“Go on and find another spot to look stupid in,” Queen Adelaide barked. The prince scowled, tearing from the room and slamming the doors. “The boy gives me a damned headache.”
Poor Nicolas. Did the queen often make it a point to humiliate him?
I found a seat to lounge in and didn’t dare to ask.
“Elias was just like him. Could hardly control himself before the wedding,” Queen Adelaide remembered, staring up at the ceiling. “It took me a long time to learn how to navigate him, evenafter we married. I only hope Nicolas can keep his head on straight; something about the balls pollutes a man’s brains. They can’t help it, I suspect; horses are much the same way around females, but we have them gelded.”
I paled at the rare moment of vulgarity from the queen, then tried to veer her back on course. “What was he like? The king?” Queen Adelaide was pensive. She met my eyes.
“He was everything to me.”
I might have swooned if she wasn’t so sad. How lonely she must be; she kept so few companions, distant even from what family remained, and the one she loved most was long-departed.
And despite all of that, there was still an impassable distance between her and her son.
“That talk of sickness today,” the queen pivoted. “Had you spoken directly to Lord Dalton, you would have earned his admiration.” An ironic statement, but I kept a straight face. “Instead, it is either myself or my unworthy son who will receive credits.”
“But that doesn’t matter to me, Your Majesty,” I insisted, straightening. “People are suffering.”
“We might’ve done just as well to let them die now so they wouldn’t starve later.” Queen Adelaide didn’t seem amused, but her statement wasn’t said as harshly as it should have been. “We alleviate what we can, but I can see the stars in your eyes, child. Allow me to blot them out: this was but a mere drop in the bucket. The trouble never ends, and often, it only grows worse. You’ve done well as a queen if they haven’t taken your head by the end of it.”
I frowned, my fingers curling into fists. It might have been the case for other rulers, but I had magic on my side. “It will get better.”
The queen laughed. “As you say, sweet princess. As you say.”
Chapter 25
“Could we notsimply magic the dam back together?”
I crushed dried rosemary between my fingers. The pungent scent filled Florence’s working area, a makeshift apothecary’s station in her quarters. It mingled with a dozen other herbs hanging from the rafters in their bundles, giving the room a smell that more resembled a kitchen than a bedchamber.
“The queen found a use for the eighty displaced, but the land should be reclaimed if we’re to combat the impending famine.”
Florence looked up from the grimoire she was annotating. A dozen unlabeled books were scattered around her, diaries of mystical knowledge. She set down her quill and moved to the window, gazing out at the winter-bare gardens below. “Tell me, dearest, what happens when you bless a single flower with life?”
I recalled our lessons amid the hellebores in the garden. I’d performed a song for one of the late bloomers, a whisper into cupped hands. The flower opened itself to hear me, white-tipped and speckled with plum. “It blooms.”
“But you grow tired. Your voice cracks. You find yourself suddenly in need of a very deep rest.” Florence had half-carried me back to my chambers that day, and I was worthless as a drunk. “Now imagine trying to speak life into a forest, or commanding stone and mortar to rise against the natural order, to defy the force that pulled them down.”
Florence returned to the table, bringing an old tome with her, marked only with the five-mooned symbol of the Lord of Night that she wore on her necklace.
“Magic is an exchange. Whether you’re blessing or cursing…there is always a sacrifice. You must never allow yourself to abuse the Lord’s gifts, or itwillcome back to hurt you.”
I absorbed this with a grimace and turned, eyeing the book. “What is that, anyway?”
“My compendium on witch hunters,” Florence answered. “Prince Nicolas made another request of you, but you must know what you are up against. One Banewight is enough of a pain. Withthreein residence, you cannot afford to make errors. Any magic you perform must be done with utmost discretion,especiallywith the seekers about.”
I opened the book, idly flipping through it. “And what, exactly, is a seeker?”
“A seeker is a rarity; they are employed by the gods to find traces of adverse magic. If you breathe life into a single blade of grass, they’ll feel it.” Florence turned several pages for me, finding the entry for seekers and tapping the page. I squinted at her handwriting. “They won’t knowwhocast the spell, but they will know a spell has been cast. It would then fall to Taran to investigate their findings, and that man is very, very good at what he does.”
“And if he discovers me, I’ll burn,” I said quietly.
“The duke’s secrets, should they exist, are not worth your life. As you said, you must avoid using magic to coax the truth from him.” Florence shut the book firmly, then paused. “What exactly are you looking for?”
I hesitated. Nicolas’ haunted eyes flashed in my memory, the way his voice had broken when he spoke of his uncle. His secret was not mine to share. “The prince has reason to suspect Duke Augustine corresponds with secessionists. We need to know if anyone at court shares his sympathies.”
“Ah.” Florence watched me carefully. A sly smile crossed her face. “Fortunately, when it comes to getting information, we have other, low-risk methods at our disposal.”
