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“Tamlin is too busy running about on all fours chasing after rabbits and squirrels to notice what’s happening beyond his borders. Or what his official Second in command does on his behalf. And the people of the Spring Court are too busy trying to scrape a living out of the land to care one way or another who rules them or what they do.”

“You’re insane,” Vassa said unsteadily. Lucien appeared inclined to agree. “Who, exactly, are you trying to fool here?”

Rhys stabbed a finger to the inset of Prythian on the left of the map. “Tamlin has the only court that lost land after the Sundering War. It makes sense that he, as its High Lord, would leap at the chance to reclaim his ancestral borders. At least, it would make sense to someone like Beron, who would then divulge all the details—the proof—we need.”

Lucien gazed at the Veritas orb on the table, face grim. Thinking it over.

My mate’s plan wasn’t a bad one, but something like guilt pricked my conscience. “I thought you were trying to . . . help Tamlin.”

“If I had years, yes.” Rhys’s hand moved from the map to grasp mine, squeezing gently. It was all the reassurance I needed that he knew what lay within my heart. “But things are accelerating faster than I anticipated. If Tamlin needs to wallow in his bitterness and despair, then let him. It provides the perfect cover for his Second in command stepping in for more important duties.”

Lucien gaped at Rhys like he had ten heads.

I said to my mate, my attention again snagging on that inset of Prythian on the map, “That amounts to treason for Lucien. And if our involvement is found out, any trust we have with the other courts is gone.” No matter that the same could be said about Eris. Yet if Eris were caught . . . I wouldn’t necessarily miss him.

Rhys said into my mind, Eris can’t manage it—he’s not ready, and stands to lose too much within the court. Cassian said the meeting earlier today wasn’t productive.

Rhys jerked his chin toward Lucien. “This is all with your consent, of course.”

“You want me to pretend to be doing Tamlin’s bidding,” Lucien said, low and disbelieving. “To walk into my father’s house and lie to his face—lie to a High Lord on behalf of another High Lord? Who would believe me?”

Rhys didn’t smile. “Everyone knows how loyal you stayed to Tamlin during the decades with Amarantha.” I hated the sound of her name on my mate’s lips. “Your father witnessed it during those last months Under the Mountain. And Eris, I know, has not been reporting on how badly Tamlin has been faring lately.”

I didn’t want to know the particular details about that. Not really. Half of me was glad to let Tamlin suffer. The other half . . .

Lucien slowly shook his head. “How did you get Eris in your pocket?”

I snorted. “If you ever see Nesta dance, you’ll understand.”

Lucien’s brows rose high. I added, “That’s a tale for another time, and if you go to the Forest House, you cannot mention it—don’t even attempt to talk to Eris about it.”

“Believe me, I have no intention of talking to Eris at all.”

Vassa cut in, leveling a cool stare at us, “So you want Lucien to play spy at the Autumn Court—and betray his own High Lord in the process.”

“Doesn’t seem too much of a stretch for you,” Jurian said with a grin to Lucien.

Lucien glared at him, even as his mouth tilted upward.

“I know it’s a great deal to ask,” Rhys said. “But we need any scrap of proof we can find. We need allies—here and beyond Prythian. A united Prythian is important, yes, but we need other territories willing to stand with us. And for that, first and foremost, we need proof.”

Lucien’s eyes again fell upon the map. I didn’t fail to notice the way Jurian and Vassa seemed to angle themselves closer to him—as if they’d form a defensive wall against Rhys and me, if need be.

“Let me think about it,” Lucien said, each word heavy, almost exhausted. “I’m inclined to say yes, Mother damn me, but let me think about it.”

Vassa eyed him but said nothing.

“Of course,” Rhys agreed, “but do it fast. The territories are beginning to move—we have until spring at the latest.”

“Spring?” Vassa asked.

Jurian answered for my mate. “Magical armies they might be, but they’re still somewhat bound by the limitations of nature. They’ll travel as far south as they can into the open Fae territories, camp for the winter, and move at the first thaw of spring when the passes open. The terrain between there and the nearest human border is treacherous even in the mildest of weather.”

I nodded and said to Jurian and Vassa, “If you can make contact with the humans on the continent, with whatever sway you have . . . warn them as best you can. Advise them against raising an army.”

“So they can be slaughtered?” Vassa shot back.

I didn’t flinch. And to his credit, before I could form my own reply, Jurian explained calmly to the female, “So it does not give the Fae any sort of justification to march on them. The Fae territories can twist everything to their advantage—even the humans’ raising of a defensive army.”