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I’m still eyeing the case of bright instruments, but one thing reassures me: every dryad takes a vow against violence upon their coming of age. They cannot knowingly harm another out of malice or anger, or else they face permanent exile from their country—which means exile from the Miravow. For most, that’s a fate worse than death.

I release a long, low breath as the dryad beckons me closer.

“Your arm, please, Your Highness,” he says as he lifts an empty vial and a small needle from the case. The room is so quiet that if he were to drop the needle, I suspect the courtiers would hear it on the other side of the room.

I brace myself for something horrible, but it turns out my nervousness is overblown. The pin prick he delivers to the crook of my elbow barely makes me blink. I would take twenty of these over a single dose of my potion.

He presses the glass lip of the vial against my skin, coaxing a few drops of blood from the wound. Then with a swipe of his thumb, the flow halts. I look up at him in wonder, and he winks. Of course the palace would have some of the best dryad healers Agathyre has to offer, but I’m still impressed. The pinprick is completely gone, and I didn’t feel so much as a flicker of his magic as it passed through me.

“One moment, please,” he says, bringing the two vials side by side. He mixes the two, and this time I do feel his magic fizzling as he mutters incantations under his breath.

I holdmybreath. I don’t know what I’m waiting for. I guess part of me wonders if this has, perhaps, all been one big mistake. What if I’m not Alaric and Elowen’s daughter? What then? Maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible. I have visions of returning to Otscold, of the Holms family welcoming me into their tavern…

The vial of mixed blood turns a violent purple. The dryad looks up toward General Becane, then Oclanna, and nods.

The room erupts into a series of gasps and mutterings. A few courtiers even clap. I keep my face carefully neutral as I take in the people I’m supposed to lead, in the palace where I’m supposed to live. The world my parents hid me from because it wasn’t safe for me.

It wasn’t safe for them, either, in the end. I have to learn exactly what kind of game they were playing, and how they came to lose so badly, or the next dead royal will be me.

Chapter6

Morgana

“Iwon’t lie, Morgana. I was blindsided when Becane told us about you.”

Oclanna winds the end of her dark braid around her finger as she stares out the window. The gesture makes her look young, less guarded. It also helps that we’re out of that massive, terrifying chamber with the rest of the court. Now we sit together in a small drawing room. It makes me feel a little more at ease, even if this room is grander than most at Gallawing.

I think it might be all the velvet. They seem to like a lot of it around here.

“You didn’t know?” I ask, surprised. Oclanna offers me a refreshingly honest grimace.

“I know, you’d think sisters would share that kind of thing. But Elowen was always queen first. She had to be, for our kingdom. I respected her for it. But it could make her…distant.”

I think of the woman I glimpsed at the window that one time at Gallawing. The person who gazed at me so coolly and left without speaking a word to me.

“I can see that,” I say.

Oclanna shakes her head, the braid in her hands jerking with the movement. “I still can’t believe she’s gone—or that I’m talking to her grown daughter. It’s strange…they tried so hard for a child and had so many losses on the way. Then when you came along, not a word…”

She looks at me as if she expects me to have answers. I don’t know how to break it to her that allIhave are questions.

“Perhaps they were doing what they thought best,” I say. It’s a line that’s been fed to me so many times, the platitude falls easily from my lips.

“I believe they were,” Oclanna agrees. “They certainly hid you well. Becane was the only one here who knew. He organized your staff. But I still don’t…” Oclanna looks torn for a moment, then continues, “Forgive me, but I still don’t understand exactly what they were so afraid of. Becane said something about your health—but you don’t seem unwell.”

I let the flush creep up my neck. It will be useful for the lie I have to tell next if I seem embarrassed.

“I don’t have any magic,” I explain, dropping my gaze. “I was born without power.”

I glance up through my eyelashes in time to see understanding flood across her face.

“You’re certain?” she asks.

“Twenty-one years and nothing—not a sign,” I say. It’s almost true. Until last week, ithadbeen twenty-one years without a sign. Etusca had been adamant I not tell anyone here at the palace any differently. I’m not sure whether she wants to keep from implicating me in Bede’s death when the court is still deciding whether to trust me or whether she thinks I’ll need a trick up my sleeve in case I’m attacked, as my parents were.

Either reason is good enough for me. For now, my elusive shred of magic will remain our secret.

“I suppose my parents believed an heir at court without any magic would be a very vulnerable heir indeed,” I say.