He seems to weigh her answer. “Do we need to fear her?”
“Can she summon Aoife—is that your question? Not if she is collared. Beyond that, it depends on her intentions. But if she is escaping Neilina’s grip, then I suspect not.”
He nods slowly. “If she’s not with you, then she’s in hiding somewhere.”
“Do not forget, from Argon to Skatrana, to Seacadore and then here, is several weeks of travel. At least.”
“So perhaps she hasn’t arrived yet.”
“Perhaps. Or she has, but she is staying hidden for reasons of her own.”
“Or she doesn’t know if she can trust me,” I say.
“There are plenty of rumors to stir confusion,” Wendeline agrees.
But what if Ianca somehow knows what I am? I’ve worked so hard to keep that secret to myself. What if this elemental arrives and unravels it all? What if she sees me as the threat Sofie warned me about and that’s why she’s coming here? I agree that I need to speak to Ianca, but if there’s a way to do it without Zander breathing down my neck, that would be safest.
An impossible feat, likely.
“You may go now, Wendeline. This conversation must remain between the three of us.” Zander watches her steadily.
“As expected, Your Highness.” She eases out of her chair, curtsying first to Zander, then to me.
I point to my face. “Thank you. For patching me up. Again.”
“You are certainly keeping me busy.” She winks and then departs, leaving Zander and me alone in my sitting room, wedged onto my settee.
Zander’s chest heaves with his exhale.
“You don’t trust her.”
“And you do?”
“Yes.”
He peers at me. “Completely?”
I stall on my answer. I trust her to heal me and, I think, to not hurt me. But I also know she repeats everything we discuss, and her duty is to Zander.
“You are no different than I,” he says, as if reading my thoughts. “I know she is honorable, but I do not know if she holds more allegiance for her people than for mine.”
“She left Ybaris, though. She came here on her own years ago.”
“I’m talking about Mordain, not Ybaris. And for what reason did she leave everything behind?”
“For Margrethe. She saved a baby who would have been killed.”
“That is the tale she gave us, yes.”
“You don’t believe it?” A pinch of betrayal flares with the suggestion that Wendeline might have fed me a false sob story.
“Stings, does it not? To be deceived by someone you find yourself caring for unexpectedly.” He pauses. “Do you never sense that she is leading you along a certain path with the information she provides? That she knows far more than she lets on?”
“I don’t know?” Everything Wendeline has told me is leading me somewhere, but it’s because I’m ignorant.
“I’m not saying that I do not believe her on that account, but I also know that Margrethe is not the only one who has received letters from Mordain.” He gives me a knowing look.
“Wendeline too? About what?”