The Mermaid's Madness

TALIA HOOKED ANOTHER LOOP of green yarn, pulling the row tight. She tugged more wool from the skein and studied her progress before starting the next row. A flat snake of green and black squares, barely as wide as her hand, sat in her lap. “Maybe I should just make the kid a scarf instead of a blanket.”

She rested her shoulders against the wall, shifting ever so slightly to loosen the muscles of her back. The light from Snow’s mirror really wasn’t bright enough for knitting, but Talia had learned these patterns as a child. She could stitch a rayid-style two-color row blindfolded, thanks in no small part to the “gifts” of her fairy patrons.

Snow looked up and squinted. “Didn’t you . . . sorry. I thought you said . . .” She yawned and rubbed her eyes. “Wait, are you knitting?”

Talia held up one of the needles, a bronze spike as long as her hand. “A woman with proper training can kill a man with this needle and never spill more than a single drop of blood.”

Though Snow’s voice was playful, her eyes were bloodshot, and her lips had lost much of their color. She kept rubbing her thumb, smearing a thin layer of blood over the skin, though she seemed unaware of it. “When was the last time you took a break?”

“Beatrice can’t wait.” Snow wiped sweat on her sleeve. “Stop being such a hen.” She turned back to the knife and her books.

Talia’s needles clicked a staccato rhythm as she watched. It wasn’t long before Snow was mumbling to herself again. She sounded like she was speaking Allesandrian. Talia didn’t recognize the exact words, but the tone was unmistakable.

“How should I know?” Talia rolled up her knitting and jabbed the needles into the skein. “Is there news from upstairs?”

“Nothing good.” Danielle sat down next to Talia and watched as Snow flipped through another book, turning pages roughly enough to tear the paper. “King Theodore asked me to join him in the throne room. They’ve brought out the crystal, and he’s been meeting with other rulers to discuss what we’ve learned.”

Talia nodded. The crystal was a polished sphere the size of a human skull, enchanted to allow the king to communicate with the lords of other nations, as well as his own nobles. “What did they say?”

“It was hard to hear over all of the shouting,” she said ruefully. “They weren’t happy to hear about Hilad’s involvement with Lirea. Lyskar is ready to declare war.”

That made sense. Lyskar hadn’t suffered as personally as Lorindar, but they had still lost ships to the undine.

“Lyskar paid Lirea’s tribe for free passage three days ago,” Danielle said. “Now they’re demanding repayment from Hilad, both for the ransom and the damage to their fleet.”

“They’d probably be sending warships after one another if Theodore hadn’t calmed them down.” Danielle absently rubbed at a stain in the carpet with her thumbnail. “Lord Montgomery is rallying some of our nobles, trying to pressure the king into joining Lyskar against Hilad.”

“It’s not just the nobles, Talia. The merchants have been raising their prices. The cost of food has doubled in the past week. If shipping doesn’t resume soon, the people could riot.”

“The undine are all busy breeding.” Talia pulled out one of the needles and twirled it in her fingers. “What are they so afraid of?”

“Most of them are breeding,” Danielle said. “They’ve still hit three more of our ships, including one down in Emrildale that was still docked. We’ve heard similar reports from Morova and Najarin. Mostly the elder undine and the very young, but once the undine finish spawning—”

“It’s going to get worse,” Talia finished. Theodore had to know what was coming if Lirea wasn’t stopped. Fighting between Hilad and Lyskar would only make it easier for Lirea to destroy them all.

Talia didn’t envy Danielle her time upstairs. Talia wouldn’t have lasted a single hour in a room full of angry, frightened nobles before breaking someone’s nose. “What does he intend to do?”

The answer confirmed her expectations. “Nobody wants war, but we have a better chance against Hilad than we do against the undine. Theodore will be taking the crystal to his chambers. He means to talk to the Hiladi emperor alone about an attack against Lirea’s tribe. We know where she is, and Hilad isn’t the power it once was. If Hilad finds itself at war against both Lorindar and Lyskar . . .”

Danielle looked over at Snow. “The only other choice is to stop Lirea now. There are some who feel we should destroy the knife, even if it means letting Bea die.”

“Montgomery didn’t get the chance to finish his suggestion.” Danielle shrugged. “I’m afraid my response wasn’t very princesslike. I excused myself shortly after.”

“Snow will figure this out,” Talia said. “Once she has, we can destroy the knife. That should take care of Lirea, right? Snow might need a few more days, but—”

“Every day is another chance for Lirea to move her tribe elsewhere.” Danielle lowered her voice. “We should bring Morveren to the palace.”

“She might also be willing to cut my throat and steal the knife for herself,” Snow said, grabbing another book.

“You don’t understand. What Morveren did to Lirea . . . it would have been kinder to let her die. And her magic, the way the knife feeds off of souls. I think it’s more than just the knife.”

Snow picked up a green jar. “Morveren was too weak to escape her island. She needed my help to fight her own defenses. But afterward, she was stronger. Because she had a chance to feed.”

Even from here, Talia could see the guilt in Snow’s eyes. Snow had gone down to Morveren’s home, but hadn’t realized what the mermaid was really doing there.

Danielle stood and walked to Snow, looking down at the knife and the books. “How long will it take you to free Beatrice?”

“I can do this,” Snow insisted. She spun back to her mirror, knocking one of her books to the floor. The jar would have fallen if Danielle hadn’t grabbed it. “If people would just shut up and let me work.”

Danielle waited for her inside the armory. “Snow’s exhausted. If she keeps working like this, she’s more likely to hurt herself than to save Bea.”

“You couldn’t have known Morveren would turn against us,” Talia said, guessing at Danielle’s thoughts. “What happened to James and the others isn’t your fault.”

“Don’t hurt her if you don’t have to.” Danielle peeked through the archway. “I don’t suppose I could just command Snow to take a break.”

“Allow me.” Talia walked silently to the mirror. Once there, she reached out and began to comb Snow’s hair back with her fingers, being careful not to disturb the bandage. Snow’s hair smelled like chrysanthemums, one of the scents Snow mixed herself. This one was sweeter than usual, with the faint scent of honey blended into the floral smell.

Talia moved her hands to Snow’s shoulders, kneading the knotted muscles. Her thumbs moved up the base of Snow’s neck.

Snow gasped as Talia pressed down on a particularly stubborn knot. “The spells in the knife weren’t meant to last this long,” Snow mumbled. “The knife was a stopgap to keep her alive.”

“What does that mean?” Talia asked, moving her hands down to work the muscles between Snow’s shoulder blades. Snow groaned and lay her head down on the mirror. The bandage was still white, which meant Snow’s bleeding had stopped. That was a good sign.

“Don’t know,” Snow said. “Gustan was just a component in her spell. But Lirea fought back. Morveren didn’t expect that.”

“She’s strong. Morveren must have been mad when Lirea wasn’t interested in learning magic.” Snow yawned. “Morveren’s a good teacher. How can such a bad person be a good teacher?”

Talia’s face grew warm. She rarely showed off her fairy gifts, but with Snow . . . “Well, you’re not much of a student sometimes. Do you remember when you refused to pick up a sword for a full week because the practice jacket was ‘too unflattering’?”

Danielle crossed the room to retrieve the knife from Snow’s mirror. “I’ll deliver this to Father Isaac for now.”

Talia was stopped only once on her way out of the palace. She sighed, feigning annoyance as she explained that the princess had forgotten something on the ship, and of course she needed it fetched right now. Soon she was riding a horse and wagon down the road toward the docks.

The ride seemed to take forever, though the moon had barely moved by the time Talia arrived. The same excuse got her past the harbormaster’s man, who was understandably curious why a lone rider needed to reach the queen’s ship at this time of night.

Talia hailed the Phillipa, and was unsurprised when Captain Hephyra answered. As far as Talia could tell, Hephyra slept almost as infrequently as Talia herself.

“No need.” Talia kicked off her sandals and dove from the end of the dock. By the time she reached the ship, Hephyra had already lowered a line into the water. She hauled Talia up as though she weighed nothing at all.

“Take them both,” said Hephyra, her annoyance obvious. “The crew will be happy to see them gone. They’re down in the hold. Before she left, your friend Snow rigged a circle to keep Morveren from using her magic. Nearly killed herself from the effort, but it seems to have worked.”

Talia dipped into the pouch at her waist and pulled out a ball of beeswax. She squeezed off two small pieces, pressing them into her ears. “No thanks.”

The air grew cool as Talia descended to the bottom of the ship. The boards creaked beneath her feet. Below this deck, rocks and soil provided ballast for the Phillipa . The air smelled like a farmer’s field after a heavy spring rain.

Her bare feet splashed through puddles. Crates and barrels were secured to either side, creating a dark, cramped hallway of sorts. A single lantern burned farther along, hung from the central beam.

Talia ducked her head and made her way past extra rope, provisions for the crew, and several barrels that smelled of tar. Morveren sat at the rear, where the mizzenmast was secured through the decks all the way down to the keel. Chains bound Morveren to the mast. Through the puddles, Talia could see faint scratches in the floor where Snow had cast her spell.

Lannadae lay in the circle beside her grandmother, both tails curled against Morveren’s. Lannadae was asleep, but Morveren’s eyes watched Talia as she approached.

One of Morveren’s tails slapped the deck. “I should save your queen when you couldn’t save my granddaughter?”

“Lirea didn’t seem interested in being saved.” Talia sat down on a crate. “But that didn’t stop you, did it?”

Talia drew the curved knife Beatrice had given her all those years ago. “You used magic to force your granddaughter to kill Gustan. That makes you a murderer. If you prefer not to help us, I’d be happy to turn you over to Captain Varisto. He’s wanted to get his hands on you for quite some time.” Talia turned the knife, testing the point. “I imagine he’d be even more upset if he learned what you’d done to his brother’s soul.”

“Lirea will die if you don’t help us,” Talia said. “If Snow can’t free Beatrice, they mean to destroy the knife.”

“You can’t!” Morveren pulled against the chains. “She’s queen of the undine. Through Lirea, we will restore what we once were and take our rightful place in your world.”

Talia leaned against a barrel, trying to read Morveren’s expression. Her gills were open, exposing the red lines along her neck. The fins on the side of her tails kept opening and snapping flat again. “You wanted Lirea to lead the undine to war.”

Talia stabbed the knife into the barrel. “I am Princess Talia Malak-el-Dahshat.” Merely stating her true name brought back memories of her childhood. Her chin rose, and her hands came together in preparation for the ritual bow. She could almost hear her mother chastising her for venturing out with her hair unbraided, like a common harlot. “You will explain, and you will help my friend, or I will finish what Lirea began with your tails.”

Talia pulled her knife free and flicked it at Morveren. It thudded through one of her fins, pinning it to the deck.

Morveren squealed. The sound made Talia flinch, but if there was any magic to the sound, Snow’s circle and the plugs in Talia’s ears blocked it. Talia had aimed for one of the smaller fins near the end of her left tail. There didn’t seem to be any blood, but the wound obviously hurt. Morveren grabbed the knife with both hands, trying to work it free.

“I have more knives,” Talia said. “Explain yourself, mermaid. Lirea asked to be human. You twisted her into something else.”

Morveren slapped Lannadae’s hand. “They’re more than tales, you silly child. We were created incomplete. More animal than human. I’ve studied souls for two centuries. You could stab Lirea’s abalone blade into my chest, and it would kill me as dead as anyone else, but I would not join Gustan and your queen. Nothing of our people survives beyond our death. We are monstrosities, formed of seafoam and magic, but we can be more. Through Lirea.”

There was an intensity to her words that made Talia take a step back. If not for Snow’s circle, she would have believed Morveren’s words carried magic. “So you wanted to give Lirea a soul. Gustan’s soul.”

“Not only Lirea,” Morveren said, lunging forward until her chains and the knife in her fin stopped her. “Her children. And her children’s children. A new line of undine, one with the ability to live on land or sea. She will unite the tribes and save our race.”

“That was unplanned,” Morveren admitted. “Gustan was both aggressive and ambitious. Traits Lirea needed. That’s one of the reasons I pushed them together. I suspect it’s his influence turning her against the humans.”

Trying to reclaim the glory of the Hiladi Empire, Talia guessed. If not for Beatrice, she would have killed Morveren right then.

“You didn’t know.” Talia crouched in front of Morveren. “Tell me about the storm that drove Gustan’s ship against the rocks.”

“I was stronger back then. I managed to influence his pet spirits long enough to arrange matters.” Morveren lay back. “I don’t care about your people. Give me the knife. Let me complete my work and save my granddaughter. I’ll make sure she leaves Lorindar in peace.”

“That’s why Snow said the magic in the knife was incomplete.” Talia reached down to tug the knife loose. “Killing Gustan trapped his soul and sustained Lirea, but you weren’t finished. You need to force that soul into her body.”

“I have a better idea. You’ll help Snow to save Beatrice, and then I’ll let Danielle decide whether or not to let you live.”

Without looking, Talia sent the knife into the meat of Morveren’s tail, near the stump. Morveren’s scream hurt her ears even through the beeswax. Raising her voice, Talia said, “Because Danielle has an overblown streak of mercy, whereas I take a very dark view of people using magic to ‘improve’ their children.”

Talia’s smile was cold enough to make both mermaids flinch. “I’ve been called worse. And anything has to be better than that silly Sleeping Beauty tale.”

Tiny feet dug into Danielle’s ribs. She groaned and rolled over, trying to make room for a child who, despite his size, had somehow managed to claim well over half the bed for himself. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, balancing on the edge of the mattress. Armand lay on the opposite side, his position equally precarious. Danielle dimly remembered carrying Jakob into the room late last night, but she couldn’t recall when Armand had finally come to bed.

Sleep was a losing battle, but she tried again. Moments later, she heard the privy door creaking open. “She stole it!”

The indignation in Snow’s voice brought Danielle fully awake. Stifling a yawn, she climbed out of bed and crossed to the doorway. “What?”

“The knife. Talia took it.” Snow waved a crumpled piece of paper in Danielle’s face. Her clothes were rumpled. She hadn’t even taken the time to change before coming to see Danielle. Her eyes were shadowed, and she still tended to squint.

Danielle pried the note from Snow’s hand and held it to the light of Snow’s choker. “She says to meet her in the chapel when you wake up.”

Danielle glanced back, but neither Jakob nor Armand had stirred. Taking Snow by the hand, she dragged her out into the hallway and shut the door. “She should have made you sleep longer. You’re grumpy.”

“So am I.” Danielle waited a heartbeat, watching Snow’s eyes narrow with suspicion. “Talia took the knife because I told her to.”

“I stopped to rest a lot,” Snow admitted. She snatched the note back and crumpled it into a pouch on her belt. “Where did she go?”

“To get Morveren.” Danielle peeked back into the room while Snow fumed. Armand and Jakob were both still asleep. “Wait here.”

“I’ll get her for this,” Snow was muttering when Danielle returned. “The next time she smokes that pipe of hers, I’m changing it into a newt.”

“That’s right, tease the cranky sorceress. Don’t think I’m letting you off the hook either. It’s going to be newts for everyone.”

Danielle fastened the clasp of her cloak as they walked outside. Dew covered the grass of the courtyard. She waved to the gardener, who was already up and pulling slugs from the young shoots.

Incense made Danielle’s eyes water as she stepped into the chapel. She spotted Talia at the front of the church. Beside her, Morveren rested on the steps which led up to the altar. Lannadae was here as well, curled up next to her grandmother.

“Father Isaac agreed it was safe.” Talia pointed to one of the incense burners. “The potion should work on undine as well as humans, so she can’t use her magic against us. This place is as safe as her prison on the Phillipa . Safer, really. Even if she tried to escape, where is she going to go?”

Danielle frowned. There was a fresh bandage on one of Morveren’s tails. “What did it take to persuade her?”

“Talia and I have already spoken of her ‘persuasion, ’ ” said Father Isaac, emerging from the vestibule at the back of the chapel. He carried Lirea’s knife in both hands. “While I can understand her urgency, I fear her passion will lead her down dark paths.”

Snow stomped through the church and snatched the knife before whirling on Talia. “How did you trick me into falling asleep, anyway? I don’t remember drinking anything.”

“Magic.” Talia waved her fingers. “Now sit down. If you’re going to break Morveren’s spells, you need to know the truth about what she tried to do.”

Danielle walked slowly through the palace, Armand at her side. She was still trying to process everything Talia had shared. How many people had died because of Morveren’s quest to “improve” her race? “Do you believe her? That the undine have no souls?”

Armand shrugged. “There are some who say the same of the fairy folk. I’m told there was a time women were thought to be soulless as well, and children weren’t named or accepted as human until their fourth birthday.”

They had just reached the kitchen when a page came running. “Princess Whiteshore,” he gasped. “Captain Varisto demands you meet with him.”

“Thank you, Fenton.” Danielle stared longingly through the kitchen door, inhaling the smell of fresh-baked bread and cinnamon. “I suppose I should be grateful he waited this long.”

Armand’s eyebrow quirked. “You’re going to be meeting with a prince of Hilad. You might want to run a brush through that hair, and maybe even grab that crown you love so much.”

Two handmaidens were already waiting when she arrived. Before she could protest, they began stuffing her into a formal forest green gown, cinching the waist tightly enough to interfere with her breathing.

“What have you done to yourself?” asked the older girl, Aimee. She grabbed a hank of Danielle’s hair and tugged a comb through the ends. “Did you spend your entire time at sea standing in the wind, just to make our jobs more difficult?”

Danielle grimaced, but didn’t struggle. She had learned a long time ago that fighting only made it worse. “If I’d had to endure this to attend the ball, I think I would have left Armand to my stepsisters.”

The other girl, Sandra, pressed a hand to her mouth to cover a giggle. She turned away to pull out a drawer at the base of the wardrobe, retrieving a pair of glass slippers.

Danielle shook her head hard enough to yank the comb from Aimee’s hands. “I haven’t been able to fit into those since before I had Jakob.”

Armand returned a while later, bearing a cinnamon-topped pastry in one hand. He pressed it into Danielle’s hand, then retrieved her sword from beside the bed where she had left it the night before.

“Bless you,” Danielle said, taking an enormous bite of the pastry. Armand stepped around behind her, strapping the sword belt to her waist despite Aimee’s protests.

“She’s meeting a Hiladi prince,” Armand said. “If she goes unarmed, he’ll believe her weak. Given that they’ve already faced one another in battle, he’ll likely take it as an insult.” He stepped back and gave Danielle an appraising look. “You shouldn’t need to use it, as long as you refrain from any further insults. But carrying a weapon means you respect him as a threat.”

Aimee stood on her toes to set Danielle’s crown onto her brow. The braided circlet of silver and gold was heavier than it looked. The metal felt cold against her forehead. She closed her eyes as Sandra dabbed an eye-watering scent onto her neck.

Armand shook his head. “I don’t see how the undine could have reached him so quickly, and I can’t imagine he sailed close enough to spy on you. Not without Hephyra noticing. That woman has eyes like a hawk.”

Armand snorted. “You should see her in the fall. They change with the seasons, turning the most amazing shade of hazel.”

Danielle stood as her handmaidens adjusted her hair, her gown, and even tugged her sword belt around so the hilt rested at a more attractive, if less practical angle. “The gem in the pommel doesn’t really match the gown,” Aimee said. “Sandra, get the ocean-blue gown with the gold—”

Danielle’s throat went dry as it sank in. She was about to meet with a foreign prince. A prince who had the might of the Hiladi Empire behind him. A single misspoken word and history would remember Cinderella not as a filthy girl who won a prince but as a foolish princess who helped plunge Lorindar into war. “Is it all right if I throw up first?”

He lowered his voice. “The first time my father presented me at court, I was so nervous I forgot to relieve myself beforehand. By the time I was introduced to the last baron, it was a miracle I wasn’t standing in a puddle.”

“I’d talk to Varisto if I could.” Armand shook his head. “His grievance is with you. I’ll be there, but you have to face him.” He led her toward the door. “He’s waiting in the courtyard, by the fountain.”

Danielle spent the entire walk trying to plan her responses to Varisto’s accusations. He was the one who had attacked the Phillipa without warning. Her words on the docks might have been impetuous, but she refused to apologize for worrying about Beatrice.

As they walked through the halls, Armand cleared his throat and whispered, “If you’re not going to eat that . . .” He reached toward Danielle.

Danielle looked down at the forgotten pastry in her hand. She took another bite, then held it protectively to her chest, out of her husband’s reach. His playful grab missed, but it was enough to make her smile. She was still licking crumbs from her hand when they reached the courtyard.

Captain Varisto was easy to spot, thanks to his red sash. He stood with Ambassador Trittibar at the fountain in the courtyard, a large circular basin resting on a square pedestal. In the center of the basin, water trickled from four figures carved from a single pillar of white stone. On one side, water dribbled from a wizard’s pipe. On another, a slender dragon breathed water from his nostrils. As Danielle approached, she could hear Trittibar explaining the fountain’s history in painful detail.

“The figure who stands atop the pedestal is Malindar himself, who forced my people into a treaty with the humans,” Trittibar said. “This was carved nearly a hundred years ago by a gnome named Rigglesnip. It was a gift to the humans, though you can tell Rigglesnip wasn’t happy about the assignment. He made Malindar’s nose too big, and concealed extra pipes within his statue. This wasn’t discovered for several years. After a heavy enough rain, that water will spray from Malindar’s nostrils as well. Now over here we have the dragon Nolobraun, who—”

“I apologize for the interruption.” Neither Armand’s expression nor his tone betrayed his amusement. “We can come back at another time if you wish to continue your conversation.”

“No!” Varisto stiffened and turned his attention to Danielle. “No, I have waited long enough.” His eyes took in the sword at Danielle’s side. He too was armed, carrying a spiked ax through his belt. “You captured Morveren, a feat I have failed to do. I know your dark-skinned friend smuggled her here last night. I will overlook your attack on Lirea in exchange for Morveren. This is my final offer, Highness.”

“I had no brothers or sisters.” This wasn’t what she had planned. She hesitated, feeling exposed. But how much more exposed must Varisto feel, alone in the palace and surrounded by strangers? “My stepsisters were . . . not the kind of family I had hoped for. I know you cared for your brother. To lose him must have been painful, and I offer my condolences.”

This obviously wasn’t what Varisto had expected. He stared at her. “Thank you for your words, Your Highness. If you would also offer his killer, I would be indebted to you.”

“When your brother lay dying, if there was one who could have saved him, would you have sent that one away?” Danielle folded her arms. “Beatrice is more than my queen. She’s my friend and my family. Should I let her die so you can have your vengeance?”

Varisto started to speak, then shook his head. His shoulders sank, and his voice softened. “No. But after, then. When Morveren has worked her magic. You will give her to me then.”

Danielle looked at Trittibar, standing behind Varisto. Trittibar’s face was sympathetic. Ever so slightly, he shook his head no.

“I captured Morveren, as you said.” Danielle swallowed and hoped this was the right response. “I promise she will be punished for what she’s done, both to Lirea and to your brother. That’s the most I can offer you.”

Varisto’s hand moved toward his ax, and his face clouded. “You expect me to accept a woman’s idea of justice?”

“I expect you to remember you are a guest of Lorindar,” Danielle said, fighting to keep her voice steady. This was more than simply standing up to her stepsisters. She spoke for an entire nation. “Remember also that men died when you joined Lirea’s war and attacked our ship. Do their souls deserve justice as well, Prince Varisto?”

“I . . . I know.” For a moment, his facade slipped and Danielle saw not a Hiladi prince but a young man struggling against his own doubts. “But I took a vow to protect Gustan’s wife.”

Across the courtyard, Danielle spotted Talia leaving the chapel. Danielle tensed, but Talia was moving with her normal purposeful stride. If something was wrong, she would be running. She turned back to Varisto. The man’s arrogance annoyed her, and she couldn’t forgive the deaths of her people, but the pain on his face was genuine. Her instincts told her he deserved the truth. Praying she wasn’t making a mistake, she said, “Varisto . . . your brother never married Lirea.”

Danielle shook her head. “Gustan was a prince of Hilad. Do you believe he would have risked his future to wed a mermaid? Would your people ever have accepted her as their queen?”

“I wouldn’t have believed, but I was wrong.” Varisto gripped his ax. Both Armand and Trittibar tensed, but Varisto didn’t try to draw the weapon. “I thought he was only—I misjudged him.”

Danielle watched his face, the way he stared at the earth as he spoke. This was guilt as much as grief. “You thought he was using her. You know how he treated her, don’t you?” Danielle thought back to what Lannadae had told them. “That’s why you argued with him about Lirea.”

“He liked to fight, to prove himself stronger than all others. There were times in our youth when he would beat me for some unintentional slight,” Varisto said, his gaze distant. “Lirea was a pleasant child, but she didn’t know our ways. Her words were often impertinent or disrespectful. I told him—” He stiffened, and then he was a prince once more, calm and formal. “These matters are none of your concern, Princess.”

“The air spirits don’t obey Lirea.” Danielle could see Trittibar’s apprehension. Even Armand appeared tense. Varisto was young, angry, and unpredictable. But he was also Gustan’s brother. It was wrong to keep this from him. “They obey Gustan.”

“Morveren created that knife to trap your brother’s soul,” Danielle said. “To bind him to Lirea. It’s through that bond that the spirits follow her will. That same knife now holds our queen as well. We entered Hilad in order to retrieve that knife and save Queen Beatrice.”

Danielle started to grab her own weapon, but that would only guarantee a fight. Instead, she folded her arms and said, “I trust you have more honor than to attack a defenseless opponent, Prince Varisto.”

Talia stepped past Danielle, her stance low as she moved inside Varisto’s reach. Danielle hadn’t even realized she was there.

Talia drove her fingers into Varisto’s wrist and the ax dropped to the ground. He grabbed for her, but Talia moved too quickly. Danielle saw her fingers jab the soft flesh beneath Varisto’s chin, and then she was spinning, one leg sweeping the prince’s legs. Varisto slammed to the ground.

“And she’s my princess,” Talia said, kicking his ax away. “I’ll thank you to leave her in one piece.”

“You tell me Morveren stole my brother’s soul, yet you protect her.” Varisto sat up, twisting his sash in his hands. “I know the knife you speak of. I’ve seen it many times. To think my brother’s spirit was within my reach, and I never—

“You couldn’t have known.” Danielle knelt beside Varisto. “I’m sorry for your loss, Varisto. Nothing we do can bring Gustan back. But we can free him, and I can give you the chance to say good-bye.”