“He really is doing everything he can,” Larkin said.
“It’s just . . . she’s my baby, Larkin.”
“I know.” It really wasn’t that late—the sun hadn’t even set yet—but Larkin was exhausted. “I’m going to bed.”
She crossed the room to kiss Sela good night, but even through her hair, Larkin could feel the heat radiating off her. “She’s burning up,” Larkin said.
Mama’s brow creased with worry. “She was better after lunch.” She pushed to her feet. “I’ll make her some feverfew tea.” She left the room without another word.
Sela opened liquid eyes and looked up at Larkin. Her bottom lip trembled. “Larkin, I’m scared.”
“Why are you scared, little one?”
Big tears streaked down her cheeks. “Because the wraiths want you.”
What had her sister overheard? Or had she learned something from the tree? Heart breaking, Larkin wrapped Sela up in a blanket and settled with her in a rocking chair.
“They’re going to get you.” Her little body shook with sobs.
Sela must have overheard Denan’s worry that the assassin had targeted her. “We’ve checked all the guards. None of them are ardents. And I have my magic and Denan. There’s a wall around the city and an army inside it. I’m the most protected person in the Alamant.”
“Promise you’ll stay with me,” Sela said to Larkin.
Larkin couldn’t stay in the hometree forever; she had responsibilities. But Sela was too young to understand that. “I promise.”
Sela burrowed into Larkin’s arms. She tugged out Larkin’s amulet and held it in her hand as if she took comfort in its presence.
Relieved at Sela’s display of affection, Larkin pressed her cheek to her sister’s head. “I love you, Sela. I love you so much. I’m sorry for being so short with you before.”
“I love you too,” Sela said, voice shaking.
Larkin stroked her curls. “I miss telling you stories and tickling you and having you leave me little presents on my bed. I miss you, Sela.”
“I never left,” Sela said.
But she had. “Would you like me to tell you a story?”
Sela nodded. Tears filled Larkin’s eyes. Maybe she hadn’t lost her sister, after all.
“Once,” Larkin began, “a toad fell in love with a fish. He loved the fish’s silver scales, lithe body, and whip-fast movements. But the fish didn’t love the toad’s warts. So the toad cut them off. But the fish didn’t love the toad’s voice. So the toad cut it out. But the fish didn’t love the toad’s fat body. So the toad cut off his sides. But the fish didn’t love the toad’s mutilated body. So the toad ate the fish, and that was the end of it.”
Sela giggled. “Why did the toad care what the fish thought?”
“Because sometimes we want to be everything we’re not.” Like Larkin thinking that her grandmother covering her freckles with makeup and taming her wild curls would make her a queen. Larkin was the toad. Cutting herself to pieces to become something she could never be.
Mama returned with Cook Viscott, who bore a tea tray. He was no more than twenty-five, the single braid behind his ear proclaiming that he’d yet to marry. He walked with a measured limp, a wound that had ended his career as a soldier. And probably ended his chances of ever braving the forest to find a wife of his own.
Larkin felt a stab of pity for Viscott. But then, things were changing. The Idelmarch had promised to send girls who wished to come. Maybe he would get his chance, after all.
“I told him I could manage,” Mama said.
Larkin doubted Mama would ever really be comfortable with servants.
“It’s what I’m paid for, lady.” Viscott set the tray on the table. “Would you like me to pour her a cup, Majesty?”
Larkin nodded.
The man brought Sela a cup. “I always make it strong and then add lemon and honey. Very soothing.”
Larkin helped Sela drink it all down.
“Another, please,” Sela said.
Viscott brought her another.
“You should go home to your family.” Larkin would never feel comfortable with servants either. “Please feel free to take the rest of the evening.”
Viscott took the cup. “Oh, I couldn’t. Without . . .” He trailed off awkwardly. “Well, we’re a bit short staffed. There’s a lot to do. And I can’t fight anymore. This way, I’m still doing my part.”
Because Unger had turned out to be a murderous ardent.
“Well,” Mama said, “be sure to take some of our supper home with you.”
Viscott smiled. “That wouldn’t be proper, lady. But I thank you. Please ring if you need anything else. King Denan doesn’t like you wandering with an assassin about.” He bowed again and left.
Sela finished her second cup. “I feel better now.” She closed her eyes and within moments was back asleep.
“Maybe we haven’t lost her, after all.” Mama looked as relieved as Larkin felt. “Maybe she’s just trapped by all the tree’s memories.”
Larkin wouldn’t mind rocking Sela for a long while more, but she’d been worried about Denan’s weir since the healing tree. She laid her sister on the bed and kissed her forehead. “Sweet dreams, sunshine girl.”
Larkin said good night to Mama and stepped outside. The sun was just setting, casting the world in orange and gold. She climbed a level to her own chambers. West was back on guard, a great bruise on his cheek.
“The new trainees still beating you senseless?” she teased.
He puffed out his mustache in consternation. “I’m still too slow.”
She patted his arm. “You’ll get there.”
She passed through starlight to her room. Denan lay on the bed, a warm compress over his blight. He’d done that a lot in the early days. There was another pot of tea on the table. She sniffed the spout. Feverfew and pain powder.
She sat beside him on the bed and rested her hand on his forehead. He didn’t feel warm, but his normally golden skin was a bit ashen. “Are you fevering?”
“No. The tea just helps with the pain.”
She peeked under the warm compress. The blight looked the same as ever, the forked lines about the size and shape of a handprint. She breathed a silent sigh of relief. “You pushed yourself too hard today.”
“I’ll be all right. I just need a good night’s sleep.”
Not buying it, she stripped off her armor and placed it back in the chest. “Sela’s sick.”
He finally bothered to open his eyes. “How sick?”
“Fevering.”
He made an unhappy sound. “We’ll have to test her and your mother’s blood tomorrow.”
“She’s just a child,” Larkin said.
“She’s been exposed to the forest and the wraiths. We can’t make exceptions. Not if we want the people to cooperate.”
She mimicked his unhappy sound.
He crooked a little smile that quickly slipped away. “How is she?”
Larkin sighed. “Worried about me.” Afraid to look at him, she studied the scar on her palm. “What could they possibly want with me?”
He motioned for her to sit beside him. He took her hand and held her gaze. “Whatever it is, I’ll stop them. And you know I never break my word. Do you believe me?”
This man who was as undaunted as a mountain. How could she not? She nodded. He kissed her hand.
He finished his tea while she stripped the rest of her armor and checked her stitches. The wound was a little puffy. She swiped some ointment on it, drank her own cup of tea, and undressed for a quick shower.
By then, Denan’s breathing was deep and even. He looked so peaceful sleeping, his body gilded by the light cast by the setting sun. Light, she’d never get tired of watching him sleep. Unable to help herself, she crossed to him and kissed his forehead. She turned to go, but he caught her arm.
“You’re naked.”
She grunted. “It was miserably hot today. I’m going to wash the sweat o
ff.”
He tugged her hard enough that she landed half on him.
“I thought you were sick!” she protested.
He grinned. “Larkin, if ever I’m too sick for this, you should start to worry.”
She tipped back her head and laughed.
Copperbill Island
All around Larkin, enchantresses and enchanters stood side by side. They wore strangely cut clothing—their armor familiar in a way she couldn’t place. She turned in confusion, and someone walked through her as though she wasn’t there.
The White Tree was showing her a vision.
She walked to the edge of a colonnade and looked over the lake to the distant shoreline. She was on the city wall in the Alamant. Sometime before the curse fell. But there was no gathering army to defend against. What was the White Tree trying to show her?
A horn sounded. Enchantresses and enchanters lit their sigils. From the tower above, a note rang out. The men lifted their intricately carved, jeweled flutes and began to play. The music tugged at the enchantresses’ magic, pulling it from their bodies in gleaming ribbons. Those ribbons wove intricate patterns in the air—a repetitive symbol that looked almost like a snowflake.
A reverberating drum beat from the tower above, and the enchanters shifted seamlessly to another melody. Larkin rushed up the tower’s winding steps. At the top was a flat platform. A handful of young boys in livery waited at the back. A young man and woman leaned over the banister.
Larkin immediately recognized them.
“Signal the chorus,” King Dray said.
“Not yet.” Eiryss pointed. “There’s an error with the weave.”
Dray squinted at the spot she pointed out. “Good eye, my queen.”
“I’m not your queen yet,” she teased.
Dray kissed her cheek. “Soon.”
This must have taken place right before their wedding, the day the curse came into being. Oh, how Larkin wished they’d been able to find the woman’s amulet.
Sending him a shy smile, Eiryss stretched up on her toes, ran her hand over the enchantment, and smoothed a ruffled edge. “There.” She sank back onto her heels. “Now it’s ready.”
Dray nodded to the drummer, who beat out a single note. The weave shrank, fitting around the barrier like a second skin. It flared bright and then faded to nothing.
The White Tree had shown Larkin how to weave the barrier around the wall.
“Good,” Larkin said. “Now show me how to make an orb or armor.”
Sharp pain in her hand. She watched as a single bead of blood welled and then rolled down the lines in her palm. It broke away, falling to the ground.
Larkin sat up with a gasp. She released her grip on her amulet and pressed her thumb to the prick in her palm to stanch the bleeding.
“Probably have blood all over the sheets,” she muttered.
The chamber shifted with the wind like a ship in a storm. The panes moved with a liquid shiver as the wind and rain pelted their surface. The movement was mesmerizing. Larkin imagined this is what the surface of the lake must look like to a fish.
She pushed out of the bed and then realized she really had bled all over the sheets. Her monthly had come during the night.
At least I’m not pregnant.
Groaning, she went to the closest pane and twisted it to partly open. It was light enough to see the churning mass of clouds above—morning wasn’t far off. A cool breeze touched her, a breeze that smelled of rain.
Twisting the pane back to impenetrable, she shuffled to the bathroom and cleaned herself up. When she came out, Denan sat at their table, eating breakfast. Their sheets had already been stripped and taken.
“I can do that.” Larkin’s cheeks flamed at the thought of Viscott washing the blood from her bedding.
“So can he.” Denan handed her a letter. “I’ve word from my mother. They tested all the enchantresses in the night, but one is missing. Hurry and eat; we need to go.”
Larkin scanned the letter while eating her breakfast. When she set it down, she caught sight of another letter on the table—or rather, the signature on the bottom. She picked it up as if it might bite and started reading.
“Garrot is demanding we give him and his men their thorns,” Denan summarized for her. “He doesn’t care that the king is laid out in state before the font or that the White Tree is filled with mourners.”
She dropped the letter and wiped her hands on her tunic. “Three days won’t make a difference to the war. Garrot will just have to wait.”
She had to figure out a way to make sure Nesha was all right. “Have the pages found anything yet?”
“I forgot to tell you; they haven’t found her, but they know where Garrot sleeps.”
Larkin mulled this over. “Any way for them to reach her?”
Denan shook his head and picked up another letter. “This one is for you.”
She unfolded it. It was from her grandmother, written by one of her healers.
“Aloud, please,” Denan asked.
Larkin cleared her throat and read, “‘If my words offended you, I apologize most sincerely. It is only that I watched my parents’ and sisters’ blood staining the halls of my home. Watched them breathe their last breath. Lived on while my heritage and my home was stolen from me. If my father were alive to see his murderers treat with his own great-granddaughter . . . But then, my life has always been the worst kind of irony.’”
Larkin threw the letter down in disgust without bothering to finish it. “I swear upon my life that I will never become a bitter old woman like my grandmother.”
“Your reading has improved tremendously though.” He took the letter and scanned it.
Larkin’s chest felt warm with his praise. He’d only had to help her on some of the larger words.
“Light, the woman goes on and on.”
“I know what happened to her was awful. Nothing will change that—including her being hateful.”
“Magalia made a note at the bottom. Iniya hasn’t been able to swallow. She likely won’t live for another day.”
No longer hungry, Larkin stared at her plate. “Her whole life, she only wanted one thing. I promised her that. She’s going to die hating me.”
Denan sighed and bent over a fresh sheet of paper, his quill scratching across the surface in his crisp handwriting. When he finished, he blew on it and held it out to Larkin.
She quickly scanned it, her eyes closing at the emotion that welled within her. “You made her queen.”
“Let’s hope Magalia is right,” Denan said dryly. “Or we’ll have the whole of the druids to contend with.”
She folded the letter, dripping wax to seal it. “I should be there with her, but I can’t leave. Not today.”
“You are a queen. Your people need you.”
He was right. “I’m not sure I can live with not being there though.”
“Why don’t you write to your father? Tell him to be by her side as she dies.”
She mulled his offer over and then nodded. “Will you write it for me? My handwriting . . . It looks like a child’s.”
He covered her hand with his. “You should be proud of that handwriting. Three months ago, you couldn’t read, let alone write.”
Feeling better, she pushed aside her unease and wrote to her father. When she was done, Denan gave her letters to a page. She and Denan set about buckling their breastplates and backplates, as well as armored skirts. Beneath, Larkin wore black, which would be hot, but it would hide any stains.
She was just tying her cloak into place when someone knocked on the doorframe. “Larkin, Denan, it’s me.”
“Tam?” Larkin’s heart fell.
She twisted the doorpane open. Tam stood between the guards. His eyes were haunted, his normal smile nowhere to be found.
“What is it?” Denan came up behind Larkin. “Is Alorica all right?”
“She threw me out,” Tam said. “Said my pacing and worrying was driving her crazy and that I n
eeded to be useful.” He shuffled awkwardly. “I think she’s right. I need something to do.”
Denan embraced his friend. “Glad to have you.”
Tam hugged Denan and then shoved him away. “None of that. I’m a married man.”
Larkin snorted. If Tam could still crack jokes, everything would be all right. She wanted to hug him too, but he was barely keeping his tears in check. Any more affection might throw him over the edge. He wouldn’t thank her for that.
She settled for punching his arm. “You’re late for duty.”
“There goes my raise.” He gave her a grateful smile.
They stepped outside, and Denan studied the sky. “Wind’s in the right direction.”
Bracing herself, Larkin stepped to the edge of the colonnade and peered at the white caps beneath them. She remembered the feel of the lethan’s tentacle gripping her ankle and wrenching her beneath the waves—the feel of being dragged into the depths, more tentacles wrapping around her chest and squeezing the life out of her.
“I’m not going out on that lake,” Larkin said.
Tam leaned into her. “Ah, come on, Denan and I have run the lake in storms far worse than this.”
She glared at him. “I’ll go out when the lake is calm. But definitely not in a storm.” Nor at night, when the lethan prowled.
“We don’t have much of a choice,” Denan said. “Bridges don’t go all the way to the island.”
She made an unhappy sound. “Fine. While you ready the boat, I’m going to check on Sela.”
On the next level, the men continued down while Larkin stepped past the guards at Mama’s chambers. They were all still asleep in bed. Sela lay on the far side, an empty pot of tea on the nightstand, the cup still steaming. Larkin laid a hand on Sela’s brow, grateful that she didn’t feel as hot as yesterday.
“As long as she keeps the tea in her,” Mama said sleepily, “she does all right.”
“I’m going to leave you in charge of bringing on a new butler,” Larkin said. “Just make sure the guards test him first.”
Mama mumbled something that sounded like an agreement.
“Send one of the pages if you need anything,” Larkin said.
Mama made the noise again before her breathing deepened, and she went back to sleep.
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