You’re very late, the fox said frankly.
Yes.
I’ve been thinking, said the fox, about what it’d be like to be bonded to someone I didn’t lie to.
Bitterblue had wondered if this topic would be forthcoming. Adventure, she said. I’m not certain you comprehend what a queen is, or how complicated it would be for one to have a telepathic fox.
Complicated sounds interesting.
I could not possibly lie about you to any of the people I trust. I’m afraid it would extend far beyond Giddon.
I’ve been thinking about that, said the fox. You live in Monsea. There are no other blue foxes there. What if I began a brand-new culture of foxkind, with brand-new rules? Less lying!
I admit, that’s interesting, said Bitterblue, meaning it. Such a thing would be both complicated and interesting.
Do you have airships in Monsea? asked the fox primly.
No.
You really should.
Adventure, said Bitterblue. Focus. I don’t think you realize how many ground rules we’d have to have. For example, no reading people’s minds.
What? said the fox. Ever?
Maybe, if someone is an enemy. I don’t know. We’d need to talk about it.
I’m not sure how not to read people’s minds, the fox said, if their minds are hanging wide open.
Well, practice, said Bitterblue, feeling stern, and tired, and hopeful. There are three dozen people on this street, all staring at me. Can you try reading none of their minds?
* * *
—
When Bitterblue finally reached the hotel, the hotel guards were closing the doors behind a pale, blond-haired woman in a yellow coat.
“Oh, hello,” said Bitterblue, who’d never seen this woman before. She was so surprised to encounter someone from home that she almost forgot to speak Lingian.
The woman shrank at the sight of her. She shot Bitterblue one quick, searching look through black and yellow eyes. “Hello, Lady Queen,” she said, then scampered away down the street.
Bitterblue found Giddon inside the doors, staring into the middle distance with a thoughtful and slightly grumpy expression. Since no one else was in the lobby and Ranin and Mart were still trailing behind, Bitterblue had the pleasure of admiring him for a moment, then going to him and kissing him.
“I have something to tell you,” she said.
Happy birthday? suggested the fox, who was still hiding in her hood.
You be quiet! Bitterblue said. And no mind reading!
I’m not! he cried indignantly. But you should ask him about that woman! I know her!
“And I, you,” said Giddon, the grouchy lines of his face smoothing as he returned her kiss. “Did you see that woman who just left?”
“I did.”
“That’s Trina.”
“The Graceling who betrayed you?” said Bitterblue, surprised.
“And you,” he reminded her.
“What did she want?”
“Believe it or not,” said Giddon, “she claims she wants to know what it would mean to get involved with the Council.”
“Oh,” said Bitterblue, understanding. “Do you trust her?”
“That’s always the question, isn’t it?”
“Along those same lines,” said Bitterblue, “before you say anything more, I have someone to introduce to you.”
“Okay,” he said. “Wait, what?” he said suddenly, groping at her coat, his voice changing. “Bitterblue? Is there a fox in your hood?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Oh dear,” he said, in a voice like he knew what was coming.
“Yes,” she said. “Are you ready for the next big decision?”
Chapter Forty-four
Lovisa faced an awful choice.
Where was her father now? Suffering in a jail cell, with nothing to distract himself, nothing to read? Good, she kept telling herself. That’s where he belongs. And her mind knew it was true, but her heart was with him in his cell, wondering if he was cold. If his face had healed, if his mouth hurt when he ate. If he was scared.
And then her heart would jump to that boat trip, sick and confused, as he lied and made excuses that eventually turned to threats.
If she testified against him, she was probably signing his death warrant. Which is what he deserves, she kept telling herself, but that was a place her heart could not go.
If she decided not to testify against him, he might actually get away with it. Maybe do some prison time for smaller offenses, as an accessory to someone else’s crimes. Maybe lose a portion of his fortune. But then, be a free man. Be the father to her brothers. Raise them. Be her own father. Be part of Ledra society. Probably begin to rise, politically or commercially, again.
So then? Should she testify?
If she did, then it was as if they were standing together on the roof of the northern house again and she pushed him, her own father, off the edge.
* * *
—
When an academy messenger intercepted Lovisa on campus, handing her a sealed note that turned out to be an invitation to Saturday lunch with the Queen of Monsea, Lovisa was only half surprised.
After all, Lovisa was famous. Everyone wanted to have lunch with her. Strangers, acquaintances, family friends, lawyers—especially lawyers. So many people were trying to push themselves into Lovisa’s life right now to “help” her with her family situation that it was hard to do her schoolwork, walk through campus to class, cross the city. People seemed to recognize her immediately. The white streak in her hair that marked her as Ferla’s daughter turned her into a beacon for opportunists. A few of her friends—Nev, Mari, some of Mari’s crowd, and even a few teachers, like Gorga Balava—had taken to offering their chaperonage, wherever she went. Lovisa had a feeling that some of them offered because they liked the association with a notorious celebrity. But some of them—Nev, Mari, Gorga—seemed actually concerned for her.
What surprised Lovisa about the invitation was that when she arrived at the queen’s hotel and was ushered into the dining room, the queen was the only person in the room.
In fact, once Lovisa was seated, Bitterblue got up, pulled the door shut, then sat catty-corner to Lovisa at a table that would easily have accommodated twenty.
Lovisa was tired of fuss. She also had a lot of homework to get back to. “Bitterblue?” she said. “What’s this about?”