Page 154 of Trick

I should have shut him up a while ago. I did not care to be portrayed as a damsel swooning under his influence. Nor was I going to let him take the blame alone.

“The jester’s attempting to be heroic,” I countered. “I was under no spell.”

Basil ingested a thick breath, dismay wrinkling his visage. He and his wife had been pierced with a double-edged sword.

Poet’s influence stretched beyond Spring’s borders, and while half the court either desired Poet’s body, feared his tongue, or resented his position, the citizenry was different. Unanimously, they idolized him. He was the talk of the tavern, an idol among the brothels, and the main event in each story that drifted from the castle into the surrounding villages and towns.

Also, the king and queen couldn’t function without him. Poet was a member of their trusted council and the court’s most valuable player. Pass judgment on their beloved and renowned fool, and the monarchy would lose him to a deadly end, not to mention guarantee widespread disorder.

Slap his wrist and do nothing, and the people of Spring would lose respect for their sovereigns, contrasting principles be damned. They felt scorned by Poet and sought compensation. Only not at the expense of forsaking him altogether.

Add the princess of an allied nation to the mix, and things got even more complicated.

The king shoved out the words. “You are both accused of conspiring to thievery of a simpleton. Theft of your sovereign’s property and defiance against the Fools Decree are grounds for treason, the penalty of which is death.”

“The simpleton belongs to Summer,” Rhys reminded us. “Tell me, Court Idiot. In which manner would you like to die for stealing from a king?”

Poet cocked his head. “You’ll let me choose?”

“I shall let you choose.”

“Excellent. I’d prefer death by old age.”

More sniggers arose from the congregation. Briefly, Basil and Fatima folded their lips inward, struggling to keep their amusement at bay. The joke alone might have tempted them to absolve him. But despite their adoration for Poet, these monarchs had their limits. They had to set the example, but how they would manage that without risking the public’s wrath was anyone’s guess. Though, I would not discredit them to find a way.

Rhys boomed, “You dare to mock me?”

Poet tsked. “Some might say I have a prowess for that, particularly the ones who’ve hired me to exploit my skills.” His voice lowered, fatally calm. “And unlike you, I have respect for my profession.”

“Keep going, then. For every insolent breach, I shall have your anatomy displayed on a fucking pike, starting with your tongue.”

“Makes sense. It’s the most valuable part.”

“Poet.” I elbowed him and muttered under my breath, “Stop.”

But at this point, he was too livid to stop. Having his child sold like chattel will do that to any man. Because that was his right, I clammed up.

Basil checked himself, then made it clear. “If you wish to avoid retribution, you will inform us of the child’s whereabouts.”

“Do so promptly,” Fatima instructed. “Comply, and we shall be merciful.”

Poet and I held our tongues. They could do with us as they pleased, but we wouldn’t tell them. Unless they considered Nicu worth combing the land to its borders, he would stay safe.

Somber looks passed over Spring’s king and queen. Poet’s deception had truly wounded them. And why not? For the past year, they’ve trusted him on matters political and social. For that, they must feel gullible at best, disgraced at worst.

“Well, then,” Basil stammered, his grim features setting like stone. “Well.”

“The princess and the jester,” Rhys sneered. “It seems you two became quite the intimate allies during your jaunt in the wildflower forest. They say things happen there, isn’t that so? People stumble upon certain copses, and it loosens inhibitions the way a slut might loosen the slit in their drawers.”

“Donotgo there,” Poet growled, which had less to do with himself and more to do with me.

At the same time he spoke, Mother’s teeth came out. “You will not speak that way about my daughter.”

Rhys merely scoffed. I weathered the insult like a pebble bouncing off the surface of my skin.

Nonetheless, his pestilent accusation contaminated the room. Eliot winced, trenches burrowing into his countenance. Staring ahead prevented me from checking the Seven’s reactions, but the court members who were visible glared at us. They regarded Poet like a lover who had been unfaithful, me like a princess who’d never respected them in the first place, and both of us like traitors.

Spring’s meaning couldn’t be missed. The details stacked against us, and the attention we’d paid one another over the past weeks pointed to the obvious.

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