“I’M SORRY.” CASSIA BURIED her hands in her apron, though there was no more soil to wipe from them. “The
king will not accept any gift from the Hesperines that may have magical properties.”
The Prisma still smiled. Gray daylight still filled her vestibule and illuminated her patient,
benevolent features. The votive Kyria still looked on with a smile carved in stone.
Cassia was all too adept at discerning what lay behind the expressions people held on their faces.
A woman of the Prisma’s influence and experience would naturally have many such shields at her
disposal. That was one reason she had arrived at a point where she seldom needed them.
Straightforward speech and action were her way. Cassia found the Prisma’s feigned calm more
concerning than any outburst of frustration or disappointment.
Cassia gave her fingers something to do, scratching Knight’s ear. This tension in her was different
from the familiar wariness and fear she knew how to accommodate in herself. “I am sorry.”
The Prisma’s smile softened a measure. “Thank you for asking on our behalf, Lady Cassia. I take
no more pleasure than the king in a bargain with the godsforsaken, but those herbs would have
been...” She braced her hands on the altar at Kyria’s feet. “...beneficial.”
Vital, Cassia translated silently. Lifesaving.
It was another day in Tenebra. Folk cared more about nursing their prejudices than their children,
and the king signed his own people’s death warrant.
There was no call for despair when all proceeded as it always did. The Prisma was a mage. She
knew more of prejudice against Hesperines than anyone. She should not be surprised.
Yet the Prisma did despair. Only such a strong emotion would require a shield like the one she
wore on her face in this moment.
I’m sorry,” Cassia said one more time.
“You’ve done all you can.”
Cassia took that as a dismissal. She and Knight escaped back to the garden. He lay down in his
usual place at the edge of the plot, but he did not lay his head to rest on his paws, as if he expected to
jump up again.
She had done all she could. The mages had misguidedly asked her to intervene, and because it was
in her best interests, she had obliged. More than she ought to have. She would return to the palace
today at dusk, and no more would be said of the matter.
The king had made his decision. That was the end of it.
Another day would pass, another night, another day. She would continue the rhythm her time at
Solorum had taken on, swinging between long afternoons in the dirt at the temple and long predawn
hours in the woods with Lio.
That rhythm, just begun, broke two hours after dusk. Cassia was in her rooms, occupying herself
with her potted garden and waiting for her handmaiden to leave, when the royal messenger arrived.
Cassia stared at him over her rosemary. Hot pain tightened in her belly, and she gripped the handle
of her spade. As if that were a weapon that had any power against the man standing by the fire and the
words he would say. Knight uttered a quiet warning growl. But even he could not stand against the
king.
What now? What had she done now? What did the king want of her now?
“What?” she managed aloud.
The messenger pried his gaze from Knight and looked at Cassia. His face betrayed his anxiety
about her hound, but also puzzlement. He was an opponent who wore all his weaknesses for her to
see. That was of little use, when the man he served was invulnerable.
“The king,” the messenger declared, “requests your presence at the Summit.”
The basket, spade and all, threatened to slip from Cassia’s lap. She had to make herself hear the
rest of the messenger’s words.
“...within a quarter of an hour in appropriate court attire, my lady.”
“I understand.” A lie.
The messenger bowed and escaped. Perita floundered for an instant with darning needle in hand,
staring wide-eyed at Cassia. Then the girl abandoned her chair and Cassia’s stockings by the hearth
and disappeared into the dressing room. There came a flurry of clinks and thuds. The telltale sounds
of Perita gathering her arsenal of combs, jewelry, and scent oils Cassia wouldn’t wear.
Cassia went into her bedchamber and shut the door.
By rote, she put away her things and undressed. She went to her washbasin and began to scrub.
Perita pounded on the door. “There’s no time for washing, Lady!”
Cassia scoured her elbows for the third time. “I’m coming.”
Here in her room she couldn’t tell precisely how much time she had, couldn’t feel the moments
slipping by that were not an invitation to the woods, but an order to the Summit.
The Summit. It simply made no sense to Cassia. She did not comprehend. She had grown skilled at
understanding the king’s motivations, even at their most twisted, but this she could not fathom. She
only knew she must sit in his presence until nearly midnight without vomiting on her court gown.