The Orphan Queen (The Orphan Queen #1)(73)

“Ah.” I didn’t take my eyes off James. “How fortunate for me. I get, what, half of your attention all to myself?”

James shook his head. “Perhaps a third. His Highness takes a lot of looking after.”

I feigned a dramatic sigh. “I’ll forgive you if you escort me to the buffet before the next dance begins.” The table was across the room, and sadly neglected. The thought of all that food going to waste at the end of the night made me sick, but it wasn’t as though I could single-handedly eat all of it, or deliver it to the Ospreys or refugees.

James took my arm as we walked around the edge of the ballroom, out of the way of dancers. The whole place was a wash of movement, with couples on the floor, flames on candles, and the vibrations of music on the air. Elegant gowns swished and flared, their gemstones catching the light.

This was almost my life. It would have been, before the One-Night War. Before Tobiah and the fighting and the Indigo Army murdering my parents in the courtyard for all to see. And now that I’d seen the source of the contention between the kingdoms—the wraithland created by industrialized magic—everything grew muddled and murky in my head.

I paused, closed my eyes, and breathed against the tide of memories and emotions.

“My lady?” James touched my wrist gently. “We can rest, if you’re not feeling well enough to dance.”

“I’m fine.” I had so many questions about my parents’ plans for Aecor and magic. There was so much I needed to consider, but this wasn’t the time. This wasn’t the place. “I’m fine,” I said again, as though I could command away all my uncertainties.

We moved to the buffet, a long table draped with a white cloth. House sigils covered the front, mostly dragons. My stomach rumbled as I spotted platters filled with salads prepared as intricate and colorful mosaics, sandwiches of every kind, and tiny desserts: pies, tarts, and puddings.

Music and laughter covered the sound of my hunger, but James flashed a knowing smile. “I hope you’re enjoying your return to palace society.”

“I suppose the company is adequate.” I tried to keep my voice light. “Honestly, I’m very relieved to be here. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to attend.”

His expression turned unreadable as he offered a small plate of canapés: egg, cheese, and salmon. I took one.

James shifted closer to me, his voice low. “Are you concerned about what I told you?”

I shook my head. “Why should I be? A warehouse robbery is unfortunate, but has nothing to do with me. I’m certain an inquiry will find my residency documents completely authentic.”

“It’s just that you arrived so shortly after the robbery. Some would find it suspicious.” James shrugged. “But as you said, I’m sure your papers are without fault.”

I finished the canapé.

“Will you confront Lady Chey, once your name has been cleared?”

“I would hate to embarrass her by drawing attention to the scandal.”

“That’s very forgiving of you.”

“Perhaps.” How many people suspected, though? Chey, certainly. Meredith? They’d been awfully insistent for me to demonstrate my ability to use a hand spindle. It must have been a kind of test—one I’d failed.

I wasn’t ready to leave, though. Not until I’d shared my experience in the wraithland with someone who had a chance of using the information for good. Maybe the pieces of the barrier would help, too; I could say I’d been keeping them all this time as talismans against the wraith, like Connor and others did with small mirrors.

“Do you think His Highness would reconsider allowing me back onto the wraith mitigation committee?”

James lifted an eyebrow.

“While I was ill, I did a lot of thinking and remembering. I might have more information we didn’t cover before.”

“I can’t promise anything, but I will ask.” The dance finished with a flute trill and flourish. The dancers bowed and curtsied. James checked on the prince, then offered his hand. “Shall we dance the next?”

As the musicians began playing, I took my place before him and curtsied. He bowed.

“Last time we danced,” James said, “you mentioned you enjoyed sewing.”

Had I? So much had happened since then, but I had a vague memory of saying sewing when I meant fighting.

“But I’ve heard rumors from certain ladies you hardly participate when they meet in the ladies’ solar. Have you given up such pursuits?”

“Of course not.” I summoned a blush. “Though my focus has shifted toward stopping the wraith, since my experiences in the wraithland.” How strange, being able to reference my time in that nightmare and have it be true.

James nodded, sympathy in his eyes. “I imagine it has. My grandmother enjoyed knitting and needlepoint, and she made many fine things. But she tended to do that only when she was working on a separate problem. She said it helped her focus.”

My thoughts flashed to another boy mentioning his grandmother and sewing. But certainly lots of grandmothers enjoyed that.

“Do you still draw?” he asked.

“Yes, of course.” That was something I had prepared for: there was a pile of drawings in my apartments, ready as evidence. Part of me wanted to mention the Black Knife drawing to James and see his reaction, but I kept its existence to myself.