“What’s wrong?” I slid into her lap and pressed close to her.
She stroked my hair and pressed her forehead against mine. “Nothing. Don’t you worry about it.”
Papa reached over me and squeezed her shoulder. Our carriage rattled up the drive.
Later that night, after they had tucked me into bed, I heard them yelling. Back then, they never argued. I hid beneath my blanket, afraid of what their anger at each other might mean.
Everybody had always said my parents had a fairy-tale love story. Papa had been a boisterous young gentleman, a third son, studying law in the city. Mama had been one of the old queen’s ladies-in-waiting. When Papa had gone to the palace to sit his exams, Mama had spotted him in the long line of waiting students, glasses askew and riding cloak disheveled. She’d purposely bumped into him and stolen his pen case, so she could burst into the examination hall and give it back under the pretense of having found it on the floor. She’d dressed in her best and had stolen his heart as well.
Downstairs, the screaming continued. Their voices rose louder and louder. The dining room was directly beneath my bedroom, and I couldn’t escape the noise. I climbed out of bed and perched beside the empty fireplace to listen.
“You’re being hysterical,” Papa shouted. “This won’t last forever. It can’t last. No one will stand for it to happen again. You’ll see. By next year, the witch will be off the throne.”
“You don’t know that, Claude,” Mama snapped back. “You have no way of knowing that.”
“I hope it,” Papa said, his voice gentler. “We all do. If we all keep hoping—”
“Hope isn’t going to fix this! We have to fight it! But in the meantime, we cannot have more children. Not now. Not when they might have to face this.”
“You want Remi to grow up alone?”
“With how things are, I don’t want Remi to grow up at all,” Mama growled. Then she broke into sobs. “If she grows up, then she’ll … we’ll have to bring…”
“This is a blessing,” Papa insisted. “We have tried for so long.”
“A blessing or an omen?” Mama asked. “They’d be born in the autumn. You know how rare it is for Marena to bless those of our blood with conception at this time of year. The baby would have a war gift. What would that mean for a child at a time like this? Would the queen even let them live?”
“I always hoped we’d have another. A sibling for her.” Papa’s voice sounded distant and sad. “Can’t you think about this? For another week, at least?”
Mama sniffled. “Maybe someday. When this is over. But, Claude, not until then. We can’t afford to put this off. I’ll start to show soon, and then what will we do? You know the laws the queen wants to bring in. I’ll send for the mage tomorrow.”
“It is your decision,” Papa said, his voice clogged with tears.
I wandered back to my bed, hugging my chest. I’d always dreamed of having a sister to run with over the estate, to teach to ride and shoot. Sometimes the château was lonely without any other children, and I longed for the liveliness of the court and Cadence’s quiet laugh. But whatever had happened in the city had shaken my parents to their core. I’d never heard either of them sound so defeated.
CHAPTER 5
CADENCE
I STAND AT THE basin and scrub the stage makeup from my face while Lacerde lays out a black tunic and a pair of wool breeches on my bed. They once belonged to a groom in the stables, but a soft song was all it took to lure her to sleep for long enough that I could snatch these clothes. The tunic is a little too tight, and my mass of blond hair barely fits under the borrowed cap, but at night, I don’t think anyone will look too closely. I mask the scent of my magic as best as I can, dabbing cologne behind my ears and on my wrists. It wouldn’t trick a palace mage, but it should work to fool folk who don’t know me well.
Lacerde passes me an unfamiliar leather satchel. I reach inside, and my fingers curl around something cold. Sighing, I draw out a short, crystal-handled dagger.
What does she think I’m going to do with this? The blade is barely longer than a letter opener. And knives are messy.
“What if you get too scared to make a sound?” she demands, a defensive edge in her tone. My cheeks heat. I don’t want to admit that I’ve imagined the same scenario myself. “What if they put a hand over your mouth or choke you? Tonight’s a night for precautions. Just take it.”
“Where did you even get this?” I mumble. Weapons are not allowed on the palace grounds. For us mages, our voice is our weapon. Elene says that anyone who should be armed already is. There are ward-songs on the gates that should have made concealing the dagger impossible.
“Try to be back before dawn this time. You need some sleep,” Lacerde says, ignoring my question. She opens the double doors that lead from my suite into the hall.
A man waits outside, reclining against the wall. I take in his lean frame, his high, angular cheekbones and bright blue eyes, as dread squeezes my chest. The aroma of cinnamon hovers in the air. He wears a simple singer’s-green robe without a pin to mark his school.
“Well hello, my little Quarter Note,” Ren exclaims in his melodic, bubbly voice, a direct contrast to his stark gaze boring into me. “Where do you think you’re headed at this time of night?”
“To—to the hospital,” I stammer. He knows where I go, so why is he here? I look to Lacerde for help. “I’m allowed.”
“Is that so?” Ren asks. He folds his arms over his chest and gives me a stern, almost fatherly scowl. “Her Majesty sent me. She tells me you were very good tonight, though she worries about your appetite. Maybe you should rest. You must be very tired.”
“I am tired,” I admit. My fingers travel to the prayer stone at my throat. “But I said I would go.”
“Her Majesty says you were … hesitant … before the opening curtain tonight.”
My hands grow clammy with cold sweat. I thought Elene would have let that go, after I sang for her tonight. I draw my cap down over my eyes. Is he here to punish me? It wouldn’t be the first time.
“I just want to go to the hospital,” I whisper.
“Of course you do,” he shoves his hands into the pockets of his robe. “But if I were to have you followed tonight? Would my spies say that’s where you went?”
“Where else would I go?”
The chief justicar’s eyes sweep over me again, slower this time. They hesitate on the brown satchel, and I almost cringe, imagining what he will do if he discovers the dagger inside.
Ren has used spells on me before. Most of them mild, meant to sting or ache, without really damaging me. Without Elene’s express instruction, he can’t do lasting damage. But once, he used a breaking spell and snapped my wrist when he thought I’d omitted something in my report.
It was the only time Elene ever stepped in to protect me. When she found out about Ren’s spell, she cast him out of the palace and refused to let him return for weeks. Whether her motivation came from anger over how he treated something that belonged to her or a spark of genuine feeling for me, I will never know. But for a few joyful days, I dared to hope that he’d been sent to the Expelled settlement and would never return.