I struggled to hide a smug smile. “I wasn’t vicious.”
Phelan was silent so long it prompted me to look at him. As soon as I did, he leaned so close that our lips almost touched. “You were indeed vicious,” he breathed, but pulled away before I could kiss him. “That’s why I wanted you. And then after the new moon, you snuck from the house. I followed you, all the way to the mines. I saw you speak to Ambrose and I knew without a doubt it was you.”
He wiped my stitches with antiseptic, the air between us full of static. And then I whispered, “Why didn’t you reveal me to your mother?”
Phelan glanced away, repacking the medicine kit. “I thought about it, at first. I was so angry at you for deceiving me. But I couldn’t do it. Every time I approached her about it . . . I couldn’t speak the words.”
I felt like he was withholding something else. Why wouldn’t he meet my eyes when he answered?
I chose to be vulnerable in that moment, hoping it would encourage him to be the same, and sat forward, my stitches pinching my side. I took his hand and I laid it over my chest, where my heart was beating. Phelan’s eyes widened at first, uncertain of my intentions until I said, “My heart is only mine by half.”
He continued to kneel before me, pensive, his eyes studying me as his hand continued to rest against my breast. As he felt the uneven song beneath my skin. “And where is the other half, Clem?”
I told him the truth, about Mazarine’s tonic, and what I had to surrender. I told him half of my heart was stone and my disguise as Anna was dependent on its survival.
“That night when you caught my reflection in the mirror,” I said. “When you said my name . . . the stone within me suffered a crack. And I don’t regret that it did, because I had forgotten how vital it is to be known for who you are, and not for who you pretend to be. I had forgotten how good it is to be seen, even with flaws and scars. I wanted you to see me. But I can’t risk it now. Not until the end comes. You are making it more difficult for me because I’ve grown fond of you, in the most impossible of ways.”
There was a long beat of silence. I was suddenly eager to know his thoughts, but I was too proud to beg for them.
I waited, full of blazing tension, watching him.
“Then I will guard you until the end, even if that means I must do it from a distance,” he said. His fingers traced down my arm to twine with my own, lifting my hand to his lips. To kiss the hollow of my palm, as if sealing me with a vow. “Rest now, Clem.”
He relinquished me and stood. I sensed he was anxious about the things I had shared with him, but he hid his emotions well.
“Do you need anything before I go?” he asked, halfway to the door.
I studied him, wondering how this had happened to us. I yearned to say one word to him. Stay.
But I shook my head, surrendering to the cold bed.
“No.”
He left.
I soaked in the silence of the mountains, drawing my fingers through my tangled hair. Phelan had become my greatest alliance while also becoming my greatest threat. And a few strands of auburn now shone among the golden brown of my hair.
37
Imonie had slipped another message beneath my door.
I found it as soon as I woke from my afternoon sleep, still heavy from dreams of Hereswith.
This time, she wrote: The master of coin?
I stood and puzzled over it and why she had sent it to me. I contemplated going to her; she and I still needed to talk. But I knew it was too dangerous for me to be in any way associated with her, especially since I had cast my lot with the countess. And I winced whenever I imagined asking Imonie why she’d lied to me all those years. I honestly knew what her answer would be: to protect my father and the life he had built in Bardyllis.
To protect me, until the right time came to tell me the truth.
I burned her message, as I had with the one the day before. I couldn’t risk having them lying around my room, and as I watched the parchment curl into ash, I realized what she was trying to tell me.
She wanted me to take the throne. And she must be doubting the duke’s—the master of coin’s—agreement with my father to support my claim.
I threw on my charm of stealth and walked the corridors, my eyes keen to find the duke. I eventually located him in the fortress’s garden, meandering among tangles of shrubs. I stood behind the courtyard doors and watched him through the glass windowpanes. He paused to gaze at the astounding view that rolled beyond the garden walls—an overlook of the mountain city of Ulla, built in tiers with houses of stone. Abandoned and empty now, with nature overtaking it.
I needed to speak with him, but I couldn’t do it in the open, where the countess might see.
I hastened to the duke’s chambers. His door was locked, but I picked it easily enough with a charm. I settled in a chair where I had clear vantage of the door, my stealth still cloaking me, and waited.
A quarter of an hour later, the door opened.
The duke entered the chamber, wholly unaware of my presence. If he had been more attentive, he might have noticed the odd wrinkle against the wall panel. A break in the pattern. But as my luck had it, he was too preoccupied.
I gave him a moment to cross the floor. He came to a stop before the mirror, and he gazed at himself. From where I was positioned, I could only catch half of his true face in the reflection. He was old. Much older than his disguise. His hair was long and silver, his face pale and crinkled as parchment. There was a scar on his brow, and a beard covered his face, gleaming like frost.
He sighed.
I understood a fraction of that feeling, and I watched as he turned to his refreshment table, as he poured a glass of water.
The cup was halfway to his lips when my voice broke the silence.
“The water is poisoned, Your Grace.”
The duke startled.
He dropped the glass and I watched it shatter, the harmless water spilling across the floor. I released my charm as he turned, finding me instantly sitting in the chair against the wall.
“Miss Neven,” he said, and he somehow managed to sound pleased to see me. Although he was an exquisite pretender. “You have taken me by surprise.”
“Forgive me, Your Grace. I thought it best that I give you warning.”
“And who seeks to poison me?” he asked, glancing down at the puddle.
“I will tell you, but only if you honestly answer two of my questions first.”
He laughed, a deep robust sound. “Very well, Miss Neven. Come, why don’t you take a seat next to me, and we can share what little bread and meat I have remaining, unless it is poisoned as well?”
I rose and joined him at the table, but I declined the meal. “Your food is safe, but I’m not hungry.”
He nodded but seemed to hesitate before breaking the brown loaf. “Ask your first question, Miss Neven.”
I waited until he had taken a bite. “Do you want the new moon curse to end?”
“Of course I do,” he answered, but he spoke too swiftly. “The nightmares have haunted us long enough in Bardyllis. My people are weary of them. They are a great inconvenience every month.”
“Even if the dream tax fills your coffers?”
He narrowed his eyes at me but took another bite of bread. “That tax not only serves the betterment of the land, but pays magicians like you, Miss Neven. Do you want to do such dangerous work for free?”