When I was twenty, I slipped sleeping herbs into a guard’s drink and helped a man escape. When I was twenty-two, I “accidentally” spilled wine on the execution list, making two names unreadable. They weren’t called forward and I hadn’t seen them in the village since. At twenty-four, I pretended to faint on the dais, creating enough of an uproar that three people slipped from the group and fled town.
All of those people lived today because of what I’d done. Small rebellions, dangerous gambles that could cost lives if Father everdiscovered the truth. These secret victories were the only things keeping me sane, tiny sparks of hope in the darkness.
I was the Lady of Mercy, born from the ashes of a girl who learned the true price of courage.
My sitting room door burst open, the wooden panel smacking against the stone wall, and my lady-in-waiting, Mae, rushed in from the hall.
“Princess—” Her voice cracked. She staggered across the room, wild-eyed, her face blotchy and wet with tears.
I rose and rushed to her. “Mae…”
The open door to the dressing room caught my eye. I threw out my hand, and the panel slammed shut. The latch caught at my command. Stillness settled over the room.
Magic. Uncontrolled, instinctual, and, fates help me, visible to whoever might be watching. It often flared when I felt others’ pain.
Dread crept up my spine. Was this how it started, moments when my magic acted without my permission? How long before I lost control completely, before I became like the woman who destroyed half the southern slope?
Mae didn’t notice, but the cinderhawk perched on a branch outside my window did. The bird tilted its head before launching into the sky with a shriek that scraped across my nerves. It vanished beyond the southern castle spire.
“They took him,” Mae sobbed. “They took my Leo.”
I wrapped my arms around her. “To the reformatory?” I’d seen him revive a wilted flower. Carefully told him to keep his ability hidden. But those hunting magic collected anyone who showed even a hint of power.
“Mother turned him in,” Mae said. “She told them he made the garden vines grow too fast. She said the old laws are clear. Said if I wouldn’t protect the court, she would.”
Mae had placed Leo in my arms when I visited her the day after he was born. I’d been nineteen then, already wearing my mother’smask for five years but still finding joy in simple things like a newborn’s tiny fingers and toes.
“He’s only seven,” I said. “Young enough that they might help him.”
But how could they save him, when I hadn’t been able to save myself?
Mae’s sobs finally quieted into sharp, ragged breaths. She pulled away, wiping her sleeve across her face. Her eyes darted to the closed bedchamber door. “They didn’t hear me, did they?”
“I don’t think so.”
I poured tea from the pot and made her sit and drink it.
“Princess?” one of the other women called from beyond the door. “It’s time to get ready.”
“Stay here,” I whispered, giving Mae another hug. “I’m going to get him back. I promise.”
“How?”
“I’ll find a way.”
I’d saved six people from the Day of Mercy over the years. Six out of hundreds. I would save Leo, but I’d have to be careful. If I drew attention to him, Father would know. He knew everything. And he’d do something worse to Leo than whatever they did in the reformatory.
I made my feet carry me into my bedchamber, where the scent of hot-pressed cloth and griveth moss swirled through the room. I closed the door behind me.
My three ladies dipped into curtsies.
I stripped off my dress, shivering in my undergarments before they tugged the sapphire blue robe over my head and smoothed it across my shoulders.
Blue would show my status.
The fates help anyone wearing white today.
The color made my pale blue eyes look almost silver in the mirror’s reflection. Mother’s eyes, in a face that grew more like hers with each passing day.
