Adeline did not answer. Imogen did not move, her handful of pins still held aloft. Avette held them both in silence, and Adeline hated that she wanted to hear what this woman had to say. She had a way of speaking that made her bones itch; sweet and intimate words that crawled over her skin like spiders ready to nest. As if they hadn’t met for the first time just last night. As if she had not murdered Adeline’s father or turned her sister into a quivering shell of the girl she once was. As if she did not delight in tormenting everyone Adeline loved.
Avette took a slow step forward, forcing their attention with her voice lowered to a bare hush. She stood close, cold fingers once more raking through Adeline’s hair as she spoke. Soft; almost affectionate.
“We call ourselvesWieldersbecause it sounds heroic,” she said, gentle as a mother explaining the horrors of the world. “Because the termExpenderswould make for poor poetry. But we don’t wield our power, do we?”
She swept Adeline’s curls aside, and as she leaned in, her breath was colder than the breeze rolling over the Laune, her pendant a jolt of ice where it rested on Adeline’s shoulder.
“We use it,” she whispered. Her voice rose a spikey crop of goosebumps down Adeline’s spine, sharper and colder where thependant’s chill leeched into her shoulder. “We take it. We spool the verybreathof this world into ourselves and spit it back out however we see fit.”
The chill sank beneath her skin, so rapidly that for a moment Adeline believed she could hear it. It was the crackling spread of frost—no. The rustle and groan of the trees. An ancient and angry forest coming alive in her veins. She was all at once overcome, her breath absorbed into her lungs even as the urge rose in her toscream. To expel the chill violently from every follicle. It raced down her limbs, stung and itched and pressed at her palms—
“Magic is a resource, Lina. And every resource is finite.”
Something thick and painful jolted free of Adeline’s fingertips, and her breath bolted back into her with a full-bodied gasp. Avette rocked back, mild alarm flickering over her face—but the rustle and creak of the forest was gone.
And so was the chill of the pendant on her shoulder.
Adeline slumped against the mirror, half-panting as shivers wracked her body. There was a strong floral flavour in her mouth, as though she’d bitten into a rosebud; the taste made her tender stomach lurch, an impulsive retch working its way up her throat.
“What is she doing?” Avette demanded.
“She’s ill,” Imogen said quickly. “Happened all the time when she was little, bit of a poor constitution.”
This close to the glass, it was hard to miss Avette’s nose wrinkling in disgust.
“Well, for goodness sake, get her out of that dress before she—”
A sharp rap on the door cut her off, and Avette huffed irritably.
“Whatisit?”
“I do beg your pardon, Your Majesty,” came a hoarse voice from the hallway. “Might I have a quick word before my next platoon leaves for the coast?”
“I believe I was quite clear, Captain,” Avette called sharply. “Strength in numbers is our best defence against a Caldbonian invasion. You will send your soldiers as planned.”
“I understand, Your Majesty,” came Doran’s wheedling response. “But with the descent into the Laune, I only wondered—”
With an aggrieved sigh, Avette spun on her heel and stalked for the door. Adeline leaned her head against the mirror and breathed through the reprieve. She was glad now, for the chill of the glass; her skin was thrumming and feverish, so hot she couldn’t believe the frost didn’t melt beneath her forehead.
“Adeline.”
She jolted at the sound of her name; she was so overstimulated she’d forgotten Imogen still stood at her side. It was with no small amount of effort that Adeline peeled her weight away from the mirror to turn and meet her eye—but Imogen wasn’t looking at her. Her gaze was tilted to the floor, staring blankly at something between them. Adeline followed her line of vision.
And found several vibrant pink nycta, fluttering like a flock of butterflies at her feet.
Adeline could taste their perfume, and now she understood why. She dragged her gaze from the flowers that had burst from her fingertips; Imogen stared wordlessly back at her. It was only when the door clicked shut that Adeline realised she’d beentuning out the drone of Avette and Doran’s voices. She jolted at the silence and spun to the mirror.
“Do you intend to preen all day, cousin?” Avette demanded as she crossed the room. Her patience was apparently worn far more by a swift conversation with Doran than any amount of accusations Adeline could throw at her. “Or shall we let your poor sister try her dress?”
Adeline stared back at Avette’s reflection, frozen with indecision. The nycta fluttered vividly in her peripheral vision, just below the frame of the mirror. If Avette came any closer, she would see. If Adelinemoved, she would see.
“Well?”
“Of course,” Imogen said smoothly. “She’ll just need to undress.”
She stepped closer and, in one fluid motion, swept her skirts over the fluttering nycta.
“Here,” she said brightly. “I’ll help you.”
