A Court of Innocents

36: Guiding Light

Helion was waiting for us when we stepped through the threshold of Tamlin's chambers an hour later. It was nearing midday, and the palace was in chaos. The High Lord had sent his servants into a frenzy when he announced a party with less than two days' notice. At least a hundred of them had been moving around the courtyard in a hurry, frantically rolling out carpets and setting up tables and arranging streamers.

By contrast, Helion didn't seem to have a care in the world as he reclined in the chaise lounge that I had occupied last night. He eyed Tamlin and me, and the bags between us.

"Have a nice time in Hollin?" asked the High Lord.

"It's a beautiful city—" Tamlin began.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, not bothering with pleasantries. "Don't you have a party to prepare for? Or servants to dress you up like the famous Spell-Cleaver?"

"The party will prepare itself. As for my appearance, I could show up in five layers of clothing and get the same reaction as I would if I arrived stark naked. My attire doesn't matter."

Tamlin took my bags and moved them to the corner of the room.

I remained by the door, my gaze locked on Helion as I raised an eyebrow. "Why do I get the feeling that you've done both?"

"Because I have." The High Lord smirked, and I knew he would be more than delighted to recount that particular night.

The somber occasion for my visit to his court had almost made me forget that Helion had a certain reputation. He threw the wildest events in all of Prythian. I'd only ever heard rumors about his gatherings, but my heart was suddenly picking up speed at the thought of attending one.

"What are you doing here?" I asked again, ignoring the look that Tamlin shot me, his eyes warning me to tread lightly.

"There's been a slight change of plans." Helion sat up, and suddenly that expression was purely business.

I wasn't foolish enough to hope that the change in plans was a cancellation of the night's event. My luck was never that good.

Tamlin returned to the armchair he had occupied most of the night. "What is it?"

"I have reason to believe that Autumn spies will be in attendance tonight. And I have a nagging thought that they'll be paying close attention to the High Lords, observing who we speak to, how much alcohol we consume, et cetera. I'd originally thought to hold our meeting while the party was at its rowdiest, but that is no longer an option. Simply allowing the drinks to flow freely won't be enough. Those spies would notice our absence, and I won't risk word of our meeting getting back to Autumn." He fell silent for so long that I wondered if he had brought us no other news. He was lying the problem in our laps and offering no solution.

But this was Helion Spell-Cleaver, the High Lord of the most knowledgeable court in Prythian. He was always three steps ahead of everyone.

"What's your solution?" I wondered.

"We offer up a distraction. Something big enough to draw the attention of everyone, including the watchful spies." He had been looking between us, speaking to us both, but now his gaze landed directly on me. "With your past experience in the Night Court, I figured you'd think up something that would cause a trained spy to be reasonably distracted for a good twenty minutes. Or an hour."

"I don't know what you're—"

"Rhysand told me."

Of course he had. Rhysand enjoyed allying himself with the most cunning men in the continent, didn't he? And damn whoever had a problem with it because he was a High Lord, the savior of his court.