Penny strode towards the table.

Or perhaps marched, she thought, was a better word for it; her father had often said that she had the heart of a warrior. He'd once found her dangling upside-down off a wooden beam in the stables, her red plaits hanging like twin ropes, and shaken his head. "My little Penelope," he'd mused. "You're far too brave for your own good, you know that?"

Ryne was the cautious Delafort sibling. The sensible one. He liked to plot and plan and scheme.

Penny liked to gobble up the world. She wanted to taste everything. To greedily devour it.

She could feel Eris watching her as she drew closer. Appraising her. They hadn't seen each other since her father's funeral several years ago, although her older cousin looked the same to her: all raven-black hair and the Delafort green eyes.

"Eris," she said, inclining her head.

His mouth quirked. "Penelope. Sit."

He gestured for the dark-haired women on his left to move over. She did so gracefully, and Penny caught a flash of a curved tattoo on her thigh. A shiver went through her. So this was the Scythe; she'd heard a lot about Eris's right-hand woman over the years. The Scythe hailed from Salvatoria, and rumour had it that she could shape-shift into anyone. Cut to the very core of them and duplicate it.

Penny swallowed.

She took the chair. "How is your hat?"

An innocent question, but a barb. Eris's face didn't change as he speared a berry.

"I have others."

"You must forgive Ryne," Penny said. "He can be quite... spirited."

Her eyes went to her brother, who was staring at a spoon. She'd seen boiled potatoes with more spirit. Eris rubbed his jaw.

"He's not well, is he?"

Penny stiffened. "What makes you say that?"

Eris's amusement felt like champagne, fizzing along her skin. "So defensive, Penelope." He reached for another berry. "Your thoughts are written all over your face. You should work on that, you know. Someone might take advantage of it."

Her heartbeat picked up. "Ryne will make a full recovery."

"Will he, now?" Eris popped the berry into his mouth. "And what if he doesn't?"

"He will."

"The crown," Eris said, ignoring her, "must go to a Delafort. Not a common blacksmith's daughter." His green eyes were hard marbles in the candlelight. "And as you are not male, it will go to me."

Ah.

So that's what this was about.

Penny cut a slice of cake, pressing her fork into the soft chocolate sponge. Red juice oozed on to her plate. "Are you asking me if I'm going to challenge you for the crown?"

Eris waved a hand. "The councilors will never take you seriously."

"And yet," Penny said, "here you are, asking me about it." She set down her fork. "Someone might make the mistake of thinking you're afraid."

Seconds ticked by. The low murmur of chatter filled the banquet hall, broken only by the occasion tinkle of glass or the swell of violin. Eris swirled a glass of wine.

"I heard about your overdose in the winter," he said. "Somnium can be such a cruel master. I trust you're doing well now?"

Penny refused to flinch. "Exceptionally."

"No physical ailments?"

She took a bite of cake. "None."

"And your memory?" Eris asked.

Penny forced herself to chew. To swallow. This, she reminded herself, was what Eris did; he pressed down until you flinched, to see which parts of you were bruised. And he enjoyed it. Even now, she could feel his excitement, thrumming like a plucked violin string.

She met his gaze. "You'll find that my memory has always been selective."

"Selective?"

"Oh, yes," Penny said cheerfully. "I have an excellent habit of forgetting things when it's most convenient to me."

She smiled. Eris's gaze shuttered. There was something childish about it, she thought, like a toddler whose favourite toy had been taken away from him. Her cousin shifted to face Ryne, who was doing an admirable job of eating cake and ignoring them.

Eris crossed his arms. "Where is your shadow this evening?"

"Well, Eris," Ryne said slowly, "it's currently dusk. And when the sun goes beneath the horizon, that means—"

Eris waved him off. "You know who I mean. Isaac Webb. Where is he?"

There was a short, terrible silence. Eris's excitement grew, becoming jumpy bugs in her stomach, and Penny dug her fingernails into her palm. There was something horrible about Eris's emotions; all of them had a manic edge to them, like free falling from a cliff.

"Gone." It was Camille that spoke. "Isaac has returned home for a few months to sort out the affairs of his estate." She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. "He'll inherit it this year."

"Gone," Eris repeated.

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

There was an edge to Camille's voice, and Penny looked at her sharply. It was unlike her adopted sister to lose her temper; it was even less like Camille to lose it in public. Where in the blazing hells had she gone this morning? What could have possibly upset her so badly in the span of a few hours?

Eris draped an arm over the back of his chair. "And Webb's left you alone, cousin? How unusual."

Ryne took a sip of wine. "Isaac is a free man. He can do as he pleases."

"Webb is your lap dog," Eris said, his lip curling. "If you throw a stick, he'll fetch it for you. I expect you even take your baths together."

"Don't be ridiculous," Ryne said mildly. "Isaac is huge. We'd never fit in the same tub."

Her brother met Eris's gaze coolly. Penny could remember a time when people got them mixed up, mistaking one Delafort boy for the other, although she'd never been able to see it. Eris moved through the world like a battering ram; Ryne, like a concealed knife.

"I want to meet her," Eris said. "Annalise Cidarius."

The whole table seemed to quiet. Slowly, Ryne lowered his fork.

"And why," he said, "would you want to do that?"

Eris flicked a ring between his fingers, and it flashed silver like freshly-polished armor. "Consider it curiosity. You can bring her to dinner tomorrow."

"To be clear," Ryne said, "you would like me to endanger the entire castle by bringing a high-security prisoner to dinner so you can satisfy your curiosity?"

His voice was wry, but there was an undercurrent of something. Something dark that slithered through the depths of the sea. If it was anyone else, Penny thought, they would be hurriedly apologizing; as it was, Eris shrugged and took a bite of cake.

"It shouldn't be an issue." He paused. "Unless you can't control her, of course."

The entire room was listening, now. If this was a novel, Penny thought, she would have written that you could have heard a pin drop. Not that you could ever hear much in the banquet hall; Brigid had insisted on covering the floor in hideous rugs, so the room smelled of mildew and bore a large resemblance to a batty grandmother's tea parlour.

"I can control her," Ryne said.

Her brother was still holding his fork, his grip relaxed. Eris crossed his arms.

"How can you be certain?"

Ryne's voice was cool. "I have her in hand."

"Yes," Eris said. "That I believe." He leaned forward. "Tell me, cousin; exactly how much of Annalise Cidarius have you had in your hand?"

Next to him, the Scythe made a sound that could have been a laugh or a derisive snort. Ryne set down his fork.

"I'm happily engaged," he said.

He took Camille's hand, holding it in the same way that he might hold a sword: gripping it with years of practice, wielding it like a weapon. Eris rubbed his jaw.

"That does not answer my question," he said.

"Anna—" Ryne paused. "The prisoner is being kept under close watch. I can assure you that none of these attacks are her doing."

Penny looked at Ryne. He had slipped-up on purpose; she was sure of it. Ryne never did anything by accident. And indeed, Eris was leaning forward, and those jumpy bugs in her stomach began to triumphantly flutter their wings. He thought he'd found Ryne's bruise, Penny thought; but she'd seen her brother do this before. Eris was nothing more than a rabbit with a foot caught in a trap.

"But how can you know?" Eris asked. "How can you be certain that you have the prisoner in hand?" He paused. Presumably, Penny thought, for dramatic effect. "Unless you have something that you're not telling us. Some way of controlling the Cidarius girl that you haven't told the rest of us about. Blackmail? Bribery? Don't keep us waiting, cousin."

Courtiers watched the exchange, rapt, food raised halfway to their mouths. Ryne sipped his wine and ignored them.

"There is no secret," he said. "I've shared everything."

Eris spread his palms on the table. "So you're treating her as a regular prisoner."

"Yes."

"The Nightweaver Queen."

Eris's voice dripped with skepticism. Ryne looked at him and said nothing, and Eris's smile widened.

"I should like to meet her," he said. "As I've already stated."

Ryne shrugged. "And I should like a thousand jam tarts and a pet dragon. But alas, we cannot always have what we want."

"You say that you have her under control," Eris said. "Prove it. Bring her to dinner tomorrow. Prove to me and your court that this castle is safe." He swept an arm toward the courtiers." "You owe them that much, at least."

A low buzz began, like the slow waking of insects from hibernation. A stone lodged in her throat. Eris was a showman, Penny thought; where Ryne excelled at strategy, their cousin excelled at performance. And he was putting on the performance of his godsdamn life.

Ryne looked at her, and Penny shook her head. She could feel the mood of the room shifting, a tide that ebbed towards Eris. They're on his side, she tried to say. Ryne inclined his head, just a little. He understood.

"Very well," Ryne said. "I'll bring her to dinner, then." He leaned forward, dropping his voice so that only Eris could hear. "But if she puts a butter knife into your hand, then I won't try to stop her."

"Oh, that's alright," Eris said, his lip curling. "I expect I'd enjoy it."

He plucked a berry from the tray. Something flared inside her, bright and hot, so fierce that Penny almost yelped at the shock of it. But when she turned to Ryne, he was calmly cutting into his cake. As if nothing had bothered him.

As if nothing ever would.