you after the banquet. But there is hope. Just a tiny, flickering glimmer of hope. The only chance of leniency is if you confess first. If you give away the other conspirators’ names, Talan and his father might show mercy. In fact, maybe Talan hasn’t told King Auberon yet. You must confess to Prince Talan alone, away from prying ears, and throw yourself on his mercy…

I pull away, the agony still ringing in my skull like a cursed bell.

Ker-Ys is pale, looking as sick as I feel, but I mask my pain as best I can.

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