Chapter 20

B aron played a dangerous game. What began as a single letter quickly tumbled into something more, like pulling one lemon off a branch only to have all the others cascade at the rebound. The rational side of his mind questioned the end of this path; the emotional side had already been captured in the journey.

Her Highness's second letter arrived while Baron was visiting his parents. Corvin found him at the tomb enclosure, handed off the letter with a grin, then dashed to find Huxley. The boy had been gone longer than he should have, and Huxley would no doubt lecture him on the strict punctuality of a proper lord. Baron should have gone with his brother, but he lingered, opening Princess Aria's letter right there in the graveyard.

Baron,

Thank you for regarding my correspondence as a pleasure rather than a nuisance. Leon's menu will arrive by courier, along with a few specialty ingredients and recipes Cook thinks will test his skills. I hope he has by now recovered his tongs.

In reviewing your notes on Casting, I cannot overcome the detail of your witch's mark. It breaks my heart. How could you have been branded at six? I've never heard of anyone tested before twelve.

If it is too painful a memory to revisit, please disregard my inquiry.

You noted Stone Casters could cause sleep. Could one put an entire crowd to sleep at once? How would such a thing be achieved and what might be the purpose? Also, is it possible for one person to wield both Stone and Fluid magic, causing, for example, both sleep and healing? One final question regarding Casting: I've read the most powerful Casts must be anchored to an object, called an Artifact. If the Artifact were discovered and broken, would the Cast end?

I apologize for the bombardment of questions, but I'm afraid I have more. I'm familiar with Leon's interests, less so with Corvin's. At the ball, you mentioned he trains falcons. I've heard that's a process of incredible difficulty! How did he adopt such an interest?

I would also be curious to hear of your own interests. Your formal attire included a dress sword. Is it only for show or do you engage in dueling? What of jousting?

Enough of my questions. I'm afraid I find myself in need of good conversation, and you are the person unfortunate enough to cross paths with me in these dire straits, so I'll thank you for your indulgence once again.

Yours, Crown Princess Aria

Baron took the letter inside the tomb and read it aloud. After finishing, he tilted his head toward his father's plaque. "I wish you were here."

If Baron were any real use as a Caster, he would be.

Shaking off the dark thoughts, Baron returned his eyes to the parchment. Her Highness confused him more than Huxley did. The steward was a villain, but of the type Baron was accustomed to dealing with; he'd simply never had one living in his home, wielding power over him daily.

Aria was a mystery, the likes of which he'd never encountered before.

Why did a princess apologize as if her very existence was a bother to him? He would have been more comfortable had she demanded information rather than requesting it politely. And she remembered the names of his brothers, asked after them with pursued interest. If she'd desired only to be polite, she would have asked after their well-beings, not their hobbies.

I find myself in need of good conversation.

How could a crown princess be lacking in anything, the least of which conversation? Yet Baron felt an echo of the sentiment in his own soul. And something else ...

It breaks my heart , she wrote.

It was not the first time Baron had mentioned his early age of branding to someone, but it was the first time he'd been answered with compassion. It breaks my heart.

He was rubbing his witch's mark. He curled his fingers in, then folded the letter. With quick strides, he returned to the manor, joining Corvin and looming over Huxley to remind the man he'd not been forced out yet. The minutes seemed a continuous torture until, at last, night fell, duties ended, and he could craft a reply.

Your Highness, Aria,

To your questions—

Managing an entire crowd would be unreasonable for a single Stone Caster. In theory, it's possible, but the Caster would need skin-to-skin contact with each person in order to lay the Cast. They could delay the activation to trigger sleep for all at once, but the mental strain for the Caster would be immense, likely rendering them unconscious. It may even fracture the Caster's mind.

Such a thing might be possible with an Artifact—which you asked after. Many Casters like the idea of Artifacts, because if a Cast is anchored to one, it removes the burden from the Caster and greatly increases the strength of the Cast, creating feats otherwise impossible.

Truth, but misleading.

First, because the process of creating an Artifact is complex. You cannot take an item at random; the object must be tied to the emotions and purpose of the Cast.

Second, because not just any Cast may be anchored. The process of anchoring expands potential power but also introduces limits. Every anchored Cast must be constrained within a time period that, like the Artifact itself, is relevant to the Caster's purpose.

Third, because of the inherent danger. Destroying an Artifact doesn't destroy the anchored Cast, but rather the opposite—while the Artifact exists, the Cast is easy to remove, but once destroyed, the magic grows wild, spiking in unintended ways and becoming stronger, often rebounding on the one who Cast it.

I have experimented with Artifacts and found them disappointing. Perhaps it's the swordsman in me, but I prefer to lean on my own strength to accomplish things. Discipline and practice make for better aids than any exterior crutch.

Big words for the failed Caster. Not that an Artifact could have saved his father, but Baron's supposed strength had done no better. He shook his head, then returned to writing.

Corvin has always been interested in birds. Father nearly had a heart attack the first time we found the boy in the rafters of the stable—a toddler perched among the larks. Even now, I can't prevent Corvin from climbing rafters and rooftops. Leon tried once to follow but grew paralyzed by the height. I count myself lucky for that—I can only imagine the chaos if they were to hold their arguments in tree branches.

And finally, my witch's mark.

It's a rather long story. I wonder if I might tell it in person sometime?

Sincerely, etc., Baron

P.S. Without fail, I would be embarrassingly unseated in the first pass of any joust.

The following morning, Corvin delivered the letter and returned with a new one in hand.

Thus began the tumbling slope.

Dinner at the Reeves estate had quickly grown to be the most stressful event of the day. Keeping Leon from claws was difficult enough, but Huxley had claws of his own.

It was at dinner that the steward announced, "It's time to discuss schooling. Most children of court start attending at fourteen, and the process isn't a quick one, so we're behind in preparation."

Leon stiffened in his chair, eyes fixed on his plate. Baron clenched his jaw but said nothing, waiting to hear the direction Huxley intended to take.

But it was Corvin who spoke.

"I'm going to Fairfax."

Though the boy often shrank in Huxley's presence, this he said with conviction. The corner of Baron's lips tugged upward, and when Corvin caught his eyes, he gave a nod.

Huxley frowned. "Fairfax? Prestigious, to be sure, but expensive. Since you're not the son of an Upper Court seat, there's no need to overreach with accolades. It's enough to be schooled at a reputable institution. You may choose between Luton or Burnley."

"Baron went to Fairfax."

"A waste of estate funds, how unsurprising. We won't make the same mistake."

Leon gave Huxley the side-eye. "Falcon-head said he's going to Fairfax."

"Ah." Huxley dabbed his mouth with his napkin. "We'll need to address your schooling as well. While I doubt either Luton or Burnley are equipped with a strict enough etiquette program to save you, we will nevertheless make the effort. Whichever school your brother turns down is the one you may attend."

Silence reigned at the table, broken only by the scrape of Huxley's fork as he continued eating.

"You'll split us up?" Corvin's voice had gone small.

Huxley chewed, swallowed, then took a drink from the hip flask he always kept on his person, out of Baron's reach.

"It must be done," the steward said. "We can't afford broken vases or other accidents to reflect on the barony. Now, with regard to the estate finances, there's simply no allotment for six years of schooling, so the expected three will be given to Corvin, as future lord baron. Leon will attend a single year. It's not ideal, but twins aren't ideal for financial budgets."

Leon looked away from the steward—which was good, because his pupils had narrowed to vertical slits. Corvin seemed not to have absorbed the situation enough, sitting paralyzed, and Baron didn't dare wait for the boy's emotions to fully catch up.

" Enough ," Baron said. "Boys, leave us, please."

Leon's chair tipped backward as he stood, and the twins slipped away in a rush.

Huxley returned to his food. With a tone of forced calm, he said, "I'll remind you I'm in the direct employ of the king. He'll be informed of any threats you make."

"Threats are not my intention, Mr. Huxley. No matter what you believe, I am not out to curse you the moment your back is turned. I do not spend my waking hours plotting how I might transform your drinks to poisons. I have better things to do with my time and attention—like care for the safety of my brothers."

Huxley opened his mouth.

"I'm not finished," said Baron. "You will not separate them, for school or any other reason. You will not imply they are a burden, financially or otherwise. They did not arrange to be born twins, nor did they arrange to be orphaned at such a young age. They do not need more grief in their life. They need safety, and they need each other.

"Additionally, I realize your attention as steward is focused on Corvin, but your position gives you no right nor excuse to belittle Leon. You cannot demand respect and proper manners without displaying any yourself."

Huxley wouldn't meet Baron's eyes. He took another sip from his flask. "You play the part well, my lord."

"The part of a concerned brother?"

"The part of a baron." Huxley's eyes flickered toward Baron's throat. "Then again, perhaps the confidence and authority come from something other than the family title." He stood. "I'll consider your suggestions, my lord, but in the end, I will do what my stewardship requires."

It was always the same.