Swordsfolk go toe-to-toe against one another in single combat, fighting for the honor of impressing the High King and his Court. Ogres and foxkin, goblins and gwyllions, all engaged in the deadly dance of battle. After a few rounds, Vivi wants us to push through the crowd and buy more fruit skewers. I keep trying to catch Taryn’s eye, but she won’t allow it. I want to know if she’s angry. I want to ask what Locke said to her when they were standing together, although that might be the exact sort of question she would forbid. But the conversation with Locke couldn’t have been the humiliating kind, the kind she tries to pretend away, could it? Not when he practically told me he delighted in Cardan’s being brought low. Which makes me think of the other question I can’t ask Taryn. Not that I’d be the first to green gown her. Faeries can’t lie. Cardan couldn’t have said it if he didn’t believe it to be true—but why would he think that? Vivi knocks her skewer against mine, bringing me out of my reverie.
