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A divot formed between his brows. “I know only what I have been told. There are rumors that my cousin did not leave your court voluntarily. That he and King Erik parted on hostile terms. If that is the case, I cannot imagine that the king would send his betrothed here as a representative of peace.”

“I cannot imagine it either,” I said, my tone sharpening, “especially as that is not the case. And—forgive me—but even if I were here under duress, I fail to understand why you would intervene. Simply to injure Empress Rheya once again?”

After all, Finbar hadn’t looked closely enough at Perla, a true prisoner here. He hadn’t helped her when she’d needed it most.

He hesitated, jaw flickering. Then he braced one hand against the wall before me, and I stiffened, believing he meant to block me in. But as he leaned forward, breathing out the scent of wine, I realized he likely needed the wall to steady himself.

“You see me as a traitor to my empire,” he said. A sprawling, multi-shaped tattoo peeked from under his rolled-up shirt sleeve, its images indistinct in the shadows.

“Like you,” I said evenly, “I know only what I have been told.”

“Then know what I tell you. I bear no ill will toward Rheya. My only gripe lies with those to whom she has misguidedly granted power.”

I blinked, remembering what Keil had told me: Arun lobbied for Finbar’s execution.

Perhaps because Finbar had first lobbied against him.

“That’s why you worked with rebels?” I asked, incredulous. “Because you didn’t trust Rheya’s court?”

His eyes narrowed into that characteristic Arcus gaze: shrewd and all-seeing. “I don’t trust anyone who seeks to remember that which should remain forgotten.”

Before I could decipher his meaning, he backed out of my breathing space.

“If all is truly well, I’ll leave you be.” He looked me over, appearing to note my attire for the first time. “Judging by whatever night you’ve had,” he added drily, “you appear to need your rest.”

I remained there until the floors gained the first color of dawn, my heart throbbing with a sinking fear. That direct line of correspondence could very well bypass Arun’s agents. And if Finbar hadn’t believed me, if he sensed something amiss in my presence on the island . . . he truly would contact Erik.

And the king would know exactly where to find me.

Where the island had thrummed with music and twinkling lights the night before, morning ushered in a drowsy silence that seemed to extend beyond the open windows of our lounge. Until the second jolly began tonight, Banarrat was in a state of rest.

Which gave me the perfect opportunity to invite Perla for a late breakfast.

For the sake of appearances, she’d arrived with the polite air of one noblewoman calling on another—carrying a basket of sweet golden pears, almond-stuffed dates, and little cherry-studded tarts. Then she’d dumped the basket on the hallway table the moment the door had shut behind her.

Now, as I sat on an armchair, feeding my specter through a ramekin-sized training hoop—my smallest yet—Perla tinkered away at the breakfast table, expertly forming a key-copying mold from clay and the metal compact case that had contained my kohl.

Since stealing the key to Perla’s oath band would only alert Holden, we planned instead to copy it, so Perla could reset the band herself. Once we were back on the mainland, we would go about finding a locksmith who could remove the band altogether.

“You’ve made one of these before,” Dashiel said, portioning the clay for her. He’d introduced himself to Perla with characteristic kindness, and they’d gotten along amicably, sharing a fondness for focused work and pleasant silence.

Meanwhile, Goren had greeted her with a stony up-and-down glance. Seemingly recognizing him even without the mask, she’d simply returned his glare.

“My father taught me,” she said to Dashiel now, smiling fondly. “He said being a noble didn’t automatically mean all the doors in the kingdom were open to you. Sometimes, you must make a key of your own.”

Dashiel chuckled. “He sounds like a resourceful man.”

Perla’s smile faded. “He is.”

My chest squeezed as I looked at her oath band. I had no doubt that Erik had learned about Perla’s expertise with locks, and that he’d designed this punishment specifically because of how she’d freed me.

You understand that helping Perla will split our attention and resources, Dashiel had said to me gently this morning, when I’d gathered the group to form a battle plan. If you truly want to destroy the compass and stop Erik, then our focus should remain on retrieving the sword.

I knew he wasn’t in favor of abandoning her here. He was simply laying out the bleak reality, making sure I grasped the consequences.

Perla’s presence here is linked to the sword, I’d said, having mentally rehearsed my argument. Erik is using her as a bargaining tool to get him one step closer to this island. Which means getting her out of Banarrat will help us, too.

Still, you may eventually have to choose between the lady and your task.