Chapter 14

A fter several days of cataloguing the manor house and surrounding buildings in excruciating detail, Huxley finally moved his attention to the grounds, specifically the orchard, once again demanding Baron accompany him. The official reason he cited was that, as former heir, Baron had crucial information about the estate.

They both knew the real reason: Huxley feared letting Baron out of his sight. A Caster might get up to any number of devious misdeeds if left unwatched.

Baron didn't care. As long as Huxley's attention was on him, it was not on Corvin.

"What's this?" Standing in the orchard shed, Huxley used his cane to poke at a few stacked bags in the corner.

"Fertilizer, sir!" said Walter. The head groundskeeper had answered every question like a soldier suddenly called to war. Every so often, when Huxley wasn't watching, Walter dabbed at his face with a handkerchief, scowling at the steward's back.

Huxley squinted at Baron. "Already had fertilizer over there. This kind's different. What's the business of having two?"

Nefarious Caster matters , thought Baron. What else?

He cleared his throat. With every added day of Huxley's presence, he found his natural responses needing to be restrained more and more.

"This new blend should better insulate the soil, since we've had a few dangerous cold spells in recent winters. The details are all in my orchard report, Mr. Huxley."

With a grunt, the man poked his cane into the bags a few more times, then handed it off to his manservant, who, in turn, placed a stool on the ground. Huxley sat and took notes, his favorite pastime. Surely he must have filled an entire journal on the Reeves estate already, and Baron couldn't help imagining most of the lines contained variations of What is that Caster up to?

The door to the shed banged open, startling them all. Huxley nearly toppled off his stool.

"Baron!" Corvin stood in the doorway, pointing behind himself. "There's a royal carriage coming!"

Baron glanced at Huxley, but the man seemed equally surprised by the news. While the steward struggled to gather his things, Baron hurried to the door, catching a moment's privacy with Corvin.

"See anything else?" he whispered.

Corvin's dark eyes shone with excitement, and he grinned. "Sure did—it's her ."

It was not excitement that gripped Baron, but fear. The crown princess turning up unexpectedly at his estate could not be for any good reason, considering the state of the kingdom and the history of his luck. All the same, he kept his expression neutral.

Huxley caught up to them and grabbed Corvin by the shoulder, turning him one way, then the other. The boy tensed.

"I'd hoped to get you a proper suit before you had to greet anyone of import." The steward gave a pitiful moan, then shook his head. "Stand up straight, boy. Half the title is bearing."

"Wait, I'm— I'm greeting?" Corvin looked at Baron.

"Of course!" Huxley snapped. "You're the future lord baron. Now hold yourself like it. Haven't you got a pair of gloves at least?"

Corvin looked down at his bare hands.

"Hopeless," Huxley murmured. With a firm push, he directed Corvin down the path, dismissing Walter before following close behind. When Baron moved to walk beside his brother, Huxley's cane rapped against his shinbone, and the steward nodded up the path toward the manor house.

"Considering your last experience at court, my lord, surely you'd be more comfortable waiting inside. At least until we know the purpose of this unexpected visit."

Baron gave a thin smile. "Thank you for your concern, Mr. Huxley, but I feel no need to hide."

Thankfully, the steward didn't press the matter. As they reached the gravel drive, the estate gates opened to admit a sleek black carriage trimmed in red accents, with the royal crest wrought in painted metal on either door. The carriage driver and footman sat tall in the red-and-white livery of the palace. Slowly, the carriage crunched its way up the drive.

"I thought it would have arrived already." Mr. Huxley frowned. "How did you know it was even coming?"

Corvin blanched. "I saw it from—I was on the—sitting on the roof."

" Again ." The steward scowled. "We'll discuss your improper climbing behaviors later. For now, remember to bow with both hands on your stomach, and use the most formal address possible for whoever this messenger is."

The carriage pulled to a halt. Mr. Huxley positioned Corvin next to himself—both of them a step in front of Baron and Huxley's manservant.

Baron adjusted his gloves once, then forced himself to be still, waiting as the footman leapt forward to open the door.

The girl who stepped out of the carriage was not Princess Aria, but rather the dark-haired servant who'd come to fetch the princess from the kitchen. Corvin didn't seem to realize that, because he gave a proper, formal bow, squeaking out, "Welcome, Your Royal Highness."

Huxley drained of color and possibly life itself.

Baron swallowed a laugh.

The servant girl blinked, glancing down at her plain brown attire and touching her hair, which was bound in two simple braids and tied with a handkerchief. Apparently not knowing how else to respond, she gave a deep curtsy.

Once she'd stepped out of the way, the footman handed down the true crown princess, and Corvin straightened just in time to give a little squawk.

Princess Aria smiled brightly as if the boy's response was perfectly normal. "Thank you, future lord baron. It's a warm welcome indeed."

Had she been this lovely the night of the ball? Perhaps it was a trick of the autumn sunlight, gleaming down on her unfastened black hair, imbuing it with a rich glow beneath her tiara. Perhaps it was her travelling attire—a dark blue shirt and pale green vest, the combination more vibrant than her ball gown. Perhaps it was simply her smile, which found Baron and, for some unfathomable reason, lingered, her dark brown eyes touched with a slight ring of gold in the light.

"Lord Guillaume," she said, "you look well."

"As do you, Highness. Welcome to the Reeves estate."

The steward stepped forward—leaning heavily on his cane—and swept a deep bow, free hand pressed to his stomach. "Your Royal Highness, I am Auden Huxley, steward of this estate. We are honored beyond measure by your presence, though I must say the visit is unexpected."

"I apologize for the abruptness, steward, and I don't intend to put you out. Truthfully, we're only passing through on our way farther south."

Somehow Huxley's bobbing nod conveyed both relief and disappointment.

"Since we were in the area," the princess continued, "I only wondered if I might have a few moments of Lord Guillaume's time."

Both Huxley and his manservant turned stunned expressions on Baron. Corvin looked smug. Baron felt a strange thrill dart up his spine, pulling his shoulder blades back, leaving him standing tall.

Until she said—

"I could use the opinion of a Caster on an important matter."

Not him . Simply the brand.

Baron resisted the urge to touch his witch's mark.

Huxley frowned in disapproval, as if he thought royalty would be sullied by mere association with magic.

"Of course, Your Highness." Baron bowed stiffly. "Whatever you need."

"Excellent. Then let's find a private place to speak. This won't take long."

Since he was going to be uncomfortable no matter where they went, Baron took Princess Aria to the lemon orchard, where at least the scent of citrus in the air might brighten his damp mood.

She looked up at the trees in wonder, reaching to gently brush a ripening lemon with her fingertips.

"You manage all this ?" The princess craned her neck, peering at the long row of trees that stretched ahead of them.

"It's a moderate size only," he said.

"It's breathtaking!"

Despite himself, Baron's lips twitched. As a keeper of lemons, he really ought to be better at remaining sour.

"You needed a Caster," he prodded.

"Right. Of course." She shook her head, then reached into her side satchel and withdrew a leatherbound journal. "I have notes here from my personal study on Casting. I wondered if you might read through them and correct the errors."

He blinked. Somehow, she managed to dodge every expectation. Out of curiosity more than anything, Baron accepted the journal, scanning the open pages.

They were a mess.

The princess had a loopy penmanship style, one that did not remain terribly consistent across the page, the loops shrinking on some notes and expanding on others. Hasty black boxes isolated some sections while curving arrows highlighted others. Curiously, her neatest marks were those crossing out words or lines—just a single, straight line through. Thin. As if she simultaneously wanted the information removed but also needed to clearly see what the mistake had been.

Baron tried to piece the scattered fragments.

Magic inherited. Strict bloodline, either Fluid or Stone. Skips generations.

Must choose to be Caster? Dugal writes, "The Caster is activated of effort." Dugal is confusing.

Ability can appear as early as twelve years old.

Physical pain causes magic response, therefore the Casting test. Casting also causes physical pain? Dugal writes, "Like the man lifting a weight too great collapses, so, too, the Cast too great collapses Caster." Really need to find a better source than Dugal.

Casting is permanent once made. No exceptions??

She had sections on the page for both Fluid and Stone Casters specifically, with arrows drawn to group information to its respective category.

Baron's curiosity naturally led him to his own Casting type first, where she'd noted, incorrectly, that Fluid Casters needed direct contact with liquid, that they could change physical attributes—flavor, composition—and also change the effect of a liquid for someone drinking it. Along the margin, she'd written tea cures tired , her lines particularly loopy across each word.

Most interestingly, she'd crossed out a single line related to Fluid Casters:

Safe if you don't drink.

And beneath it, she'd written a very small word in rigid letters without loops.

Blood.

"Well?" the princess asked.

Baron looked up, realizing she'd stepped right next to him, looking down over his arm at her own journal. Her cheeks burned slightly pink.

"These are quite ... extensive." Baron hesitated, then handed the journal back to her. "If I may, Highness, why the interest?"

Surely it concerned the matter in Northglen. Princess Aria was the royal heir, after all. No doubt she intended to gain an edge over Widow Morton, to find some weakness in Casters that could be exploited against Morton's growing faction.

The princess opened her mouth, then clamped it shut again. She grimaced, as if finding the topic painful. Up close, Baron could see the same evidences of strain he'd seen the night of the ball—the redness in her eyes, the way her clothing hung slightly loose, as if she'd lost weight since it had been tailored. Something clearly troubled her deeply. She even swayed on her feet.

With a glance and a moment of decision, Baron guided her onto his father's stone bench. He sat gingerly beside her, breathing through the memories.

Aria breathed deeply as well, as if sorting her own internal pain. Her eyes slipped closed.

"It's warm here," she whispered. Opening her eyes, she sighed. "I'm not sure I could explain anything to satisfaction. I only thought ... The night of Eliza's ball, you seemed to want to help me, and if I may be honest for a moment, I desperately need help."

Her brown eyes carried the red touch of exhaustion but also that lighter golden ring, as if danger and hope clashed in the same arena.

Baron nodded slowly. "This has to do with Northglen, doesn't it?"

"It does."

"Then a question of my own. This all began with the execution of Charles Morton, but I've heard multiple accounts of what happened. If you could correct my knowledge of that event, I may, in turn, correct the errors in your notes."

The princess studied him for a moment, then spoke.

"My mother was hosting a series of musical events, so we had several families of court staying at the castle. One evening, Father was in private council with his advisers when he discovered Charles Morton concealed in the room. Spying. Because the discussion had been of sensitive matters of State, Father enforced the law against espionage himself, rather than awaiting a trial. If he'd waited, the information Morton had overheard could have been spread any time between arrest and sentencing."

It matched at least one version of events Baron had been given. There were members of court who speculated the late Earl Morton had been tangled in treason, and that after his death, his son was the final loose end to be tied. Others thought the king must be hiding something.

Casters whispered something different. They wondered if a prejudice against magic had influenced Charlie's death, if the son of a Caster suffered for something his mother had done.

"How could His Majesty be certain it was a malicious act rather than a mistake?" Baron asked. "This was the son of an earl . Was there no consideration for his family, not even for a proper goodbye?"

Aria winced, and so Baron softened his voice.

"He was fifteen," he said quietly. Though he spoke of Charlie, a youth he'd only met briefly, his mind was on two boys just up the hill from the orchard.

"My father would not have done it if it wasn't necessary."

"You're implying the king is infallible?"

"I'm implying he doesn't execute his friends' children for enjoyment . Jonathan Morton was the man my father invited to hunts most frequently, the member of Upper Court he sought out for counsel more than any other. Even though they weren't family, my father wore black after the earl's death." She looked away. "I have no doubt finding Charles as a spy was the worst day of my father's life. His eyes grow haunted whenever the topic arises."

As silence fell between them, the princess rubbed her eyes, clearly struggling to keep them open.

"I must leave," she said quietly. "Jenny has important business in Harper's Glade, and I wouldn't keep her from it."

"Wait." Baron held his hand out for the journal. "I'll write on a fresh page, if you don't mind."