Chapter 21

50 days left

A ria's mental quill had never been so active, constantly marking her growing list of faults. It was all the secrets; they consumed her.

Baron told her of magic, and with each explanation, she felt a renewed surge of hope that her curse could be defeated. He told her of Artifacts, and she made a list of items Widow Morton may have used to anchor her curse: the broken teacup, the towel with Aria's blood, the false peace agreement.

She hoped it was not that last option, because she'd thrown it in a fire.

Foolish. Mark.

The other items could be recovered from Widow Morton, if Aria only had a way. In the daytime, she forced herself to walk upright with her journal, murmuring plans aloud to keep the exhaustion at bay. Ironic how fighting exhaustion created more of it, like battling a hydra with continuous heads.

She also wrote to Baron.

Questions upon questions. She asked what he loved about swordplay, asked about the greatest difficulty in tending an orchard, asked if the twins' arguments ever dragged him in or if he possessed a superhuman ability to remain peacekeeper. Remembering that their dialogue was a conversation rather than an interrogation, she also volunteered information about herself. She told him of Eliza, her optimistic sister who saw romance bloom in every flower and sunlight break through every storm. She told him of Jenny, though she couldn't mention the sisterhood there, and that she was a kinder companion than anyone deserved, certainly Aria.

She did not write of her parents. Any attempt left her with halting words and smears of ink blotting the page, forcing her to crumple it and begin anew. Secretly, Aria had always wondered what people in court thought of her parents' relationship. No one said anything was wrong, but everyone could see . When Baron saw her parents sitting apart at court events, never dancing, never speaking, what did he think?

She wanted to know.

She could not ask.

Coward. Mark.

Nor did she ask about his steward. Their brief meeting had been too little to judge the man by, but Aria had later looked into Auden Huxley's service to her father, then shied away. Not because the history was bad—the opposite. The man was devoted to the royal house and the ideals of Loegria. Upright in service. It should have been a good thing.

But did Mr. Huxley take her father's discredit of Baron to heart, or did he simply tend his duties without adding unnecessary judgments?

She wanted to know.

She could not ask.

I can't help but worry that you'll think me very flawed, the more you get to know me.

Even admitting that felt like a weakness, and a crown princess could not be weak. Mark.

Yet Baron's response was overwhelmingly gracious.

In my estimation, the goodness I have seen so far excuses a great deal of failings that may be revealed.

It was only after doing a full circuit of her room with his latest letter pressed to her heart that Aria realized she looked like Eliza. She blushed, then began working on a reply. Baron's crow waited for replies if she asked him to, though he'd taken to fluttering off while she wrote, then returning to collect the letter. Perhaps he enjoyed investigating the perches of the castle or had made friends with another crow nearby.

When duties delayed her response and Aria had to use her own falcon, Eliza caught her sneaking into the mews.

"What are you up to?"

Aria whirled around, tucking the letter behind her back. Around her in the dim light, the falcons stirred gently, letting out little gurgles of sound. Her own falcon, Dawn, perked up, wriggling out of her personal nook to stand at the ready on a post.

"You're sending a letter." Eliza lifted her eyebrows. "Why? To whom?"

"Kendall." In Aria's panic, she named the first non-green-eyed man to come to mind.

Then she flinched.

Dishonesty. Concealment. Lies. All marks.

Running out of words to properly convey this failing. Mark.

"No, you're not. Jenny told me you asked him to visit the castle again today, so he has to be on his way right now. Why didn't you invite me? Just because I was cranky about his last visit? I still want to support you—that's exactly why I think you should court someone you actually like—but if you want me to be silent on the matter, I'll ... No, that's impossible. I can't be silent on the matter."

Despite herself, Aria cracked a smile. Then she sighed, her arm falling slack at her side, revealing the letter. "I invited Kendall to visit because I'm ending the courtship."

It had been unfair to him from the beginning. He was a gentleman, with qualities to admire, and he deserved someone who could admire them properly. Someone who would appreciate his musicality or the fact that he thought a flute to be the most appropriate "sorry you fell from your horse" gift. Aria had given it to her mother.

Kendall deserved better. Perhaps Aria did too.

Her mind tingled with the wild possibilities of what better might be.

"Aria!" Eliza gasped, snatching the parchment and rotating it until she found the name. " Baron ? Which baron? Baron Atherton? No, he remarried. Baron ..."

She looked up, noted Aria's grin, and harrumphed.

"You must tell me something about him," Eliza demanded, "or I will hug you and not release. Not even for dinner."

"He has two brothers," Aria said, taking back her letter. She gestured for Dawn, and the falcon stepped forward, holding still to have her message canister affixed.

"Something unique . Almost every man of court has a sibling!"

"Very well. He also has a crow."

Crooning softly, Aria carried her falcon outside, then tossed her arm for Dawn to take flight.

"The messenger crow!" Eliza blurted from behind her.

Laughing, Aria dodged the rest of her sister's questions and returned to the castle with a light step. A little joy did wonders for her curse, shrinking the ever-present fatigue to a heavy shadow, pushed behind her as she faced the sun.

Aria's journal filled with more notes each day. Things from Baron— While I must have contact with fluid to Cast, it can be indirect, such as through a cup or bottle, though indirectness can hamper effect —as well as things from her own reading— Most sources agree there is a third type of Caster, arguably gone extinct, and all insist shapeshifters do not fall into this category but are a far darker kind of magic .

Reading through the journal, she realized she'd gone off track somewhere. Rather than pursuing only questions related to her curse, she'd begun studying magic in earnest, soaking details in eagerly even if they had nothing to do with her specific circumstances. In the past, only a study of history had been of this much interest to her.

Perhaps it was because this was her history, being created in the very moment. At least, it would be her history, if she could manage to survive it.

Sitting in an Upper Court meeting, fiercely scribbling in her journal to keep herself awake while everyone discussed the problem of Widow Morton, she spoke up.

"A suggestion." Aria forced her voice to remain strong even as her eyes drooped.

After a moment's hesitation, her father gestured for her to continue.

"Rather than a direct assault, perhaps we might consider the option of stealth."

The debate took up immediately, led by her father's generals and others possessing military knowledge outside Aria's understanding. She'd not realized the difficulty involved with trying to infiltrate up a mountain. Pressed between the mountain face and a cliff's edge, Morton Manor had only two approach points—the first being the road itself, which would offer no cover, and the second being the sheer cliff, difficult for obvious reasons.

"Perhaps a Stone Caster could be of service." Aria spoke without thinking. "They could create steps within the cliff."

Everyone stared.

"Forgive me, Highness," Lord Emmett said, "but you mean of service to us ? You suggest employing the very people we're against?"

Aria's face heated. "We're not against all Casters, Lord Emmett. Widow Morton is the danger, along with anyone joined to her, but there are others in the kingdom who are lawfully branded and practicing. Upright citizens."

"No Caster is upright ," Marquess Haskett interjected. "No one's said it yet, but I can't be the only one thinking it's good they're all either showing their true colors with Morton or leaving the country."

"These are Loegrian citizens!" Aria protested. "It isn't fair—"

"Enough." Her father waved a hand. "We've diverged from the topic. Lord Crampton, you had another suggestion regarding stealth."

Shrinking in her seat, Aria returned to her journal and wrote a question for Baron, which she later transcribed to a letter.

How do you face it? When people take one look at your mark and think they know you, how do you face it?

In his next letter, he responded.

Practice—I've had a lifetime of it now. Controlled temper—no one has ever changed their opinion of me because I bested them in a shouting match. Comfort food—Leon makes a lemon tart that, in his own words, "makes anyone forget about the idiots."

Most importantly, I stand tall, because even if they don't know who I am, I do.

He was so dignified. Confident. If Aria possessed a tenth of his composure, perhaps she could make herself heard in meetings.

Perhaps her father would listen when she explained why she broke off a courtship.

She told him directly, because after Northglen, she hoped to never again keep a secret from him—except the curse, which she did not keep by choice. They sat together by the fireplace in his sitting room, playing his favorite strategy game, which involved marbles of four colors spread across a board and far too many move options for Aria's tired brain.

"I am no longer courting Kendall," she said.

Her father looked up sharply.

"You were right to criticize my choosing of him," Aria said. "I made the decision recklessly, and it was a mistake. We've talked, and while he isn't happy , I think we parted amiably. I have no intention of abandoning my duty, so I intend to find another suitor. After proper consideration this time, I've decided to look for someone attractive to me in appearance and personality but who also balances my weaknesses." She ducked her head. "I suppose that means finding someone who can temper my recklessness."

Someone she could truly talk to. Someone who would let her speak ideas in their entirety and help her examine alternate options. Help her find the best path forward. Someone who would listen.

Someone like . . .

"No intention of abandoning your duty?" Her father scoffed. "What of the duty to follow through with your decision?"

"You yourself said it was a mistake, Father. Besides, I was not married to Lord Kendall, nor even engaged. Courtship always has the option of ending."

"So you committed to this intending to break it." He shook his head. "I don't know why I'm surprised, considering your other decisions of late."

The words stung. She heard the meaning woven within: I expect you to fail. It's what you've proven you do.

"As a queen," he said, "do you expect you can change decrees on a whim? Revoke laws once passed? Will you condemn an entire kingdom while you flit from impulse to impulse? You cannot put the cracks in the foundation yourself, then expect your kingdom to stand without falling."

Two impulses battled within her—the first to shrink, to apologize, to tally her mistakes. The second, to rage at the unfairness. She clenched her jaw.

She thought of Baron's words. Patience. Controlled temper. Stand tall. If he could do that under worse circumstances, she could at least try.

"I understand, Father," she said slowly. "And I'm not trying to be impulsive. I'm just ... I ..." She mouthed wordlessly before looking away. "I have this ... quill in my mind, marking every mistake I make. I'm just trying to make it mark less."

Her father was silent. The firelight cast gray shadows across his white uniform as he moved a marble on the board, then gestured for her to do the same.

Aria looked down, blinked, and realized she'd lost track of whatever strategy she'd been attempting. Anything she tried to hold in her mind slipped away, like a book falling from tired fingers.

She nudged a blue marble diagonally into the next notch, and her father captured it with a marble she'd looked right past.

Dismal grasp of strategy. Mark.

"Just do your duty," her father said at last. "Stop looking back."

He made it sound so simple. Just get it right the first time, Aria.

When she'd started marking mistakes, that had been the idea—get it right the first time. How was she so bad at that as to keep running in circles ten years later ?

That night, alone and isolated, she wrote to Baron.

I've never told anyone this, but when I was eight, I started tracking my mistakes. I thought it would help me learn from them. Instead, I'm more aware of them, more trapped by them. Sometimes I believe they're all I'm capable of.

I want to be capable of more.

What if I don't ever get the chance?

She didn't give that letter to Dawn. She burned it in the fireplace, like her quill from long ago, like Widow Morton's melted promises. Then she waited for morning's light to break the gloom.

But the morning brought a new horror. Aria should have seen it coming—after all, she'd reached the halfway point of her curse, and Widow Morton apparently wished to commemorate the occasion.

Someone had infiltrated the castle overnight. While Aria had been in her room, pacing, feeling sorry for herself, someone left a message for the king, stabbed through with a dagger right into his throne.

Aria heard him read it out loud, and it spread goose bumps on her skin.

"When you are vulnerable, Your Majesty, when you are exposed, tell me—would you have me extend mercy or a sword?" He crumpled the parchment in hand. "Morton."

With a growl, he spun to face the north wall. Outside the stained-glass windows, the nearby mountain loomed, home to Northglen, and Aria could picture Widow Morton looking down at the valley below, as stoic and steady as her granite-pillared home. Perhaps she exhaled in satisfaction, manifesting it in the throne room as a chill breeze through the open doors.