But the world only saw the twin who smiled at nobles and danced through diplomatic courts. And I unwittingly played a part in that misperception. I was the one they called upon when the need for anything grim arose. I was the shadow behind the throne, the one who made our enemies pause before pushing Darreth into open war.
I knew that hurt him, even if he would never show it. Sometimes, I worried he resented me for it, for being the brother he had to manage on top of running our kingdom.
I looked beyond his playful facade and carefree air, past the beloved prince who put everyone at ease, to the man underneath—ashamed, afraid, but still trying.
The anger drained from me as if I were a broken cup. I leaned back in my seat, legs splayed, feeling like the weight of the realm had aged me a decade in a breath.
“You might be Darreth’s only hope for heirs,” Nisien said simply.
“Is this the real reason Father split the crown between us?”
“Partially.”
“I’m not going to steal your throne,” I said quietly.
“I know.” He hesitated then gave me a brilliant smile. “I’ve already come to terms with the fact that you’ll probably end up fucking my wife. So, please,tryto leave me some dignity.”
“Gods.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You’re insufferable.”
“It’s not like other kingdoms haven’t done the same.” He laughed.
My brother—this maddeningly brave man. A man who still cared enough about me to defend my name to the world after everything I’d done.
I rubbed a hand through my hair. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.” His voice softened. “Even when you yell.”
“Especially when I yell.”
Chapter 8
Isca
My sleep was fragmented and restless, each bout broken by another imagined disaster. My mind became a stage for a thousand unwelcome futures, all clamoring for attention the moment I closed my eyes. Why couldn’t the Assembly have given me any details about what they wanted or why?
Since I was the first one awake, I quickly changed and threw on my shawl to get the stall ready for Papa. The market was silent, so I sat there for a few minutes, gazing up at the looming Mage’s fortress, skin covered in goosebumps from the chill air. What kind of trouble had I gotten myself into?
The main structure at Avanfell’s heart still stood strong, held together by magic and stubbornness. I couldn’t imagine any place grander. Its towers pierced the sky, dark against the pale light, as if challenging the heavens.
My brief yearly trips to the lofty building—which had loomed over my life like a watchful giant since my magic appeared—comprised my entire experience with it up to this point. And each visit consisted solely of announcing my name and handing over money; that was all they’d wanted from me. Until now.
I imagined servants already racing through those stone halls, their footsteps echoing beneath chandeliers brimming with candlelight, cleaning and cooking for masters who wouldn’t deign to glance their way if they weren’t serving them.
If things had been slightly different, I would’ve been part of that world. But my mother had chosen love with a man lacking magic over breedingwith a gifted one, condemning our family to a life of poverty. To the mages above, it didn’t matter that every single child born of their marriage had manifested magic. My father was an outsider. Employable, but never one of them.
Now, all three of my sisters were married. One a day’s ride outside Caervorn to a trader, another to a farmer in the south, and the youngest only last year to a different trader in Wynth. My two middle brothers were both able to conjure elemental magic and had become guards for the same lord in southern Larethia. Only Tegil and I were left. The beginning and the end, stuck at home.
On my way back to meet my mother, I pleaded with Fate to hasten the arrival of Tegil’s magic. No one really venerated the gods anymore, but I wasn’t above begging defunct deities for help in that. Should anything happen to me at this meeting, my parents would need Tegil’s skills to survive. A heavy burden for a thirteen-year-old, but life wasn’t fair—especially not to us.
By the time I opened the door, everyone was digging into the remainder of the bread. My father winked as I sat down. I simply couldn’t take it from him anymore. “Papa, what is going on with you? You’ve been down for months—and of course, no one blames you for that—but now you’re acting like the accident didn’t happen.”
“The dress happened,” he answered cryptically.
“What?” I asked at the same time as my brother managed, “The dress?”
“The dress means they’re trying to get you in for something without notice. I’ve done it before.”
My mother’s anxiety immediately spiked, like thorns digging into my skin. My father, however, didn’t require empathic magic to understand how she was going to react.
