Chapter 1

A t eight years old, Aria began recording her mistakes. She took a crisp sheet of parchment from her writing desk and dipped her quill in ink before making a slow, neat stroke to indicate each of the day's faults—one mark for raising her voice at dinner, which had earned her a glare from her father; one mark for incorrectly answering her tutor; one mark for yawning at Father's adviser, who'd told her the daughter of a king should have better manners.

Her father had said everyone should be accountable for their mistakes.

So Aria made them countable.

And after counting, she didn't like what she saw. The liquid ink looked slimy, the three black marks like worms crawling across her skin, making her squirm.

There was only one logical thing to do: Aria resolved to never make a mistake again.

The very next day, she was back at her desk, adding three new marks to the page. In one day , she'd already forgotten her promise, so as punishment, she had to feel the sliminess again. She would have to do better, become a perfect princess, then a perfect monarch. Just like her father.

Never did she imagine passing one hundred marks. The one-hundred-and-first spurred her from her chair, parchment crinkling in her sweaty fingers. She threw both parchment and quill into the fireplace, her empty hands trembling, and she sighed in relief as a crackling tongue gobbled up the evidence. Perhaps she shouldn't record her mistakes after all; what if someone found her parchment and realized ?

Realized what a terrible crown princess she was.

The parchment blackened and smoked. The frills of the beautiful peacock quill curled up like dying spider legs.

Aria watched the fire. Then, in her mind, she picked up a new quill, an invisible one, a hidden one, and she made a stroke for burning quality writing materials, which her father would never do.

Wasteful. Mark.

For the next ten years, she mentally recorded every mistake. Then—soon after her eighteenth birthday—she made the worst mistake of all, a single mistake worth a thousand marks.

She trusted a Caster.

Aria arrived first for the meeting. She always arrived first to any council of the Upper Court because she loved the feeling of the empty throne room, so much like a chapel with its vaulted ceilings and stained-glass windows above a polished granite floor. The guards nodded to her but didn't speak, didn't break the sacred quiet, and she ascended the dais alone before settling into her throne. High-backed though it was, her seat appeared insignificant beside her father's.

After drawing in the hallowed air, she pulled a leatherbound journal from her satchel and reviewed her notes for the meeting.

As she read, other members of the Upper Court trickled in. Duke Crampton and Earl Wycliff held a hushed conversation, murmuring about trade possibilities with countries across the ocean. Both of them bowed to Aria before taking their seats in the dais wings. Marquess Haskett tried to engage her in conversation, but he wanted only to know if she had considered his eldest son as a suitor. Aria smiled thinly and promised consideration yet again. Thankfully, he was forced to move along as her father's two advisers arrived, followed by the king himself.

Aria stood and curtsied to her father. The king wore his standard white uniform with red edging at the hems, the royal crest sewn beneath his left shoulder. Though his crown was only a gold circlet, he needed nothing extra to exude authority when it was simply in the way he stood. The way he breathed. Just as no one would question if a mountain knew the clouds, no one would question if King Peregrine knew his business as king.

With a subdued smile, he tilted his head, regarding the journal in Aria's hand. "Dutiful as always, I see."

Then he took his seat, leaving Aria glowing under the praise.

Settling in her own chair again, she tilted forward. "Father, I ... I thought I might lead the meeting today. If you'll let me."

"Today's matter is a sensitive one. I'll conduct it myself." He must have caught her disappointment in his glance because he added, "In a month, we'll hold Eliza's birthday celebration with the entire court in attendance, Upper and Lower. I trust you could act as host to such an event?"

Restraining her eagerness, Aria gave a dutiful nod.

"I'll expect it, then. Keep your welcoming speech brief, and be sure to remind the court she's now of age to entertain suitors."

As if Eliza would let anyone forget. She'd been dreaming of suitors since the moment she'd learned to dance. Aria smiled, and she made a note in her journal to host her sister's celebration. Without intending it, her penmanship grew extra loopy across the word host .

The final members of the council arrived—minus the queen, an absence no one mentioned—and the king called the meeting to order.

"Today's matter," he said gravely, "is once again regarding Morton."

Aria's nails pressed into the leather of her journal. The faces of the court turned grim.

Five months earlier, Charles Morton, heir to the Morton estate, had been executed for crimes against the kingdom. His mother had withdrawn from court for the traditional three-month mourning season. They were now two months past that.

The king went on, "Dowager Countess Morton has not only refused summons and rejected messengers, but as of yesterday afternoon, she has sent a declaration of aggression against the Crown."

At the king's gesture, his senior adviser stood and unfolded a sheet of parchment, the seal already broken. Lord Philip stood below average height with a rounded face that managed to look worried even when he smiled, but his voice carried strongly through the throne room as he read.

"I, Clarissa Morton, countess and Caster, hereby renounce King Peregrine II and all his house. For centuries, those of us possessing magic have bent our backs to carry peace within this kingdom, and you, in your malice, have broken them at last. To the Crown, I offer two options: His Majesty will either gift freedom of magic in Loegria, or I will buy it in blood."

Though Aria had already heard the letter's contents, she felt goose bumps anew. She'd met Dowager Countess Morton only briefly—first, at Earl Morton's funeral, then more recently at a musical recital the queen had hosted for women of the court. Despite the fearful magic the woman possessed, Clarissa Morton had seemed aloof, not bloodthirsty.

But that was before the execution of her son.

As Lord Philip sat, one of the king's generals scoffed. "Flinging stones or flinging Casts, it makes no difference. What can one woman do against the Crown? Majesty, give the command, and I'll have a squad of soldiers drag her in for trial at once."

"Trial for what? Grief ?" Earl Wycliff shook his head. "Threatening or not, these are just words, spoken by an angry mother in rightful mourning. Give it time, and she'll see reason. There's no need to exacerbate the situation with military action."

Duke Crampton spoke with quiet thoughtfulness, as he always did. "She's been given time. A full mourning period. Holding off action in the face of a direct threat is asking too much."

From the opposite wing, Marchioness Elsworth nodded. "You say ‘one woman,' but she's talking about all magic users. She may plan to raise a full-scale rebellion."

Arguments sprouted on either side—wait it out or treat the declaration as criminal—and no one seemed willing to explore the middle ground.

Aria bit her lip, scanning through her notes on how past court disturbances had been handled.

"I have an idea," she said.

Too hesitantly. No one heard. And in the back of her mind, a quill scratched. Speaking without confidence. Mark. After shrinking for a moment in her seat, she straightened and repeated her words at a louder volume.

"Yes, Aria?" Her father waved two fingers to acknowledge her.

"We could extend a compromise. A peace talk. She asks for freedom of magic, and in regards to laws governing both Stone and Fluid Casters, I think the witch's mark is the main—"

" Compromise ?" Marquess Haskett scoffed. The man looked like a vulture, shoulders hunched around a balding head. "A threat is made against the Crown, and your suggestion is to indulge it? With respect, Highness, a worse option couldn't be found."

Heat flooded Aria's cheeks.

Suggesting the worst option. Mark.

She would have fallen silent but then Lord Philip said, "Perhaps it's worth discussing. After all, the countess did ... lose her son. Perhaps a concession can be made in acknowledgment of that sacrifice."

Turning a page in her notes, Aria said, "I read of a past conflict with my grandmother similar to this. During Queen Theresa's reign, a young girl named Dorothy Ames was executed. Different reasons, of course—she was a shapeshifter—but my grandmother—"

"No," said her father sternly. "Lord Haskett is correct. Bending to threat is weakness, and there's no compromise I can make that the countess would accept."

"We don't know that," Aria protested, though her voice lacked strength. "Not without trying. If we sent someone to negotiate with her, we could—"

"Aria." The king held her gaze until Aria at last looked down. Then he added quietly, "Compassion is a noble thought but rarely a viable action. You must know when to abandon an idea."

"Yes, Father," she murmured.

Raising his voice, her father addressed the court once more. "Dowager Countess Morton wishes to cry injustice when no injustice was done. Her son's death, though worthy of grief, was unavoidable. The countess will either come to accept that, or she will move against the Crown and face sentencing of her own. For now, we must consider her a potential danger to the kingdom, along with any Caster she comes in contact with. If she has not rejoined court by month's end, we will revisit this matter with a squadron of soldiers."

The matter was settled. Though Aria nodded to her father, her spirit sank. She looked up at the stained-glass windows, drawing comfort from the familiar, fragmented pictures.

For a moment, she wondered about the first craftsman who attempted such a thing. When he gathered a collection of broken glass and declared he would make the shards into something more beautiful than an unbroken pane, had one of his colleagues called it the worst option possible?

She left the meeting, clutching her journal.

"You're right and they're wrong!" Eliza declared.

Aria's heart agreed, but her mental quill had something else to say.

Arrogance. Mark.

"It's not that simple," she said with a sigh.

Aria sat at her writing desk while Eliza flopped across the bed. Though Aria was meant to be reviewing a list of potential suitors—at her father's urging—that parchment sat forgotten on the desk corner. She had instead pulled her journal out again, frowning down at the pages.

She couldn't chase Lord Philip's voice from her mind. The countess did lose her son.

As a Fluid Caster, the countess could have poisoned the royal water supply or performed some equally malicious magic. Instead, she'd sent the king a letter. Words instead of action. Surely that meant something. Surely it meant she wanted to talk .

Eliza pushed herself up from the bed. "Why isn't it that simple? You're right and they're wrong. An attempt at peace is always better than waiting for a problem to explode or exploding it yourself."

Truthfully, Aria shouldn't have relayed the meeting to her younger sister. Since she wasn't the royal heir, Eliza wasn't a member of the Upper Court. Yet Aria felt vindicated to have her support. It pushed back the scratching voice of the quill that kept Aria in check.

"I think I could do this," Aria said quietly. "I think I could mend the situation."

What would her father say if she managed to broker peace with a powerful, estranged member of court? When she'd given her input on the trade agreements with Pravusat, her father had called her insightful, and yet he was still reluctant to let her conduct meetings or run affairs of court. She was eighteen now, ready for additional responsibilities.

Perhaps she could prove she deserved them. A good ruler could resolve conflict. If Aria negotiated with Dowager Countess Morton, if she reached a successful agreement and avoided what might be a growing rebellion, her father would have to admit she could do more for the kingdom.

Just as she opened her mouth to share her reasoning, she remembered her father's voice. You must know when to abandon an idea.

"I'm being foolish," she whispered. Decisively, she closed her journal and pushed it aside, turning her attention to suitors, though she couldn't seem to focus on the names.

"You always do that!" Eliza huffed. She stalked over and stood directly beside Aria's chair, arms folded across her chest.

"What do you think of Lord Kendall?" Aria turned the parchment over to see if anything was written on the back, then wondered what she was looking for. It was not as if the list her father had given her came with individual sketches or information about each candidate. It included only the prestige of their lineage. Lord Kendall was the son of Duke Crampton, and Aria generally appreciated the duke's comments in court meetings.

" Aria ," Eliza said sternly, snatching the parchment away. "You always come up with a great idea and then talk yourself out of it."

"It's not a great idea to disobey Father."

"Did he say you couldn't speak to Dowager Countess Morton?"

"He said she would not agree—"

" Did he say you couldn't speak to Dowager Countess Morton ?"

Aria sighed. "You're splitting hairs. Father rejected the idea of a compromise, and he made his intentions clear."

"Father hardly listens to anyone besides himself! Did he even give you a chance to explain your full idea?"

"Not the full idea, I suppose." Aria poked at her journal. "Based on what I know of Patriamere's system for registering Casters, I think we could imitate their country, making a simple adjustment that would still offer protection for non-Casters."

"See? How could he say there's no chance when he didn't even know the offer?" Eliza shook her head. "Don't talk yourself out of it just because Father moved on. You're the crown princess, and that means something."

There was danger in that line of thinking. It tempted her to believe she had real power, that she could do something to help her father. A crown princess could protect her kingdom.

A crown princess could prove herself.

"There's no harm in offering to meet," Aria said slowly. "Right?"

With a devious smile, Eliza slid Aria's inkwell closer on the desk.