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There are hobs born with lined faces like tiny, hairless cats and smooth-limbed nixies whose true age shows only in their ancient eyes. I didn’t think time mattered to them.
    Oriana doesn’t look happy, but she isn’t actively shushing me, either, so maybe it’s not
that
rude. Or maybe she doesn’t expect any better than bad manners out of me.
    â€œWe may not die from age, but we grow weary with it,” Madoc says with a heavy sigh. “I have made war in Eldred’s name. I have broken Courts that denied him fealty. I have even led skirmishes against the Queen of the Undersea. But Eldred has lost his taste for bloodshed. He allows those under his banners to rebel in small and large ways even as other Courts refuse to submit to us. It’s time to ride to battle. It’s time for a new monarch, a hungry one.”
    Oriana furrows her brow in mild confusion. “By preference, your kin would have you safe.”
    â€œWhat good is a general with no war?” Madoc takes a large, restless swallow of wine. I wonder how often he needs to wet his cap with fresh blood. “The new king’s coronation will be at the autumn solstice. Worry not. I have a plan to ensure our futures. Only concern yourselves with making ready for a great deal of dancing.”
    I am wondering what his plan might be when Taryn kicks me under the table. When I turn to glare at her, she raises both brows. “Ask him,” she mouths.
    Madoc looks in her direction. “Yes?”
    â€œJude wants to ask you something,” Taryn says. The worst part is, I think she believes she’s helping.
    I take a deep breath. At least he seems to be in a good mood. “I’ve been thinking about the tournament.” I imagined saying these words many, many times, but now that I am actually doing it, they don’t seem to come out the way I planned. “I’m not bad with a sword.”
    â€œYou do yourself too modest,” Madoc says. “Your bladesmanship is excellent.”
    That seems encouraging. I look over at Taryn, who appears to be holding her breath. Everyone at the table has gone still except for Oak, who taps his glass against the side of his plate. “I am going to fight in the Summer Tournament, and I want declare myself ready to be chosen for knighthood.”
    Madoc’s brows go up. “That’s what you want? It’s dangerous work.”
    I nod. “I’m not afraid.”
    â€œInteresting,” he says. My heart thuds dully in my chest. I have thought through every aspect of this plan except for the possibility that he won’t allow it.
    â€œI want to make my own way at the Court,” I say.
    â€œYou’re no killer,” he tells me. I flinch, my gaze coming up to his. He looks back at me steadily with his golden cat eyes.
    â€œI could be,” I insist. “I’ve been training for a decade.”
    Since you took me
, I do not say, although it must be in my eyes.
    He shakes his head sadly. “What you lack is nothing to do with experience.”
    â€œNo, but—” I begin.
    â€œEnough. I have made my decision,” he says, raising his voice to cut me off. After a moment when we both are silent, he gives me a conciliatory half smile. “Fight in the tournament if you like, for sport, but you will not put on the green sash. You’re not ready to be a knight. You can ask me again after the coronation, if your heart’s still set on it. And if it’s a whim, that will be time enough for it to pass.”
    â€œThis is no whim!” I hate the desperation in my voice, but I have been counting down the days to the tournament. The idea of waiting months, just so he can turn me down again, fills me with wild despair.
    Madoc gives me an unreadable look. “After the coronation,” he repeats.
    I want to scream at him: Do you know how hard it is to always keep your head down? To swallow insults and endure outright