Edain stares at her flatly. “You want me to kill Lucere? With Thiago’s knife?”
There’s a certain sort of glee darkening her green eyes. “Why did I not think of this before?” she breathes. “It’s perfect.”
“It’s madness,” Edain counters. He pushes himself upright, tossing the grapes aside as he locks gazes with her. “Firstly, I would have to be able to even get close to the Prince of Evernight. His people are—”
“Not that good.” She whirls on him, and I can see her mind is made up. “Not as good as you when you want to be unseen.”
“Firstly, if I could get close to him, then he would already be dead and we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” he points out, and I wonder if he’s actually tried before. “Secondly, the laws of the queensmoot are sacrosanct. No murder. No bloodshed. Any disputes must be brought before the alliance and the Council of Queens. If I am caught—fuck, if I actually kill the girl—then this doesn’t just threaten the alliance, it shatters it. There will never be another queensmoot again.” He holds up a finger when she moves to protest. “No, Adaia.”
My mother leans forward, resting both hands on the daybed as she stares into his face. “What did you just say?”
“No,” he repeats, loudly and firmly.
I don’t dare move. I don’t even dare breathe. Nobody tells her no, but Edain…. The way he’s looking at her….
“Get out,” she whispers, not bothering to look at us. “Both of you. I can see my little pet needs some convincing.”
Edain’s eyes smolder. He hates that nickname.
Andraste and I share a look.
I don’t hesitate. I bolt for the tent opening.
Someone is going to die.
And the choices are: Lucere. Or Edain.
I have to see Thiago and I have to see him now.
It’s no longer a matter of demanding to know what he meant by the Mistmere play—it’s no longer important. Etan’s the threat looming at my throat. And then there’s Lucere, a princess with no idea what is even coming her way.
Mother will convince Edain to take a tilt at her. I’m certain of it. The Queen of Asturia doesn’t know what “no” means.
I have to stop this.
I have to stop Edain from getting close to Thiago and seeing war blow up in our faces.
And I owe Thiago a promise. I gave him my word that I would marry him if he gave my mother Mistmere.
It’s all coming at me with the speed of a runaway carriage and I stuff my things into a bag, before grabbing my cloak and turning toward the door of the tent.
Too late. Andraste stands there, her gaze raking over the cloak, the knife and my dress. She draws her own conclusions. “Where are you going?”
“This is the last night of the queensmoot. I thought we were supposed to celebrate?”
She captures my wrist, searching my face. “Vi?”
“What if I told you there was a way I could… escape Etan?” I don’t even know why I’m confiding in her, except for the fact that she’s been kinder to me these past three days than she’s been in years.
“I would say that you’re a fool,” she says gently. “Mother will never let you break the marriage contract.”
“I have to believe, Andi. I have to have hope.”
Andraste sighs. “Go,” she whispers, holding the tent flap open. “Enjoy one last night of freedom.”
I stare at her incredulously.
She shrugs. “I know you’re not going to dance, Vi. You’re going to go find your handsome stranger and you’re going to spend the night in his arms. One of us may as well enjoy ourselves.”
She thinks it’s the last chance I have to enjoy another’s pleasures. I can see it in her face.
“I’m not going to stop fighting her,” I tell her.
“I know.” She grimaces. “You never do.”
And then she pauses. “Do you remember the night you set fire to the castle?”
I wince as I draw my hood over my face. “I keep trying to forget it. I can barely look at a candle without flinching.”
“It wasn’t a candle, Vi.” She says it so softly I can barely hear the words.
But a strange stillness seeps through me.
It feels like something inside me is holding its breath.
“She locked your magic away from you, made you forget it.” Andraste fixes the hood of my cloak, even as her gentle words destroy me. Our eyes meet. “She’s afraid of you. She’s afraid of what you could achieve if you were ever to come into your power. You were nearly twelve and you burned half the castle down, Vi. I couldn’t do that. Mother…. Mother could barely even quash the flames and her magic is strong. The only thing that stopped you was Nanny. Even broken and bleeding, she reached for your hand and she begged you to stop before you burned all of us alive.”
The heat drains from my face.
I have magic.
Strong magic.
But no…. I can barely even light a candle. I can barely….
A single memory hammers itself through my brain: Screaming, heat, fire, a gnarled old hand squeezing mine as Nanny spat blood around a mangled, “Stop.”
I flinch away from Andraste, clutching my head. It hurts.
It’s like an ice prick to the brain.
“I… I remember.” I can barely breathe.
My magic has always been weak and intractable, and my mother’s made no secret of the fact she despises me for it.
But what does this mean?
Because if she took those memories away from me, if she took my magic, then why delight in sneering at me for it?
“Mother is going to name me heir once we return from the queensmoot,” Andraste finally says. “Because she’s afraid of you. She’s afraid of what you could do if you ever come into your own. She mocks you and she locks you away, and she makes you believe you’re weak. It’s the same reason she’s shipping you off to Aska.”
“But I…. You….”
“I don’t know if you can break the marriage contract,”
