“So soon?” I ask.
The king nods, as if the matter is already decided. “I will not give the nobles and common folk time to speculate or turn their loyalties elsewhere. And since you have a tendency to disobey my rules, I do not trust you to sit put if I leave you alone in my castle. You, Princess, will be coming with us.”
My stomach knots. I wasn’t expecting to be hauled along on the tour. Not only does the fact that the king being able to watch my every move for the next couple of months unsettle me, but this means I will need to extend my act of playing the grieving betrothed, feigning sorrow as I’m veiled in black like a spectacle for neighboring kingdoms.
I glance toward Dante, and I actually catch a slight upward tick of the corner of his mouth. That’s when I realize this is good news for him.
Because it means we won’t have to spend months apart.
Sure, we can’t be seen together in public, and we have to hide our feelings for each other when other eyes are around. But I don’t have to sit here, locked up, wondering what he’s doing, how he’s handling being on display while his fate is being decided, and maybe we’ll even be able to find a moment or two to actually exchange more than a longing look.
The king jabs his fork into a slice of sausage and shoves it in his mouth, eyes locked on me. “So, to answer your request, Princess, yes. You have my permission to escort your uncle and take care of your duties. But you must make haste and be ready to pack for the tour when you return. And once you hand over your reins, I don’t want to hear another word about your fucking regiment.”
ChApter
Twelve
Itry not to let the king’s announcement frazzle me as Nadya and I make our way to Ezra’s lesson room. The only thing that eased the blunt was the king’s acquiesce that Nadya was permitted to accompany me. I have a feeling he doesn’t trust her to not turn his castle into a party hall in his absence.
Because Ezra was helping my uncle recover, lessons were put on hold. Now that Uncle Kormak is in the clear, I find myself looking forward to spending some time learning something. Mostly, I’m still wondering about the storm that suddenly hit during Torbin’s funeral and if I had anything to do with it. If anyone has a semblance of a theory that could explain what happened, it’s Ezra.
Nadya and I step into the scent of parchment, ink, and dried herbs. Shelves line the stone walls, crammed with tomes bound in cracked leather, their spines worn from decades, perhaps centuries, of handling. Bundles of herbs hang from the rafters, suspended to dry, while glass bottles of various tinctures glimmer in the dim light from the room’s narrow windows. A sturdy desk sits at back of the room, papers strewn across its surface in ordered chaos, and behind it stands Ezra.
The magister watches us enter, his brows raised, like he’s glad to see us. The dark circles have disappeared from under his eyes, and his usual tunic looks freshly cleaned. It lightens the weight from my chest that he seems to have gotten some rest after the exhausting efforts he went through to bring my uncle back from the brink.
“Celeste, Nadya,” he says, his arms stretched out at his sides. “Lovely to see you in my lesson room.”
I understand the truth behind his words. He’s glad we’re meeting here instead of in my uncle’s chamber, frustratingly throwing ideas at the wall to see what sticks.
Ezra studies me for a beat longer before gesturing toward the chairs arranged before his desk. Nadya and I settle into them as he lowers himself into his own seat, hands folding over the parchment before him. “Is there a particular subject you’d like to begin with today?”
Nadya lifts her hand before I can even open my mouth. “Actually, yes. If it’s okay with Celeste. I read something in the archives. About a trio of wandering women from Bastos who traveled across Terre Ferique before the poisonous plants began spreading. Supposedly powerful, possibly witches, possibly tragic figures who died before their work was done.” She leans forward, resting her hands on her knees. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about them, would you?”
Ezra arches a brow. “Witches from Bastos? Now there’s a tale I haven’t heard in some time.” He sits back in his chair, rubbing his jaw with a hand that’s ink-stained along the knuckles.
“You were around back then, weren’t you?” she teases.
Ezra chuckles. “Hardly. I may feel ancient when I wake up some mornings, but I’m not quite that far gone.”
Nadya grins, undeterred. “But you’ve heard about them? Read some things?”
“That much is true.” He grows thoughtful, his fingers drumming lightly on the desk. “There have always been stories. The most credible accounts mention three women cloaked in robes who moved from Bastos through the central lands. They were said to have unnatural magic, power that wasn’t innate, like the fae or sirens.”
I exchange a glance with Nadya, her curiosity shining in her expression like a lit match.
Ezra continues, his tone drifting more scholarly now. “Some magisters believe they were trying to warn the kingdoms. Others say they were trying to stop something. And still others think they triggered the plague themselves—made a deal with the old gods and failed to control the consequences.”
“Do any of the records say who they were?” I ask. “Names, lineage… anything?”
“Not directly,” he replies. “But there are more than a few accounts of their journey, each with similar details. Those descriptions repeat, even when the language changes. I’ve always found that consistency the most intriguing part.”
“So it’s real,” Nadya says softly. “Or real enough that people remembered.”
Ezra’s gaze sharpens. “Enough that people feared them. Bastos isn’t known for its love of rules, but even they tried to bury the old stories. Magic like that was seen as chaos. Uncontrollable. And anything that couldn’t be chained was considered dangerous.”
I fold my arms, something twisting uneasily in my chest. “Isn’t that how they see all magic they don’t understand?”
“Precisely.” Ezra nods. “But what’s buried tends to grow roots, not vanish. That’s why the land feels as if it’s holding its breath these days. Too many unanswered questions. Too many old powers stirring.”
