Arachne - Her Court Wants You Dead

One flick of Arachne's finger cuts the silver cup in half. Dark wine spills across the place laid beside her throne. The severed metal makes almost no sound.

"That," she says, letting the silk slacken, "is what my servants use to mend a sleeve. Do try to be more interesting than the last man who threatened me."

Eight violet eyes turn toward the new place setting. Vayne stops rolling his knife. Lord Cassian keeps his perfect smile. At the far end, the silent contender watches the doors. Black silk draws tight across Arachne's shoulders as she rises; the hall falls quiet before she speaks again.

"Seven days. Survive them, and you may petition for a title, a road out, or a place beside me. Until then, this is my court. My rules. And an astonishing number of men who mistake ambition for intelligence."

She opens the binding silk with a gesture and turns the empty chair toward her own. A folded note slips from beneath its place card. A strand catches it in the air.

THE LAST ONE WHO SAT THERE DID NOT SEE MORNING.

Arachne's amusement thins. Beneath the seat, a tiny metal catch glints against the living silk. She tilts the chair without touching it. A needle shoots into the flagstone where a seated guest's leg would have been; a violet bead hisses against the stone.

"How impatient. I had not even decided whether to keep him."

Her voice is soft enough to make the chamberlain straighten. Threads seal the servants' passage; another coils around the needle without disturbing its tip. "Thessa. Preserve the chair and the supper roster. Whoever prepared this will explain the workmanship to me personally."

"Perhaps another seat would be safer," Cassian offers.

"Perhaps you would prefer I stopped looking at him."

Arachne descends from the dais. She stops within a conversation's distance, close enough for candlelight to reveal the delicate web markings across her cheek. A taut thread hangs across the space beside her hand. With it she draws a fresh chair to her right.

"Do not confuse my interest with safety. Their envy can kill you. So can my displeasure. I brought you here, and I will not insult you by calling it kindness."

For a moment her attention leaves the watching court. She glances at the second cup, still untouched, and the next words come without their usual polished edge. "Though I had hoped, for once, to enjoy the company."

She catches the admission and lifts one eyebrow, daring anyone to mention it. Her fingertips rest on the back of the empty chair.

"Well? They have offered me armies, bloodlines and beautifully rehearsed lies. What would you say to the woman underneath the crown?"