She crosses her arms. “How stupid do you think I am?”
“Hmm. How’s Bayled bearing up?”
“He understands that I have a duty to my country. I love
him, but everything was conditional. He had to know this
could happen.”
I’m sickened to think she’s right. The temperate Bayled
Vasha probably does understand—which doesn’t bode well for
Thelia’s plans. He could carry a torch for Corene forever, ide-
alizing her sacrifice, instead of looking for a rebound like any
sensible man who’s just been jilted.
“Do either of these poor bastards know that you’re playing
a game of pa-chi-chi with them?” I ask.
“I am not!” Corene snatches my wine glass and downs it.
“I’m just trying to make Dad happy, Percy. If he thinks I love
Nul, then he won’t feel bad sending me away.”
I cross my arms. “So he’s
Nul
now?”
“Ugh! It doesn’t mean anything.” She gets her own glass
and fills it. It’s barely noon.
I arch an eyebrow. “Sure.”
Unlike Thelia, Corene’s never been a good liar. She lies
best when she believes she’s telling the truth. I’m sure that’s
how she convinced the Baron to leave Four Halls—and Thelia.
She stares into the red depths of her wine. “I love Bayled,
Percy. I’ve always loved him.”
I pat her back. “I know.” And yet . . . you don’t make out on
the stairs with a foreigner who can’t keep his shirt closed if you
love someone else.
It’s nothing new for her feelings to oscillate like the tides.
When she was eleven, she loved horses with her whole heart.
The next moon she begged her father for a hunting dog. She’s
always loved Bayled, though. And for all the other young nobles
27
