Bryn clenched her teeth as she adjusted her grip. Queen Amelia was ninety years old; her body couldn’t hold on long. Her hands were slipping . . .
“Drop down!” Rangar called. “I’ll catch you!”
She didn’t have a choice. The queen’s hands gave out, and Bryn plunged downward—
Into Rangar’s arms. Cradling her, he drew her in tightly to his chest, whispering a prayer of gratitude under his breath. She gazed up at him with so many things to say, yet had to maintain the farce that she was Queen Amelia for the benefit of the Woll soldiers and King Marthin.
“My queen,” Rangar purred, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “It’s over now.”
Declan pushed forward as Rangar set Bryn down on her feet. “Aunt! By the gods, you aren’t twenty years old anymore! You cannot do such brazen acts!”
“I’m quite all right, Declan. But Marthin . . .”
Declan’s face sagged. “I’m so sorry, aunt. He’s . . . he's gone.”
Bryn didn’t have to act to show genuine grief. King Marthin had proven himself to have a good heart even if his mind was dulled. Pressing a hand to her chest, she said, “I need rest . . . I can’t take this shock . . . Oh, poor Marthin.”
Declan motioned to two guards. “Help the queen to her chamber.”
“Wait. First, the scroll . . .” Bryn turned toward the table. Phillipa handed her the paper. Bryn confirmed that all eight signatures were at the bottom, then felt her body ease. Her eyes briefly closed.
It's really done.
“Did you mean what you said, aunt? That I shall be your heir, effective immediately?” Phillipa seemed concerned not for her own future on the throne, but for Queen Amelia’s soundness of mind.
Bryn pressed her lips together as she tried to figure out how to answer. She’d borrowed the old queen’s body without permission; she’d made the old woman dangle from a balcony . . . could she really now make a promise as serious as succession on Amelia’s behalf?
Please, child, Amelia’s spirit whispered in Bryn’s mind.I haven’t had this much fun in fifty years! And Phillipa earned it. Now, give me back my body. I wish to grieve my poor husband.
Bryn smiled inwardly while she squeezed Phillipa’s hand. “Indeed, my niece. We shall work out the details with the Wollin’s advisors after Marthin is laid to rest. I should very much like to find a way to allow a woman to rule whether she is married or not.”
Phillipa smiled, though it was heavy with grief over her uncle’s death.
Bryn let herself be fussed over by the guards, who helped her make her way down the hall to the queen’s chambers. As she sank back into the bed, her whole body—as well as the queen’s spirit—seemed to give a sigh of relief mixed with grief.
As soon as servants had attended to her minor scrapes, Bryn faced the bedroom mirror. Capturing her own gaze, she whispered, “Your body shall be yours again soon, Amelia. I’m sorry. And thank you.”
Not long after, the door creaked open, and Illiana slipped in. She sat on the bed at Bryn’s side, squeezing her hand. “Bryn. You’re all right?”
“Yes, though I’m sorry for Mathin’s loss. Obviously, I'm not nearly as sorry for Marmose's."
“When you swung off the railing like that . . . I thought you’d lost your mind!”
“Amelia showed me her memories of the railing’s hidden hinges.”
Illiana shook her head in wonder. “Everyone has finally left the library after much argument. The Cherons stormed out—they’re already on their way back to Ruma, and they took Baron Marmose’s body with them to bury it. The Grays, along with King Salvator and his priest, are leaving first thing in the morning. King Otto wanted them arrested for treason, but they agreed to leave peacefully and not contest the decree they signed. Much blame fell on Baron Marmose—he could hardly defend himself since he’s dead.”
“And Rangar?” Bryn asked.
Illiana smiled. “He’s with your real body right now, ready to shower it with a sinful amount of kisses once you awaken. He wanted to come here, but he’s too closely watched. Thankfully, no one called for his arrest after he killed Marmose—Marmose’s crimes were clear—but the Woll guards are keeping a close eye on him just the same.”
Bryn took a deep breath, rubbing her tired eyes.
Illiana patted her shoulder gently. “Tonight, as soon as the palace retires and we can ensure privacy, I’ll restore you to your real body. I’ll perform the ritual from the other bedroom, where your body is, so you might not feel anything until you’re back in your own skin.”
Bryn nodded, though she was impatient to be back in her body. She wished to be with Rangar, gazing at him with her own eyes, clutching him with her own arms. Illiana left, and Bryn fell into a troubled sleep. Caught somewhere between the waking world and the dream one, images came to her in a tangled knot: Amelia’s memories, Bryn’s own memories, and dreams of oceans of blood with wolves prowling the beach.
Not long after a soft chime in the palace’s bell tower signaled day’s end, she felt a sudden sharptuglike a seamstress ripping apart a dress at the seam. She gasped.Illiana must have started the spell.Her spirit snapped away from Queen Amelia’s body, not all at once, but like individual threads breaking, one by one, and then Bryn was back floating somewhere near the ceiling, disembodied, gazing down at the sleeping Queen Amelia.
