She trembles in the corner of the tent. Body weak and thin. Bruises covering her arms and legs. She keeps trying to heal and it isn’t working, and that scares her more than anything else, that things have gotten so bad even her magic is failing her…


    The tent flap rustles. She looks up and gasps—


    *


    Valerie spent the next morning cutting and stitching a strip of black satin into a ribbon. With the silver locket in her lap, she coaxed her magic into the fabric, willing the spell to take root. It was not a simple spell—there were multiple conditions, each of which she held in her mind along with her memories of the Book of Shadows.


    But she had a simple goal.


    Find the book.


    Even so, it took several hours of intense concentration before she felt confident that the spell had taken. She was working with borrowed tools in temporary accommodations. None of these factors were conducive to her magic.


    “Valerie!” Ophelia flitted into the chamber like an overexcited butterfly. “What are you doing? The other ladies are already waiting—”


    She stopped, noticing the ribbon. Valerie hastily covered the silver locket.


    “Nothing,” she said. “Have you finished deciding the guest list?”


    The guest list seemed to cause Ophelia no end of anxiety. She fretted over every single name—who to invite, who not to invite—not helped by contradictory advice from Lady Melody and Lady Juliana. For her part, Valerie found the back and forth useful if only to better understand the Drakonian court. The Duke of Arden, Lord Canwell, was a long time friend of the family—of course they should invite him to the wedding. But then they ought to invite every Duke from every region of Drakon, and, oh, the Duke of Glost was such a grump, and everyone knew that James and the Duke of Hennich were feuding…


    The five ladies gathered in the sitting room as usual for their session: Ophelia, Melody, Juliana, Florence, and Valerie. After the initial tension between them, Juliana seemed to have accepted Melody’s presence. Valerie couldn’t say the same for herself. She kept her distance from the Empress, a truce based on each of them pretending that the other did not exist.


    Melody opened her wedding planning book on the coffee table. It had grown fatter each day as she filled it with notes and receipts from her vendors, like some kind of monstrous pet.


    “You cannot snub my father,” said Juliana. “Don’t be ridiculous.”


    “But James will have to sign off the list.” Ophelia looked on the verge of tears. “What if he—”


    “The Emperor will sign off the list. Your brother ought to focus on making amends.”


    “Making amends for what?”


    The group jumped. Valerie turned, startled, as Avon strode into the room holding his son’s hand. Juliana flushed, hands clenched in her lap.


    “My lord,” she said, only a slight tremor in her voice.


    Avon let go of Edrick, who ran over to Ophelia. “Edrick has completed his lessons for the day. I thought he might join you ladies.”


    “Of course,” said Juliana stiffly.


    “We’ll be a little longer,” said Melody, “if you don’t mind, my lord.”


    Avon gave a short bow. Valerie glanced at the other ladies. Poor Ophelia had embraced the distraction, encouraging Edrick to browse the different menus they had been considering. Florence, Lord Gideon’s widow, had taken to clucking at any behaviour she disapproved of, which in Valerie’s case was frequent. Right now, however, she only exchanged looks with Juliana.


    Melody picked up the sheaf of paper that was the draft guest list, complete with many scrawled crossings out, and waited for Avon to retreat.


    But Valerie had an idea.


    “Wait!” She stood up. “My lord, we were just going over the invitations. We hoped we might get your approval.”


    “Valerie.”The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Juliana’s stern warning came too late, and anyway, she didn’t care.


    He raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”


    “Valerie,” Ophelia squeaked.


    Valerie nodded at Melody. “Show him.”


    The other lady gave her a long look that told her Melody knew exactly what she was doing, but, again, Valerie didn’t care.


    The guest list ran to eight pages. Avon frowned as he flicked through it.


    “How many?” he asked.


    “Three hundred and—”


    “Three hundred? And where is the venue?”


    “The Royal Palace in Jairah, my lord.”


    Melody glanced at her, and Valerie allowed a flash of a smile before she addressed Avon. “We’re so grateful to Lady Juliana for her guidance on the invitations. Do you think we missed anyone?”


    “Missed anyone?” Avon turned his attention away from Melody and towards Juliana, whose smile froze. “Mother, did you perhaps consider the distance before you decided to invite half the nobility? How many ships did you intend to charter? Who will be left to govern the country while your guests gallivant to Maskamere for two weeks?”


    “My lord—”


    Avon didn’t let her finish. He tore the guest list in two, scrunched it up and tossed the ball of paper on the coffee table. “Ridiculous. Start again.”


    Then he turned on his heel and walked out, leaving a blanket of stunned silence.


    “Excuse me.”


    The other ladies would have to deal with the mess she’d made. Valerie didn’t look back. She hurried out into the hallway and grabbed Avon’s arm.


    “Hey. I have something to tell you.”


    He turned, instantly attentive. “What?”


    Her stomach swooped. She hadn’t expected his close proximity. Backed up against the door, he caught her with that intense gaze of his. Valerie snatched her hand away.


    “Look,” she said, “I know you like a good flounce, but you can’t leave Ophelia like that.”


    “A good what?”


    She might have laughed, but Ophelia’s sanity was at stake. “I’m serious. Come back and help us with the invitations. Then I’ll tell you.”


    *


    Avon agreed to her plan when he heard it, except for one thing:


    “I know nothing of any Book of Shadows.” Doryn said it in the same tone one might use to describe a nest of wasps. “My lord, are you certain? My place is at your side.”


    The grass outside the villa smelled of fresh rain as the captain saddled his horse. He had packed lightly, following Avon’s instruction. They stopped at the gate to see him off.


    “Your place is where I tell you,” said Avon. “You’re the only one I trust to do this.”


    Privately, Valerie had her misgivings. Doryn was a soldier, not a scholar. And she would miss his presence in the villa. Her choice had been Anwen—if she could remove the book he had used to communicate with the queen—but Avon wanted him in the capital.


    The horse, a fine grey mare, tossed its head as Doryn swung up into the saddle. The gate opened. He turned the horse around, then looked back at them.


    “How do I find this book?”


    “The palace library,” she answered. “Most of them were burned, but if there are any left, that’s the first place I’d look.”


    She described the book as best she could from memory. Before the war, every acolyte received their own copy. She hoped that one or two had escaped the clutches of the Empire.


    “Go via Carthal,” said Avon. “You can pass it off as a visit home.”


    “It’s a longer trip,” Doryn pointed out.


    “It’s fast enough. Secrecy is more important than speed. Good luck, Captain.”


    Valerie stepped forward to pat the horse’s nose. The mare chuffed and she smiled in delight at her big dark eyes.


    Doryn leaned forward. “My lady.”


    She moved around to stroke the mare’s soft muzzle, aware that Avon was also watching her. Now the horse partly blocked her from his view. Valerie drew out the satin ribbon from inside her sleeve and wrapped it around Doryn’s wrist.


    “Good luck,” she echoed. Then she lowered her voice. “Use it to guide you. It’ll turn scarlet if you’re near the book.”


    Doryn stared at her, brows drawn in a deep, suspicious frown. “How did you—”


    But she was already retreating. The captain shook his head, then nudged the horse through the gate.


    “I’ll return as soon as I can.”


    She and Avon watched the horse break into a trot, then a canter. The gates swung shut, and for a moment her heart ached, wishing she was the one in that saddle.


    “What was that?” Avon asked.


    She glanced up to find his gaze burning into her. “What?”


    “What did you say to Doryn?”


    Perhaps she hadn’t been as sneaky as she’d hoped, but it had been impossible to find a moment with Doryn alone. Thank Maska he hadn’t given her away.


    “I asked him to check on my family,” she said, because she’d left the locket in her quarters and so could lie to him with impunity.


    “You don’t need to hide that from me. I would have given permission.”


    She looked at him. “Do you think that’s generous?”


    “I didn’t say…” He frowned. “Is something wrong?”


    “How long does it take? Travelling via Carthal.”


    “I expect he’ll be back for the election.”


    “Of course.” She shook her head. “So I have to wait.”


    “Well, I couldn’t have you running off, could I?” He glanced at her, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards.


    Ugh, she thought. How could he be so completely infuriating?


    He kept doing this. Every time she came up with a plan that worked for her, he stepped in to make sure it worked for him instead. Her arrangement with Titus—practically sabotaged. Her request for the silvertree seedling—granted, but at the cost of her good standing with Titus, and no direct access to the seedling itself. He’d gotten rid of Priska. Convinced his friends in the Senate to support his pursuit of magic, but only with the clear implication that she was his servant, not his equal.


    And now he’d delayed her getting the information she needed to return to Maskamere. He’d imposed this condition on her—coming up with a viable plan to defeat the queen—and he’d done nothing to help. Granted, she had already committed to staying until the election, so in that sense it wasn’t really a delay, but she had no other leads. What if Doryn couldn’t find the book? What if it told her nothing?


    She stepped away. “I’ll see you at dinner.”


    “No.”


    That surprised her. Against her better judgement, she turned back. His hands were in his pockets, his waistcoat and jacket buttoned up. A castle would have appeared less impenetrable. The wind didn’t even dare to ruffle his tied-back hair.


    “You’re not coming?”


    “Neither of us are,” he said. “We won’t be dining with my father tonight.”