Five to go.
Her heartbeats counted silently, caught in a loop that began again and again until the next arrival.
Five, four, three, two, one. Five—
Duke Brightwood, the most cheerful of the congregants, who made a joke no one laughed at.
Four—
Marquess Haskett, more reserved than usual.
Three—
Countess Redford, complaining of the late notice.
Two—
The king.
Aria’s father climbed the dais and stood before her. He wore his white uniform, his tired eyes showing red. “What is this?” he demanded, brandishing his own summons. “I’ve not given permission for you to leave your room.”
Slowly, Aria stood. She resisted the urge to look at the door, her heartbeat pounding in the frozen count of awaiting a final person.One, one, one.
“Your Majesty,” Aria said. “I have called for a Trial by Upper Court. As heir to the throne, I am still a member of Upper Court, authorized to provide summons and attend meetings.”
A small part of her feared he might disown her on the spot, out of spite if nothing else, but he did not.
“Indeed,” he said, tucking the summons into his uniform jacket. “And who do you wish to put on trial, Aria? Our newestchallenger, perhaps? He is nowhere to be found and therefore subject to execution.”
A new figure slipped through the door, drawing Aria’s gaze, and her heart beat once more.
One.
The queen wore trousers and a shirt without a vest, as if she’d come straight from the music room, as if she’d debated attending until the last moment. Aria couldn’t remember the last time her mother had come to a meeting of the Upper Court, and truthfully, it had felt foolish writing the queen a summons at all. Yet here she was, the final needed member, making the entire trial possible.
Queen Marian took her seat without a word, ignoring the sharp look from her husband.
That’s ten, Aria thought. When she addressed her father again, her voice had grown stronger.
“Lord Guillaume has three days to report on the Crown’s challenge, and you did not forbid him from leaving the palace. Though weshouldspeak to the matter of my curse. I owe you the truth, Father.”
What a relief to speak the wordcursewith no restraint. Though she felt weariness, it was only an ordinary weariness from exertion, from a night facing dangers and climbing cliffs. The current trial was her final cliff to conquer.
Aria gestured for her father to take his seat, and he did so stiffly. Then she called the meeting to order.
“First,” she said, “proof I am not under Widow Morton’s thrall.”
She pulled the Artifact from her satchel, holding the bronze cube tightly in her hand. Then she untied the thin string that secured it and opened her hand, allowing the pieces to fall with the ringing sound of bells against the marble floor.
Along with Henry, she’d taken a hammer to that Artifact.Tested it with blades, with bluntness, with heat. It had never wavered. One touch from Sarah, and it fell apart; the woman said it would have done the same if submerged in salty water, which somehow acted as a neutralizer for the strengthening Cast she’d applied. Aria smiled wryly—she still had so much to learn about magic.
“The curse is broken!” Duke Brightwood shouted. Murmurs passed between the others in attendance.
“How is this proof?” Marchioness Elsworth asked suspiciously.
“This is the Artifact my father’s soldiers captured from Widow Morton, the one my father based the Crown’s challenge upon. Did you question its anchoring to my curse when it was first presented?”
The woman fell silent, and no one else offered protest.
