But also, though Calista had successfully carved the finding hex into Bryn’s shoulder, it had been a simpler one. Calista was only an apprentice, still learning the ways of magic herself.
Mam Nelle cleared her throat. “Illiana could do it, my lady.”
Both Bryn and Valenden turned toward the seamstress, who had abandoned the pretense that she was merely sorting buttons and not listening in.
Bryn felt another curious tingle. Illiana had all but admitted that she dabbled in magic, but Bryn had assumed her knowledge was limited to a few herbal potions. “Illiana is a mage?”
“We call it other things here,” Mam Nelle said quietly. She pressed her lips tightly together as she whispered, “A witch.”
Magic had been forbidden in the Mirien as long as Bryn could remember, but she’d always been aware that it existed, practiced by mages and apprentices in the Outlands. As far as witches—women who used magic within the Mirien borders—she’d dismissed their existence as mere legends.
But like so many things, she’d been wrong about that, too.
“And she can carve hexes?” Bryn asked.
Mam Nelle answered by rolling up her shirt sleeve to her shoulder socket, where a hexmark so small it could be mistaken for a normal scar rested. She immediately hid it again.
“You didn’t think I could sew that fast without magic, did you?” she whispered with a wink.
It took Bryn a moment to process the information that her dear elderly dressmaker had been criminally dabbling in magic her whole childhood, spurred on by her witch daughter.
She sputtered, “Do all the servants have—”
“Goodness, no,” Mam Nelle said quickly. “Hexmarks are still rare in the Mirien. You won’t find them but on a few of us in Mir Town, and on even fewer in the further villages. Illiana’s the only witch in all of Mir Town.”
Bryn turned back to Valenden. “This plan could work. It isn’t difficult for me to meet up with Illiana in the castle’s secret passages where Mars is hiding. She could perform the hexmark ritual there, and I’d have some days to practice the spell before the hanging.”
“You’ll need to find a willing victim to practice it on,” Valenden pointed out.
“Mars faked his own death once,” Bryn said. “I’d wager that he’d be willing to do it again, assuming Illiana is present in case anything goes wrong. All that’s left would be to ensure someone on our side is able to get Rangar’s body immediately after the hanging.”
“Christof can find a few trustworthy lads,” Mam Nelle promised. “The undertaker is always looking for boys willing to work with the dead. They could get your prince’s body into the castle morgue, and from there, the passages.”
“And then Rangar can hide out with Mars until we’re ready for the uprising,” Bryn added.
Valenden snorted.
“What?” Bryn asked.
“For a decade, your brother threatened to kill Rangar if he so much as set foot in the Mirien with his sights on you. And now you want the two of them crammed in a dark passageway together?”
Bryn frowned as she muttered, “I’m sure they can put the past behind them.”
At least, she hoped they could. Mars might have changed his sentiments, but his temper had always rivaled Rangar’s. He had looked ready to hang Rangar himself when Bryn had told him they were romantically involved.
“They don’t have a choice,” she concluded at last. “They’ll have to tolerate each other.”
Let them bicker and throw a few swings, she thought. She felt fairly certain they wouldn’tpermanentlymaim each other.
“Lady Bryn?” It was Sergeant Preston’s voice coming from outside the tent. “Everything all right in there? You’ve been getting fitted for the dress for quite a while.”
Valenden fell silent as his hand rested on the hilt of his sword.
“Yes,” Bryn called. “We’re just finishing now.”
She hurried to adjust her dress so that it looked like she’d taken it off to be fitted for the wedding gown.
Mam Nelle whispered, “And of the real dress, my lady? Shall I make it to your old measurements?”
