A Trace of Moonlight by Allison Pang

but I could see it now in the detached smoothness of the Queen’s face.
    Royalty had no time for such petty things as feelings.
    She motioned for me to sit on the bed and I took the opportunity to play the game of Whose Head Is Higher.
    “Does it hurt much?”
    “Enough,” I said. “But I am very grateful for the help your healers could give me.”
    She frowned at the harshness of my voice. “It sounds as though they did not do all they should have.”
    “It’s fine. The circumstances were rather unusual  . . . I’m grateful to be here at all.” Her face darkened and I decided reminding her I was the reason Maurice was gone was probably a very stupid thing to do. “I thank you for coming to check on me personally,” I added hastily. “Though your son has been doing an admirable job in that respect.”
    “Has he now? I wonder,” she murmured. “Are you still set on being handfasted? Given the change in your . . . situation?” The gleam in her eyes would have had me retreating several steps had I been standing. Mad the Queen may have been, but she hadn’t stayed Queen as long as she had without being able to see a very large picture.
    She snapped her fingers, impatient at my silence, and a serving maid appeared holding a vessel of wine and two stone goblets. At the Queen’s request, the maid poured the wine and set the cups on the smalltable beside her. “I knew very well what he was planning, but I wanted to see how far he would take it,” she said mildly, picking up one of the goblets and holding it out to me. “Come and drink. I would see what it is about you that he finds so fascinating.”
    I didn’t need Phin’s warning cough to tell me this was probably some sort of trap, but I also couldn’t refuse the woman without fear of setting her off. Cautiously I slid off the bed and knelt at her feet. Galling to think of bowing to anyone, but I’d found that if played the part willingly, she would accept it—even if neither of us was fooled.
    A subtle baring of the virtual throat, I supposed.
    Her gaze darted over my face and neck, fixating on where the amulet had been. “Careless,” she reprimanded me.
    “Yes,” I agreed, not bothering to point out that I wasn’t responsible for Maurice’s actions. Or the daemon mercenaries. Not that it mattered. I was already so far down on her shit list, I doubted I could do much else to lower myself further.
    Her cool fingers brushed against mine. Did they linger more than they should? I held up the goblet, peering into the depths as though I might pull answers from the liquid. It looked harmless enough—but the last time I’d accepted a mug like this I’d lost my memories. My own choice, but still.
    The Queen must have sensed my hesitation and she smiled, taking a sip of her own. “ ’Tis a healing draught,” she murmured, the words tinged with dark amusement.
    “What are your plans . . . now that you’ve been . . . reborn?” Such a casual question, but layers upon layers of meaning were wrapped in that phrase, the crispnessof the word “plans.” She hadn’t forgotten the Tithe in the slightest.
    Her mouth curved into something that was probably supposed to be reassuring, but the ruby darkness of her lips hinted at something more sinister. It took every ounce of will to carve my own mouth into a returning grimace. A fleeting glance at the mirror showed the horror of my efforts, but the Queen didn’t flinch.
    “I would like to go home,” I said finally. “There are things I need to take care of there . . .”
    A drawn-out sniff was my only answer. “How tiresome. I would have thought you might attempt to get to know your . . . relatives better.”
    The alarm bells in the back of my head went off with a vengeance. She hated that I was related to Moira, even if it was somewhat convenient to have a mortal KeyStone tied to the family. But then, I imagined having your lover stray every few years would have been bad enough. The