Chapter 17

60 days left

S omething's wrong with you," Eliza said.

Aria tensed, throwing Jenny off as the younger girl pinned Aria's hair.

"That's rude," Aria said. Inaccurate as well. There are many things wrong with me. She had a mental tally at the ready, should Eliza require specifics.

Her sister squinted. "Well, someone has to say it." Eliza huffed. "You're courting Lord Kendall, but you don't even like him."

"On the contrary. He has dreamy eyes. When he holds a maiden's gaze, he captures her soul." Dreamy. Now there was something she'd like to court. A long, uninterrupted dream.

Using mockery in place of honest conversation. Making light of duty. Double mark.

Since confronting her about Northglen, her father did not look at her the same. Though he'd invited her to the most recent Upper Court meeting, he'd not once given her opportunity to speak while the court had discussed Widow Morton's latest offenses—namely, conspiring against the Crown by actively gathering a force of dangerous individuals. One of her father's advisers had presented an intercepted letter from Widow Morton to a prominent Stone Caster, Richard Langley, inviting him to join her resistance in Northglen.

The response was unanimous: Widow Morton would be stripped of her title as countess, and a squadron of soldiers would be sent to arrest her.

And Aria's father did not seem to notice or care that he'd never called for her vote.

Self-pity. Mark.

Inability to stop marking. Mark.

Preferring marking flaws to fixing them.

Mark. Mark. Mark.

"Aria." Eliza spoke softly this time. "Are you ..."

Aria smiled. "I nearly forgot to ask—how is Henry?"

It was a dirty trick to prey on her sister's weakness for romance, but it worked. Eliza performed a full swoon, sagging against the wall as she recited a sonnet from her favorite poet, something about an everlasting spring and drinking deep but never quenched. Aria nodded along, but she might also have nodded off.

"A lovesickness," said Jenny quietly.

Aria straightened, blood pumping, skin cold. The maid had finished Aria's hair and stepped away. Whatever else she'd said to Eliza hadn't registered. Aria blinked hard.

"Oh, hush, you!" Eliza giggled. "Without courting, there can be no lovesickness. I'm simply ..."

"Enamored?" Aria supplied.

"Smitten?" Jenny offered.

Eliza gave a dramatic gasp. "Beset by pests! Two of them. Jenny, how are you so tall already, and why am I cursed to be in need of risers in all my shoes?"

Because you take after Mother , Aria wanted to say. Eliza and the queen shared the same golden-brown hair, the same straight nose, and the same diminutive stature. To say nothing of their shared love of music. Aria's face carried the angles of her father, and she stood a good half-head taller than her sister. She'd also inherited her father's black hair, dark as a night without stars.

Jenny carried that same shade, though the girl kept her hair tied beneath a white kerchief as she worked.

"Henry is short as well," Aria said, forcing a smile. "It's a perfect match."

Henry Wycliff, second-youngest son of Earl Wycliff, had been the young man watching Eliza at her birthday ball, and Eliza had taken it as a sign of romantic fate that they shared the final dance of the evening—though it didn't hurt that the boy made a return trip to the palace soon after, supposedly to claim a lost coat but also bringing Eliza a handful of white snowdrops. Eliza had carefully pressed the blossoms into her personal journal, then walked around with the whole thing clutched to her heart.

Eliza raised an eyebrow. "Don't think you can distract me. Especially when I know Lord Kendall's not giving you flowers."

"I have no need of flowers," Aria said honestly.

She had need of cures. Perhaps when her father's soldiers brought Widow Morton to the palace, Aria could find some leverage against the woman, force her to revoke the curse in exchange for her freedom.

Unrealistic expectations. Mark. Planning the release of a dangerous criminal. Mark.

"I'm leaving," Aria said, striding for the door before she could be lulled into sleep by idleness.

Eliza gave a squeak of protest, but it was Jenny who truly halted the princess.

"Highness," the girl said softly, then licked her lips and spoke with real concern. "I fear you've taken ill. Not lovesickness. True sickness."

Jenny was not only too observant but too kind. Aria still hadn't found a way to apologize for forcing her way into Jenny's trip, especially when the girl had asked if Aria would walk with her to her mother's grave and she had instead waited in the carriage like a coward.

For the sake of the sister she didn't know how to embrace, Aria smiled and said, "Thank you for the concern. I'm a little tired, that's all. Too much excitement of late. I'll retire early tonight."

She tried not to think of how quickly she approached the fifty-day mark. Half her time spent with nothing gained.

At least she'd not lost her mind to the curse yet. All things considered, it held stable, an ongoing torture but not an increasing one. If only that could have comforted her. Instead, Aria felt tension in every bone, anticipation pulling her skeleton tight. Surely Widow Morton had something else planned, another strike against the king. But expecting an ambush didn't mean she could spot it among the shadows.

Jenny nodded, and Aria exited at last.

Lord Kendall surprised Aria by suggesting they go out riding together. Apparently, he wanted to prove he had a range of interests beyond lullabies.

Eliza caught up with them at the stables, puffing from her hurried dressing and pursuit. While the stablehands saddled horses, she and Lord Kendall held a conversation Aria lost track of immediately. She leaned against the corral fence, begging herself not to be so obvious as to rest her head on her arm.

She woke to a crow swooping out of the sky, diving so close that its feathers brushed Lord Kendall's ear. Eliza shrieked, stumbling backward, and Aria's suitor dove heroically to the ground. Perhaps it was the exhaustion slowing her reflexes, but Aria only blinked.

The bird landed on the fence, directly beside her. He opened his beak and gave a loud caw .

"Well, aren't you a friendly one." Her lips twitched.

"Guards!" Lord Kendall cried, scooting away from the fence. "Rid us of this demon bird!"

"No need." Aria pointed to the tube fastened on the crow's back, between its wings. "He's a messenger bird."

Eliza eyed the bird. "I thought only falcons were smart enough to carry messages."

With another caw , the crow ruffled his feathers as though he'd taken the insult to heart.

Aria had no avian experience, but someone clearly trusted the crow. As she unfastened the tube's lid, she pitched her voice low to impart a secret. "I think you make a fine messenger bird."

The crow twitched his beak up and down as if in agreement. She stroked his feathered head gently with her thumb, then, with a rush of wind against her face, he took flight, disappearing into the sky.

"This can only be for you," Aria said, extending the rolled parchment to Eliza. "Your Henry is certainly an interesting one."

Her sister took it with shaky fingers, a smile budding on her face.

Lord Kendall pointedly changed the topic, determined to act as if nothing had happened even though his face still burned red and his pants carried a streak of dirt. He leapt into the saddle at the first available moment.

Once riding, Aria didn't have to keep up with conversation, and she found a truly enjoyable trait in her suitor— competitiveness . Lord Kendall goaded his mount faster, which Aria matched in kind, until they were both galloping, the wind billowing her riding coat and twisting strands of her hair free from its pearl net. She grinned, and she even heard Kendall laugh.

Perhaps there was hope to this relationship after all. Perhaps ...

A cursed girl pretending at a future. Mark.

Eliza called from behind, but Aria did not slow. She leaned in, pushing hard until she rode ahead of Kendall. He shouted something she didn't hear. The trees passed in a golden blur streaked with orange, and the drumming hooves kept a steady rhythm that soothed her heart.

Soothed her mind.

Soothed her soul.

Aria didn't realize her eyes were drooping until the world disappeared in a blink, and she felt herself falling, sliding into a waiting blackness pierced by pain.

Aria dozed. A fitful sleep, interrupted by the voices of her father and the physician, Eliza and Jenny. Everyone seemed concerned about her.

She wished they would let her sleep .

"She hasn't been herself."

"Falling asleep in random places—"

"Why did no one inform me?"

"Aria always denied it, Father! I thought—"

"She needs rest, Your Majesty."

Shh, Aria wanted to say, but she couldn't manage words. She couldn't manage dreams. She could only reach desperately for a thing just out of grasp, her fingers grazing its surface, her soul weeping at the loss.

Aria sat upright in bed, her fitful sleep stripped away by the onset of night. The familiar restless energy pooled in her belly, demanding that she move. She groaned at the sharp pains that surrounded her, taking inventory of her bandage-wrapped elbow, shoulder, and head. Everything throbbed, and when she moved her left arm, she hissed in agony. At least the physician had not affixed a splint or tied her arm against her body, so she assumed no broken bones. By the feel of it, he'd reset her shoulder back into its socket.

Her father slept in an armchair beside her bed, snoring intermittently.

Aria reached out to squeeze his warm hand, though it remained slack at her touch.

As she pulled back the covers, a rolled parchment fell to the ground.

Frowning, Aria crouched to retrieve it, recognizing it as the letter the crow had brought. Had Eliza left it behind in the chaos of Aria's accident?

Then she noticed Princess Aria scrawled across the side of the roll; she hadn't bothered to look when she'd first taken it. Aria blinked. Anyone seeking her simply came to the palace; they didn't send a letter. And who would use a crow?

She thought of green eyes, beautifully out of place in the rest of court.

Barely able to breathe, she untied the parchment and rolled it open.

To Lady Your Highness Her Royal Highness, Crown Princess Aria

The first half was written in one style of handwriting and the second in another, which sprawled halfway on top of the first.

She clamped a hand over her mouth, but it didn't hold the laughter. All at once, the world felt lighter, and the pounding in her head became a bit euphoric. Crossing the room, she lit the oil lamp on her dresser and tried to parse a message between the two handwritings fighting for dominance.

Thanks for showing us the kitchen. Your cook is top cut. I make great bread, just so you know. I make even better cake.

Our brother is an idiot. Much like a certain bread-obsessed person I won't name.

Our brother really likes you. We told him he should tell you himself, but he is an idiot.

Baron says it isn't simple. That's because he's too noble and nobles make everything hard because nobles are stupid. Things don't have to be hard. You know that. Otherwise you wouldn't have visited a kitchen during a ball.

What we mean is you should write to Baron. If you want. He's really great.

Sincerely, etc., Corvin Reeves and Leon

Aria read the letter through five times, smiling all the while. The paranoid part of her brain still fretted about mistakes and Casters and traps while the logical side held a curled letter to the lamplight and reasoned that if this was a trap, she could not be blamed for falling for it.

She thought of Baron, standing tall before a king, asking for the same rights anyone else in his position would receive. Too late, she admitted something to herself with honesty.

If she removed the witch's mark from the picture, she would have trusted him. She would have sought to get to know him better. Perhaps she even would have chosen someone other than Lord Kendall for a potential courtship.

There was no need to go that far, but while holding the petition of his brothers to see him in an honest light, Aria found it impossible to deny. He's really great . The simplest recommendation imaginable.

In that moment, she chose to believe it.

Leaning over her desk, she penned a letter.

To Lord Guillaume Reeves, Baron,

Permit me to speak frankly. Brief though our meetings have been, I find conversation with you to be easier and more genuine than any I have found before or since. Your brothers are charming and good-hearted, and I suspect both traits originated in or were at least encouraged by you.

At your estate, I requested the aid of a Caster, something I admit I still require. What I now realize is that I failed to say other things. I failed to request your aid—the man behind the mark. I failed to thank you again for a timely cup of tea which gave relief when needed. I failed to mention the beauty of Reeves Manor, painted in warm yellow tones and surrounded by creeping ivies. Was the house decorated to match the orchard or do you favor yellow?

I should like to know your thoughts, Baron. On estate colors, on Casting abilities, and on a great deal of other topics. If you'll count me worthy of them.

With hope, Her Royal Highness, Aria

P.S. I should also like to know if Leon is properly aerating his dough. While I have no notion what such a thing means, Cook was most upset I did not inquire when I had the chance.

She creased the parchment and rolled it tightly, then tied it with a thin string. As she did, she glanced at her father, the lamplight reflecting softly against his gold circlet, which he still wore even in sleep.

Something inside told Aria the letter she held was as dangerous as a weapon. In sending it, something would break. Her curse, perhaps.

Perhaps something deeper.

Aria sent the letter anyway.