Page 84 of The Prisoner's Throne
“They’re clever questions,” Oak says. “They seem difficult, but she might well be able to guess both. Not a bad suggestion.”
His mother frowns, and he takes perverse delight in having turned her words against her. But at least he’s certain that if she’s so obvious in urging him to walk away, she isn’t engaged in a secret manipulation of Wren. “Hoping I will seek Nicasia’s hand instead?” he asks, thinking of Tatterfell’s theory.
Oriana’s eyes go wide. “Of course not. That would be madness.”
“You don’t think my sister wants—”
“No,” his mother says. “She wouldn’t. You would never survive down there.”
If Judedoesplan on his marrying Nicasia, she hasn’t started the process of suborning Oriana. And while, being the High Queen, she could do whatever she wants, you’d think she’d have brought it up once, at least.
He reminds himself that he can’t be sure, though. Right now, he can’t be sure of anything.
Taryn has stuck by Wren. They are speaking together, standing beside the Ghost’s horse. For a moment, he thinks of going over there and dumping his red clover tea over his sister’s head.
Hyacinthe walks toward Oak, signaling with raised brows.
The prince kisses his mother’s cheek. “See? After considering the Undersea, nothing seems so bad.” Then he leaves her and goes to where Hyacinthe is scowling at him.
“I heard you last night,” Hyacinthe says, low-voiced.
That could mean a lot of things. “And?”
“With your nephew,” he says.
Oak winces. He should have realized that if he could eavesdrop on Tiernan and Hyacinthe, it was equally possible for him to be eaves-dropped upon.
“Were you going to deliver what I asked of you?” Hyacinthe asks. “Or are you the coward who lets your mother’s murderer walk free?”
Oak has been asking himself about the closer betrayals, but eventually he would have to answer that question. “I thought you’d had enough of revenge.”
“I am not speaking of myself,” Hyacinthe reminds him. “And I told you that I did not release you from your vow.”
Choosing the worst possible moment, the Ghost moves toward them, a skin of wine and two carved wooden cups in his hand.Right, because he was going to give Oak an update on whatever it was he was seeking to find out the night before.
“Send him away,” Hyacinthe says.
“He knows something,” Oak objects.
“Send him away or I will stab him through,” hisses Hyacinthe under his breath.
“A cup of mead, prince?” offers the Ghost, pouring one for Oak and then one for himself. He glances at Hyacinthe. “I am afraid I only brought the two, but if you bring yours, I will pour.”
Oak’s cheeks feel hot, and there is a roaring in his ears the way there is when he gives in to instinct and fights without mercy. He takes the cup of honey wine and drinks it. It’s too sweet and cloying in his mouth.
The Ghost takes his in a gulp, then winces. “Not good wine, but wine nonetheless. Now, if you will walk with me.”
“I am afraid I can’t talk right now,” the prince tells Garrett.
The Ghost must hear something in his voice. Looking puzzled, he says, “Come find me when you’re ready, but it must be soon. I will ride a little ways north so that we will be alone. When we’re done, we will speak with your sister.”
“You’re gripping your sword,” Hyacinthe tells Oak in a low voice as the spy departs.
Oak glances down at his hand, surprised to find it curled around the hilt of his blade. Surprised to find it shaking a little.
“I have to go after him,” the prince says. “Someone’s manipulating Wren.”
“Manipulating? Who? How?” Hyacinthe asks. “I don’t know.”
