[ Asterion ] Book One, Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Luna was aware that Rydal was manipulating her.

There was no reason for them to dedicate as much time to her as they did. There was no reason for them to help out in her workshop when they weren’t on duty, no reason for them to humour her on her daily strolls around the palace grounds. They certainly weren’t there to converse, though they were a fantastic listener.

Luna was aware that Rydal was using her, but they were, unfortunately, very pretty.

It was a bad idea, she knew, to be in the company of a Sinite so often, outside of formal events. No one had made any official complaints but the guards stationed around the grounds would nudge one another and follow the pair with their eyes. Alexandria had made some displeased noises about the situation but hadn’t forbidden her from speaking with Rydal, nor had Queen Briar summoned her to her chambers.

Rydal diligently held out their arm, offering support, as they took what was becoming their usual route through the gardens. It was difficult to tell whether it was the safe thing to do, or an insult to Thisia; Luna was either being cautious, ensuring all knew where they were and what they were doing, or they were making a point of trampling over the palace grounds where all could see.

With a glance behind them, almost imperceptivity fast, Rydal said, “Did you read the letter?”

Luna could’ve cried. It had been more than two weeks and not once had Rydal alluded to the scroll they’d slipped into her sleeve, stamped with the royal emblem, the salamander pressed into once-burning wax.

She’d read the missive almost in the same breath as she’d destroyed it. Her fingers at burnt at the touch of paper inked by the king himself, fear making her skin clammy not with sweat, but with an excess of magic. It danced on her fingertips, power with no purpose, no vessel, a dusky, sunset-purple in the dark of her room.

Her eyes took in the words. The magic latched onto the paper, searing it through, destroying it without smoke and only the faint, honeycomb-sweet scent of magic lilting in the air. 

“I was starting to think I’d imagined it. That I’d dreamt up the whole thing,” Luna said. “As if exploding crystals weren’t exciting enough already! You’ve swept me up in a world of intrigue I most certainly don’t belong in.”

“So you destroyed it,” Rydal said.

They said no more. The pair reached a small apple orchard, trees stark and bare, that was kept as decoration in one corner of the grounds. Luna didn’t think anyone in the palace had ever eaten an apple from the orchard, seeing how many were brought in from Sunspire’s rich markets, drawing in all the produce and curios the continent had to offer.

“What do you think?” Rydal asked.

Enough time had elapsed for Luna to convince herself all over again that it was pure fantasy.

“I think it’s a lot to ask of me,” she said, honest.

“I’m not asking. It’s King Lucian.”

“Maybe it’d be easier for me to answer you,” Luna said, doing her best to tease. She couldn’t support her own smile. “It’s an honour that His Majesty would think of me, much less write to me. But I have no idea where start with any of this, Rydal.”

Rydal nodded. Luna wished she knew what they had done to become a knight, what betrayals they had witnessed in Sine; what did a person have to go through to make sedition barely enough to blink at?

They veered off the path, making for a bench. Rydal released Luna’s arm and reached down, brushing frost from the seat. There was only a sprinkling of it and the snow covering the grounds was starting to melt, well-trodden paths gleaming through.

Luna sat down, Rydal at her side. They did not quite touch.

“The king said to wait until Prince Iyden’s made his announcement before deciding on anything,” Rydal said. “That gives you a day.”

Luna should’ve focused on the prince’s upcoming announcement, on the relief that he had recovered enough to see through his original intention in coming to Thisia, but Rydal had placed a hand on her arm. There was an urgency to the motion their words lacked, and though they did not grip her, Luna felt the touch through her sleeve as though it had bruised.

“Rydal?” she asked.

“I need help. Yours,” they said.

Luna held their gaze. Rydal’s eyes were as interesting as her own; as hers glowed, theirs were mismatched, grey and brown, and she knew that like her, they had gone their whole life being reminded of it by everyone they met. She did not point it out now. She did not search for something beyond fear in their gaze, for surely they could not ask more of her than the king of Sine already had.

“Help? Help with what?” Luna asked. Rydal’s gaze darted around, distracted, never settling on her fully. They either saw straight through her or too deeply for comfort. “If it’s within my power, Sir, I’ll do whatever I can.”

Making something light of it would not help. Now Rydal’s fingers dug into her arm.

“The labyrinth. I need to go there.”

When Rydal did speak, it was always direct. Worse still, they spoke in Thisian. Their Thisian was a near-perfect thing, shrouded in an accent richer than the language deserved, and good enough for brevity.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting ideas from Finley. You know the Beast doesn’t need slaying for years, yet,” Luna said, still trying to search for a joke in it.

“Not for that. For—”

But Rydal could not say what it was for. Something stuck in their throat. They caught sight of their own hand and detached it from Luna’s arm, shifting against the backrest of the bench. They stared ahead, seeing nothing.

“Why do you want to go down there, Rydal? Is it another of the king’s requests?”

Rydal shook their head with more haste than she’d seen them do anything.

“No. Not for him. Not for Sine,” Rydal said. “It’s for me. I need to go. Just to look, to see it.”

While the labyrinth itself was directly below the palace, the crystal mines stretched further. The tunnels started miles outside of Sunspire itself, and some bore so far and deep into the ground that a glimmer of the labyrinth and the crystals that surrounded and entrapped it could be seen from them. Luna knew that wasn’t what Rydal wanted.

Rydal wanted to stand before the entrance to the labyrinth. They wanted to descend the stairs spiralling into the earth, and they wanted to see the heart of all Thisia, the true seat of its power.

“Will you tell me why?” Luna asked.

It was a genuine question. There was no demand in it, no condition for her compliance.

“Sure. I have to—” Rydal cleared their throat. Something stuck in it once more. “They said that I—”

Rydal coughed, hand covering their mouth. A thick, inky-black clot hit their palm, more like tar than bile. Rydal exhaled in irritation, not disgust. They pulled their glove off and shoved it inside-out into a pocket.

Luna didn’t dare ask another question. A lump formed in her own throat and all she wanted was to help them.

 “You could come to me tonight. You know where my workshop is. If anyone catches you, you could plead ignorance. Pretend to be lost,” Luna said slowly. “And we could go for a walk! We’ve gone on plenty of walks lately, Sir, and nothing’s come of it. We certainly haven’t started a war. I could—show you around. We’d have to tiptoe and whisper, but… where’s the harm in it? No one wants to go into the labyrinth, and most of the people who do don’t make it back to the surface. There’s nothing to steal, nothing for you to break. Why not?”

Luna laughed, unsteady, excited. She hadn’t snuck around the palace in decades, not since she used to creep into Alexandria’s chambers in the night, guards only pretending not to notice her.

She knew all the corridors by heart and had learnt the guards’ schedules throughout the long years she had lived there.

Why not?

“Tonight?” Rydal asked.

“Tonight! Before I know what Prince Iyden has to say, and before I can change my mind.”

Rydal turned to her, slumped on the bench. Luna mirrored them, smiling, and knew she had been taken in completely. There was something strange to them, something that did not begin and end with their duty or Sine.

Rydal reached out a hand, tucking a loose whisp of hair behind her ear.

“Thanks,” they said, and Luna needed nothing more to convince her that this was a terrible idea.

*

The bell chimed as Finley opened the door to Verity’s, mere moments after the sign had been flipped to read open. Verity’s was a cosy store, located between a witch’s shop and a butchers, and was something of an oddity in the centre of Sunspire.

As a child, Verity had lost a leg to a long, brutal illness, and that pain had never faded. They’d been drawn towards healing and had studied formally and informally for years, but found the healing arts unbalanced; there was little a crystal couldn’t do and almost no focus on all other types of treatment.

They began experimenting. They learnt the name and use of every plant, stem, petal, and leaf, and had studied the open chest cavities of the dead, turning their understanding of what gave life and what drew in death to a viscous, intimate thing. Verity was known all across Thisia for their pain-killing plants, their muscle-soothing salves, and all the strange, revitalising drafts they brewed.

Verity tested all of their wares on theirself. If they still wanted to reach for a crystal to soothe their pain after an hour of ingesting their latest experiment, it was considered a failure. They knew every foil in the city by name but it wasn’t only foils that came to them; their products were quite the novelty and some people swore that a crystal had never got to the heart of their problem in the way Verity’s plants did.

“Ah! If it isn’t Finley,” Verity said, elbows on the low counter. “What can I do for you? You don’t look too bunged up, unlike half the foils in the neighbourhood.”

“That sounds good for business,” Finley said, having not quite caught her breath. “I’m here for someone else. Someone who’s always relied on crystals, but, uh. Can’t right now.”

“Oh? Never heard of that happening. But I’m sure a dozen things happen every day up in that palace that I’ve never heard of. What’s your friend’s problem?”

Finley did not correct them on their usage of friend. She was in a hurry and was technically supposed to be in the princess’ chamber, guarding her, at that very moment. She’d laid awake half the night, trying to solve the puzzle Alexandria had left a few scattered pieces of in her wake, and when she arrived at her chambers, she’d found the doors locked.

Rosa had shrugged and headed back downstairs. Finley knocked a few times and earnt no response other than a sympathetic smile from Sir Kiln. Finley had made her decision there and then; there must be a reason the princess had not gone to the palace healers, even if Finley couldn’t make heads nor tails of it, and so she would offer up a solution.

“I don’t know exactly. She’s not said much, to be honest, except that she was seriously ill as a baby,” Finley said. “But I think the pain’s there all the time. I don’t think it ever stops.”

“Chronic, eh,” Verity said, rolling their chair to the countless pigeon holes behind them. “Let’s see. Hyria root with hytham leaf, crushed into pills—one in the morning, one before bed. Should see her through. Use it myself. Got some bitterwillow here, you can boil that up in tea for any sudden flare-ups. And this, this is great for inflammation. Pretty sure you’ve used all of these yourself before, right, Fin? Need me to write down the directions?”

“For her, please. She might not listen to me,” Finley said.

Verity wrote a clear, thorough list, divided Finley’s purchase into portioned boxes, and offered her a wink for the tip she left. Finley was earning an absurd amount of money as the princess’ personal foil, and though the role would not be hers indefinitely, she had nothing to save for. She’d had nothing to put her money towards for years, having board along with her job, and much of her pay was split between Willow’s mother and the orphanage that had raised her.

Finley ran all the way back to the palace, certain the princess had unlocked her chamber doors by now, strangely excited at the thought of being berated for tardiness and forced to explain where she’d been.

Sir Kiln was sat on the top stair when Finley returned, red-faced from the cold and exertion. She shook her head, sighed, and Finley sat at her side.

“You don’t need to worry about her,” Finley said. “I think she just has a hangover. She had a lot to drink last night.”

“I always worry about her,” Sir Kiln said.

“I’m sorry she isn’t nicer to you. You seem like you really would do anything to protect her. It’s too bad she doesn’t appreciate it.”

Sir Kiln propped her chin in her palm and came close to smiling.

“That’s very thoughtful of you, but I wouldn’t let the princess hear you say such a thing. These walls let sound in and out, now there are no crystals inside.”

“Oh, what would she even say if she heard me?” Finley asked, scrunching up her face. “God, Finley, were you raised in an orphanage or a barn? Are foils born with holes in their heads that cause them to forget they are in the presence of royalty?”

Sir Kiln did not laugh. That would be unbecoming of a knight. She looked away, pressed a hand to the back of her mouth and cleared her throat.

“Something like that, perhaps.”

“Have you known the princess for long, Sir Kiln?”

“I have. Since she was ten years old and I was only a guard, twenty-three myself.”

Sir Kiln was only a decade older Finley and did not look particularly aged. Her dark, black skin bore few lines, save around the corners of her eyes, and there was not a single grey hair amongst her short, black hair, braided about her hairline like a halo. Still, Finley felt that a knight should be older, that they must have lived a long, difficult life to hold the privilege and power they did, having seen horrors beyond exploding crystals.

“Has she always been like that?” Finley asked.

“Oh, absolutely. She’s never changed. She’s always been entirely full of herself, blunt, dismissive, selfish—and I have always believed in her,” Sir Kiln said, smiling faintly. “She may not be personable, may often be rude, but she sees the bigger picture. She would have done great things for the people of this continent, had she become the queen she deserved to be.”

Finley drummed her fingers on the cloth-wrapped package Verity had given her. She’d heard a hundred reasons why the princess had been denied her throne, passed over for her cousin, but she doubted any of them were the truth. Sir Kiln might tell her, if she asked. Sir Kiln’s face had softened in speaking honestly of the princess, and a little more prying might serve the pair of them well.

“Why did—”

The chamber doors’ bolt slid open.

Finley and Sir Kiln shot to their feet.

“Oh. You two,” Alexandria said, peering into the hallway, as though she had expected anyone else. “Kiln, make yourself useful, would you, and fetch me some breakfast. It seems Rosa admitted defeat when faced with a single lock and decided to let me starve.”

Sir Kiln placed a hand over the sparrowhawk on her chest, bowed, and left without a word. She had the two guards posted at Alexandria’s doors and Finley slipped into the room behind her.

The chambers were as they’d been the night before. Empty bottles rose like sores from the coffee table. The princess wore her nightclothes, a thick dressing gown, and more socks that seemed strictly necessary. Without saying anything, Finley headed straight for the hearth and began building up the fire.

“What I said last night, about your parents,” Alexandria began, so close and so loud that Finley started, almost hitting her head on the fireplace.

“It’s alright. You were upset,” Finley said, dusting her knees as she got to her feet.

“What? No, I wasn’t going to apologise,” Alexandria said, arms held out in an incredulous shrug. “I was going to reiterate myself, now I am sober. Your parents were terrible people who abandoned you for their own convenience. If you will not accept this for yourself, at least let me have this; commiserate alongside me when I speak of my own father.”

Finley did not know what was more absurd: the princess’ casual, cutting honesty, or the fact that Finley barely flinched as she spoke.

“I know,” Finley said, sighing.

“You know, do you?”

“Yes. No. I mean, I’ve always known. Of course I have! But I just… didn’t like thinking about it. It was easier to keep believing what they told me, all those years ago, than to believe I’d been abandoned for, what? A few light crystals?”

Alexandria nodded with something like pride.

“Quite right. Though one must consider it an altogether good turn of events. Had they not the excuse of your being a foil to focus on, you may well have been lumbered with them for longer than you were, and who is to say what misfortunes you would’ve suffered?”

Finley mouthed a huh. She’d never thought of it like that before. She was the foil, and so it had been her fault that her parents had left her at the orphanage doors. They were fine, upstanding people, people who had always wanted a child, and she’d taken that from them.

Finley was learning she did not always dislike it when the princess was honest with her.

Rosa arrived with the breakfast tray, bowing and apologising over it, saying she was so certain she’d only get in the way today. Alexandria had her discard the empty bottles and dismissed her with little more than a wave.

She sat down to her breakfast, morning letters already catching her attention. Before she could crack one of the wax seals, Finley slid onto the settee opposite her, package in her lap.

Alexandria looked up at her, teeth sunk into a slice of grapefruit.

“When I was a kid, when I was living in the orphanage, I convinced myself it was temporary. My parents were so worried about me getting sick, right, so all I had to do was not get sick. I used to count the days I’d been well for. If I could make it a year, a whole year, surely my parents would come back. And when I did get sick, when I caught a cold or had a fever, I had to put that counter back to zero. I blamed myself, of course I did. My parents would’ve come to pick me up, they really would’ve, if I just hadn’t started sneezing,” Finley said.

Alexandria sucked the last of the fruit from the skin.

“That’s devastatingly tragic,” she said.

“Right. So. My point is, um—can I ask you a personal question, Princess?”

Alexandria dropped the grapefruit skin with a thwuck.

“This should be entertaining. Go ahead, Finley, ask away.”

Finley drummed her fingers on the package.

“Do you hurt all the time? Chronic pain—do you have chronic pain?”

Alexandria leant back in her seat, arms folded over her chest.

“What has led to this line of questioning?”

“A few things. First of all, you had that giant crystal in here and you wanted Luna to save it for you. Then Luna was coming every day and doing something to you with a crystal, and that didn’t work. After that, you seemed more distant. You weren’t talking as much. And you kept rolling your shoulders back, kept stretching your neck, so I thought—pain. You mentioned being ill as a child, too. You’re in pain, aren’t you?”

It was so difficult to read the princess’ expression. Finley had clearly crossed a line, but she had no idea which direction she had approached it from.

“Well. That’s very astute. I trust you will be keeping this revelation to yourself,” Alexandria said, in time.

“I will! I promise, I will. Because you know that healers can work with things other than crystals, right? So I figure there’s a reason you don’t go to them, something like—”

“Something like it being a very poor idea for it to be general knowledge that the Princess of Thisia is crippled in such a way, yes. It is not becoming of a royal to make such petty complaints, or so my father always said.”

Finley grinned, seeing her opening. She untied the cloth around the package and the princess’ sharp eyes followed her hands as she pried the box open.

“It’s a good thing we both know better than to pay attention to what our parents said when we were kids, right?” Finley said, and Alexandria laughed. Once, dry and sharp, a surprise to herself. “I got you these, Princess. Foils get ill, too, we have pains like anyone else, and there are ways around it.”

Alexandria peered at the selection on offer, the leaves and roots crushed and pressed into small, neat pills, and the salves that needed to be smeared straight onto the skin.

“Is this not an elaborate ruse to poison me?”

“If I wanted you dead, I’d probably just… let crystals explode around you?” Finley said with a lopsided grin.

Still, the princess stared at Finley’s offerings, face entirely placid. Finley handed her Verity’s directions and let her scrutinise every word, and placed the box on the table between them.

“This is—” Alexandria began, after a protracted silence.

More trouble than it’s worth. Something ill-fitting for a princess. A stupid idea.

Finley had a dozen arguments dancing on the tip of her tongue, but Alexandria picked up one of the pills.

“Interesting,” she decided. “And I take one of these in the morning, do I?”

Finley nodded eagerly. Alexandria frowned at the pill pressed between her finger and thumb, then held it up to the light, as though it might glow like a crystal. With a sigh, she placed the medication in her mouth, reached for a glass of water, and swallowed it with little fuss.

“Nothing’s happened,” Alexandria said, frowning.

Finley burst into laughter.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s not your fault you don’t know,” Finley said, steadying herself. “It’s not like a crystal. It isn’t instant. You have to wait, oh, half an hour?”

Alexandria hummed. Finley had not expected a rain of gratitude, had not expected the princess to actually take any of the medication, but was a little disappointed when Alexandria got to her feet without another word and headed straight to work. Closing the box and draping the cloth back over it, Finley saw herself over to the bookcase, searching for something new to read.

The day found its rhythm. Alexandria wrote letter after letter, occasionally rising to find a law book or history that would provide her with the answer she couldn’t find off the top of her head, and Finley settled into her armchair. The scratch of Alexandria’s pen was a gentle accompaniment to Finley’s reading, and Finley dedicated no small amount of time to daydreaming about what their astonishingly late lunch would bring.

“Finley. Look at this,” Alexandria said, voice loud and clear. “She’s doing it again.”

Finley did not need to get to her feet to discover who she was and the nature of the it, but she joined Alexandria at the window regardless. There was Luna, holding Rydal’s arm as they made their way through the palace grounds. Finley watched them wander until they turned into the apple orchard, out of sight.

Finley knew that orchard well. When it became clear the palace had no culinary use for the apples, Finley and some of the other groundskeepers had tried their hand at making their own cider. It had become a staple of the servants’ hall throughout the years that followed.

“Is it really so bad?” Finley asked.

“It is far worse than I am making it out to be.”

Princess Alexandria moved closer to the window, craning her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of Luna and Rydal, though they’d already disappeared around the palace.

The princess had stood and scowled like that day after day, and Finley could not help but ask, “Do you like Luna?”

Alexandria turned horrifically slowly towards her.

“Do I like Luna? A century ago, Finley, a princess would’ve been well within her rights to have your tongue removed for asking such a question. If I liked Luna in the way you are insinuating, I would have had her long ago. If Luna liked me in such a way, she would have had me long ago. It is a strange thing, truly, to be aligned in the same way and to tolerate each other as we do, and not move towards romance, but there it is.”

Alexandria did not merely tolerate Luna, but Finley was not bold enough to suggest that the princess might have a best friend. She was oddly relieved, though she couldn’t say why, exactly. All she knew was that Alexandria and Luna were going to frequently be together in her immediate future and she didn’t want to worry that she was a getting in the way of some underlying tension that was about to wear thin and snap.

“Then why are you so against it? Rydal’s a nice person, if that’s what you’re worried about. I like them,” Finely said.

“Then by all means, jump in bed with them and save us all the trouble of a war,” Alexandria said.

Finley stared at the princess, too startled by how the sentence ended to react to its origin.

“What? Why would it cause that much trouble?”

“Do you truly not know?”

“I wouldn’t keep asking if I understood any of this.”

“The problem, Finley, is that Sir Mazur is the personal knight of the Sinite prince, and Luna herself is a Sinite.”

Finley felt her mind tug towards distant corners, finding a place for the new information to sit.

“Really? She doesn’t sound like Rydal or the prince,” Finley said.

“No, indeed she does not. That is because Luna has lived in Thisia, in the palace, for the majority of her life. Like all royal witches before her, she is Sinite,” Alexandria said. Finley felt her ignorance peel from her in confused, blocky swathes, but there was no shame in it, not when it encouraged Alexandria to keep talking. “It is part of Thisia’s agreement with Sine. As we provide them with crystals, they provide us with their most powerful witch, sworn into the royal family’s service. She is—oh, I can be direct with you, Finley. She is a high-level hostage, here to both humiliate Sine and to remind them that we can take anyone they please from their homeland.”

Finley pressed herself to the window as Alexandria had, desperate to catch a glimpse of Luna. It was hard to believe; Luna had always been smiling, hadn’t she? Guilt tugged at Finley’s chest. She wanted to apologise for the things she had not done, for the things she had not said, but could’ve.

“That’s awful. She’s really been trapped here, all this time?”

“Indeed she has. Oh, she is allowed to wander the palace as she pleases, even allowed to venture into Sunspire—with a host of guards, witches, and foils following her, that is.”

The princess’ expression had soured in a way that pain could not compare to. Her jaw was clenched, her hands grasped tightly behind her back, and as clearly as a crystal would darken beneath her hands, Finley felt how very much Alexandria cared for Luna and how powerless she was.

“But Luna’s lived at the palace forever, hasn’t she? Since she was a kid?” Finley said, wanting it to not be true. “How was she Sine’s most powerful witch back then?”

“Oh, there are ways of telling,” Alexandria said. When she said no more, Finley pressed a hand to the back of her wrist, silently pleading for the whole story. “Do you remember that hook Luna used to divert the magic from the crystals into herself when my entire chamber was rebelling against me? They used that to test Sine’s witches. You understand that two crystals of the same size have different capacities for magic, depending on their clarity, how well they have been crafted, and so on? It is the same for witches. The more powerful a witch, the more magic they can hold.”

“Luna said she came up with that. With the hook.”

“Boasting, as always. It’s true that she invented their current iteration. The safe version, requiring contact between a witch and crystal, along with their intent. The older ones were horrid objects. They had no limitations, and as you might expect, were often fatal. All that power, forced into a vessel that couldn’t hold it.”

Finley stepped back from the window. She could not wish a clear way out of this for Luna; could not wish that Luna had not been so very powerful she had been brought to Thisia, for that could’ve ended in her falling to nothing, to useless, fragmented pieces, like the magic that had torn the crystals asunder.

Alexandria continued to stare at nothing. Her posture was perfect and she did not move but to breathe. Finley understood intimately, sharply, that Alexandria was trusting her not with this information, for it had to be known by most in the palace for Luna to be a hostage of worth, but with how deeply she cared for Luna, for the witch she let lean against her and call her Lexi.

“I’m glad she isn’t alone here. I can’t imagine how terrible it would’ve been for her without an ally like you,” Finley said, carefully using the princess’ own words. “And I think Luna and I are becoming friends, now.”

Alexandria exhaled, shoulders relaxing.

“Quite so. I would appreciate you taking her off my hands, from time to time. Nineteen years and I have not succeeded in frightening her off,” Alexandria said. “I suppose I am stuck with her.”

Finley smiled, wanting to say something. Wanting to promise something, both to Alexandria and Luna. She’d have to stop reading novels, would have to find a history or two outlining whatever agreements existed between Thisia and Sine, and all the other unsettling traditions that were being enacted every day in the palace without her having the slightest idea.

Before she could say anything, Alexandria’s brow furrowed. She held some silent debate with herself, looking at the front and backs of her hands, then placed a hand on Finley’s shoulder, warm and heavy.

“Why, Finley. All that depressing conversation distracted me from what truly matters: I’m no longer in pain. Not as I have been, this past week,” Alexandria said, looking more pleased with what her body had done with the medication than the potency of the medication itself. “Perhaps all your little leaves and weeds aren’t pure nonsense after all.”

Finley smiled at her, but another revelation, as grim as Luna’s, sifted uncomfortably through her.

For all her life, for all the countless resources she had, for all that could be hers in a heartbeat, nobody had ever thought to teach Alexandria how to ease her pain beyond the mere convenience of a crystal.

“That medicine might wear off before you can take another one,” Finley heard herself blurt out. “You shouldn’t take too many at once or you’ll get sick. But you can use those bitterwillow leaves to make tea, if you need a little more help. It’s made of something different, so it won’t upset your stomach.”

Verity had written those very words on the leaflet Alexandria had read over. The princess didn’t need Finley to tell her what she already knew. Finley watched Alexandria’s eyes dart to the leaflet, back to her, but no scolding came, no lecture for pointing out what she already knew.

It took some effort, but Alexandria swallowed back the words.

“You would know, I suppose,” was all Alexandria said.

Finley grinned. Alexandria’s face hadn’t been so free of care in days, tension worn smooth, and she began to do more than frown.

A loud knock interrupted them. Sir Kiln opened the doors and before Alexandria could object, she introduced Lady Delphine. Finley took wide steps away from the princess.

“Alexandria, darling. Did you hear?” Lady Delphine asked, rushing to take her niece’s hands as Sir Kiln closed the doors behind them.

“I did indeed. Katares’ new mine’s iron yields have been remarkable. Congratulations. You always did know a good investment when you saw one,” Alexandria said.

Lady Delphine forced a laugh, never certain when Alexandria was intentionally talking around a point.

“No, no—well, yes, you’re right, I saw the reports myself yesterday,” Lady Delphine said, and had to stop herself from getting lost in the subject. “It’s Prince Iyden. He’s to make his announcement tomorrow, after all this time.”

Finley took another step towards the armchairs, trying to blend into the furniture. She had paid little mind to the announcement Prince Iyden was going to make, certain it would have no impact on her life, but the little twitch of the princess’ brow, not pained, but overcome with too many thoughts twisting in too many directions, secured her interest.

“I’m glad His Highness has recovered enough for oratory,” Alexandria said.

“Yes, yes. But the more I think about it, the more it seems that business with the crystals was terribly convenient for the Sinites; it has allowed them to extend their visit indefinitely and given them all the reason they need to keep us in a state of anticipation.”

Alexandria forced a laugh, certain her aunt was being perfectly sincere.

Finley expected Alexandria to point out that there was no convenience in almost being torn apart by untethered magic and that it had become evident that she was the one being targeted by the crystals, but she only hummed. Lady Delphine was a smart woman, had ruled for decades at the old king’s side, yet she allowed her distain for Sine to overshadow the real danger Alexandria was in.

“And Briar truly doesn’t know what they wish to speak with us about? Her spies have not got to the bottom of this, yet?” was all Alexandria asked.

“Not this time. They’ve kept it close to their chests. I doubt anyone but the prince and King Lucian know.”

Alexandria hummed, rocking once on the balls of her feet. Naturally curious though she was, whatever Sine had to say, whatever was so important that they had deigned impose upon Thisia for the first time in decades, would leave her with more work than ever to attend to.

“But here is the strangest thing,” Lady Delphine said, lowering her voice. She caught sight of Finley, considered her, and quickly concluded that it did not matter what she heard. “Prince Iyden has specifically requested that the witch be there. He says he can’t – won’t – go through it without her present. It’s rather troubling.”

“It saves time. As you are well aware, I would’ve told Luna everything that unfolded the moment the meeting was over,” Alexandria said.

It was not a threat, and not quite a challenge. It was something she had done time and time again, a small act of treason against her own family she delighted in.

“Really, darling. It was all well and good befriending the witch when you were children and needed a Sinite tutor, but you’re a grown adult. We needn’t give Sine any more power than they already have,” Lady Delphine said, and not for the first time.

“Don’t be absurd. Luna has not sent a single communique to Sine since she was a teenager and some part of her realised her letters were being intercepted. We have her in this little prison of ours and she has not set a foot out of line in almost two decades. At least let the woman listen to whatever it is the prince is so eager to tell us,” Alexandria said.

Lady Delphine sighed. Dramatic, scripted. Like so much Finley had seen pass between the royals, this was only an echo of an argument repeated time and time again. Lady Delphine’s expression was all soft, tender affection for her niece, a wish to be understood, to break Alexandria out of her stubborn, destructive habits, and Finley embraced a swell of pride in Alexandria’s defence of Luna.

She called her by her name. She did not refer to her only as the witch. She had been her ally for all the years she had endured Thisia, and she had protected her, befriended her, at the expense of her family’s ill opinion of her.

“I’ll leave you to prepare for tomorrow. I promised Briar I’d help her go over what she ought to say in the face of some great revelation, though I doubt it shall be anything Thisia need truly concern itself with,” Lady Delphine said, seeing herself out of the room. “Take care, my darling. I shall see you at ten o’clock sharp tomorrow, in the throne room. The least we can do is give our guests a fitting stage.”

Alexandria stared at the closed doors, deep in thought. Finley drifted away from the armchairs, into the low, winter sunlight spearing through the high windows. Alexandria glanced down at Finley, not surprised to find her at her side, and shook herself back into the moment.

“Shall we have some tea?” the princess asked.

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