Chapter 52

A ria insisted on returning to the castle alone. Corvin needed his family with him, and Baron wouldn't have been permitted in a meeting of the Upper Court. Besides, she was about to kick the court as if it were a beehive, and it would be easier to contain the damage with fewer people around to get stung.

"This is my duty," she told him, "and I'm ready to face it."

Though she would have preferred to spend a few more hours kissing him, even if her knees had not yet recovered from the last one. It was a miracle she didn't wobble as she walked, as dizzy and euphoric as she felt inside. Her skin still held the warmth of his touch. Her soul would never be the same, and not just because he'd rescued her from the open grave of a curse.

Aria was quite convinced that no damsel in any of Eliza's sonnets and swooning tales had ever been kissed as thoroughly or as perfectly as Aria had been kissed by Baron.

With her curse broken, she felt renewed. Unstoppable , even. Like she was galloping on horseback toward a dawn just breaking the horizon. The cold she'd carried inside for months had melted, leaving behind a crystal-clear hope for the future. A future with Baron. A future of freedom for everyone in her kingdom.

She requested only two things of Widow Morton before she left: a ratified signature on the peace treaty, and a breaking of the false Artifact. Widow Morton provided the first, Sarah the second.

Aria didn't have an opportunity to speak with Sarah Reeves directly, but the twins made a more convincing case than she ever could, and with great hesitation, the woman also released the sleeping Cast over the castle. Though she made no outward threats, her eyes tracked Aria, promising a far worse curse if promises weren't kept.

Baron's stepmother was not the only one feeling anxious; the other Casters eyed Aria nervously, even after her peace agreement was read out loud and endorsed by Widow Morton. Baron promised to speak with them further, apparently confident he could break through their fear and connect with at least one of them. Aria knew it would be a long road ahead, but at least the journey had started.

It was up to her to see it through.

As she retrieved her riding cloak, Lettie caught her in the hallway.

"I can transport you," Lettie offered. "It's almost dawn already, and Mama said it's important you get back quickly."

Aria protested, "I don't want to hurt you. Besides, all the way to the palace—"

"I can do it. I helped make the water mirrors—they were at the palace—and it's only one person. I can do it."

"Thank you," Aria said, gripping her bag. "If it truly isn't a bother, I could use the help."

Lettie smiled, blue mist already swirling around her fingers. Just before the light enveloped Aria, she heard the girl's final whisper.

"Charlie would have liked you."

In a flash of blue light, Aria's senses vanished, then reformed. Her second experience with portal magic went more smoothly, though it was certainly disorienting to suddenly be in her bedroom with no more than a flash of light and a few blinks. It was like a dream, and she stood still, waiting for something to jar her awake.

"Aria!"

That did it.

Aria turned, finding Jenny in her room. The girl had apparently been pacing, judging by the groove in the rug, though she now rushed forward with relief in her expression.

Aria hugged her sister.

"I felt it," Jenny said. "The difference, the ... lifting. I almost slept, but I wanted to be here when you returned."

That meant wherever Eliza was, she was now safe as well. Aria breathed deep the relief. Then, with a final squeeze, she stepped back. "Get some rest. You deserve it."

"I delivered the summons."

Aria nodded her thanks. From her desk, she took her grandmother's journal, adding it to her bag along with her own and the broken Artifact.

Everything was ready, and it was time.

Aria arrived first for the meeting. Her steps echoed quietly in the throne room, and she savored the morning light through stained glass, grateful that the warmth filled her with strength instead of stealing it. With confidence, she climbed the dais and sat in a throne.

One by one, other members of the Upper Court trickled in. Aria counted each arrival. She would need ten to hold a trial.

Lord Philip and Lord Emmett arrived together. Philip studied her intensely as he took his seat, as if knowing she chased something more dangerous now than what she had sought in the records room.

Earl Wycliff gave her a deep nod as he passed.

Duke Crampton was noticeably absent. Aria had hoped he would attend, even included specific pleading in her summons, but she hadn't seen the man since Kendall's banishment. Instead, Marchioness Elsworth was next to arrive, and she gave Aria a suspicion-filled glance before curtsying.

Five seats filled, including Aria's.

Five to go.

Her heartbeats counted silently, caught in a loop that began again and again until the next arrival.

Five, four, three, two, one. Five —

Duke Brightwood, the most cheerful of the congregants, who made a joke no one laughed at.

Four—

Marquess Haskett, more reserved than usual.

Three—

Countess Redford, complaining of the late notice.

Two—

The king.

Aria's father climbed the dais and stood before her. He wore his white uniform, his tired eyes showing red. "What is this?" he demanded, brandishing his own summons. "I've not given permission for you to leave your room."

Slowly, Aria stood. She resisted the urge to look at the door, her heartbeat pounding in the frozen count of awaiting a final person. One, one, one .

"Your Majesty," Aria said. "I have called for a Trial by Upper Court. As heir to the throne, I am still a member of Upper Court, authorized to provide summons and attend meetings."

A small part of her feared he might disown her on the spot, out of spite if nothing else, but he did not.

"Indeed," he said, tucking the summons into his uniform jacket. "And who do you wish to put on trial, Aria? Our newest challenger, perhaps? He is nowhere to be found and therefore subject to execution."

A new figure slipped through the door, drawing Aria's gaze, and her heart beat once more.

One.

The queen wore trousers and a shirt without a vest, as if she'd come straight from the music room, as if she'd debated attending until the last moment. Aria couldn't remember the last time her mother had come to a meeting of the Upper Court, and truthfully, it had felt foolish writing the queen a summons at all. Yet here she was, the final needed member, making the entire trial possible.

Queen Marian took her seat without a word, ignoring the sharp look from her husband.

That's ten , Aria thought. When she addressed her father again, her voice had grown stronger.

"Lord Guillaume has three days to report on the Crown's challenge, and you did not forbid him from leaving the palace. Though we should speak to the matter of my curse. I owe you the truth, Father."

What a relief to speak the word curse with no restraint. Though she felt weariness, it was only an ordinary weariness from exertion, from a night facing dangers and climbing cliffs. The current trial was her final cliff to conquer.

Aria gestured for her father to take his seat, and he did so stiffly. Then she called the meeting to order.

"First," she said, "proof I am not under Widow Morton's thrall."

She pulled the Artifact from her satchel, holding the bronze cube tightly in her hand. Then she untied the thin string that secured it and opened her hand, allowing the pieces to fall with the ringing sound of bells against the marble floor.

Along with Henry, she'd taken a hammer to that Artifact. Tested it with blades, with bluntness, with heat. It had never wavered. One touch from Sarah, and it fell apart; the woman said it would have done the same if submerged in salty water, which somehow acted as a neutralizer for the strengthening Cast she'd applied. Aria smiled wryly—she still had so much to learn about magic.

"The curse is broken!" Duke Brightwood shouted. Murmurs passed between the others in attendance.

"How is this proof?" Marchioness Elsworth asked suspiciously.

"This is the Artifact my father's soldiers captured from Widow Morton, the one my father based the Crown's challenge upon. Did you question its anchoring to my curse when it was first presented?"

The woman fell silent, and no one else offered protest.

"Does this mean the latest challenger succeeded?" Lord Emmett asked.

"I'll let him make his own report," Aria said. "I wish to speak of my interactions with Widow Morton, beginning months ago, when I traveled alone to Northglen. While I was in the curse's grip, I was restrained from speaking of these things, but I am now free."

Aria recounted the events truthfully, as promised, not shying from her own mistakes, from Widow Morton's raw grief, from the actuality of the woman's curse. She spoke of her sleepless nights in a silent castle, of her search for a way to counter the effects by interrogating the only Caster within court.

As she spoke, her father sat with his elbow propped on the arm of his throne, his chin resting on his fist. His dark eyes and thinned lips didn't give much hope regarding the way he received her story, but Aria pushed on nonetheless.

"My attitude toward magic began to change," she said, "the more I witnessed the uprightness of a Caster in possession of it."

The only truth she held back was her discovery of Corvin. She was not about to expose the twins or Lettie to mortal danger when the laws were still uncertain. Instead, she said only that Baron had gone with her to Northglen, they'd faced Widow Morton together, negotiated a new peace, and he had broken her curse.

Aria unfolded a sheet of parchment to display Widow Morton's signature and seal. To her relief, the ink didn't run. "I hold here the ratified document, in which the widow has agreed to cease all hostilities, provided we do the same. Widow Morton and her Casters do not want war. They want justice, protection, and equality."

Her father snorted, causing Aria to blush. By reflex, she found herself mentally reaching for a quill, but she pulled her shoulders back, stood tall, and breathed in the moment without judgment.

Lord Philip rose from his seat in the right wing, approaching the royal thrones with hand extended. "Highness, may I?"

He studied the agreement with furrowed brows, returning to his seat. The document passed next to Lord Emmett, then to Marquess Haskett, who gave a low grunt, his eyes wide. Duke Brightwood leaned in to see.

The document made its way to the other wing, and quiet, concerned discussions whispered in its wake.

"Someone say it," Marquess Haskett snapped.

"Highness ..." Philip looked aghast. "This agreement includes protections for shapeshifters as well."

The king's eyes narrowed as he read the agreement at last. Aria thought perhaps she should have read it out loud to begin with. She'd never conducted a meeting like this before, but now that she thought about it, her father always had an adviser read important documents aloud.

She swallowed the mistake and pressed on. " Affiliates , Lord Philip—a type of magic user similar to Casters. They are members of our kingdom like any other, and it is unthinkable to execute any person simply for existing. Such a thing makes us a tyranny."

She paused, then reached for her grandmother's journal, tucked into her satchel. "During my grandmother's reign—"

The doors to the throne room swung open, admitting a guard with hurried steps. He bowed at the base of the stairs.

"Your Majesty, Mr. Auden Huxley requests to be seen immediately. He claims knowledge of a dire threat against the kingdom."

Aria could have strangled the steward. Especially when her father ordered for him to be admitted.

She protested, "There is a trial in session—"

"I'm not convinced there is a trial in session," the king retorted.

Leaning on his cane, Mr. Huxley limped into the room and made his bows. With more melodramatic paleness and shaking than necessary, he gave the accusation Aria dreaded.

"The Reeves twins are shapeshifters, Your Majesty! I watched them—both of them—turn into crows and fly off into the night!"

Panic erupted in a rush of voices.

Aria felt that same panic grip her, but if she faltered now, she would fail all of them. So she thought of Baron— controlled calm— and spoke over the din.

"Thank you, Mr. Huxley, for bringing this to the court's attention. I have my own witness to add to yours."

Curiosity captured the crowd, drawing everyone's eyes back to her, as she had hoped.

"First, a correction. The Reeves twins are Affiliates, which is the proper term. Terms matter—we would not refer to a tailor as a butcher even though they both do a great deal of cutting things apart."

Perhaps she should have refrained from gruesome images while presenting a defense of "dangerous magic users." Once again, she swallowed the mistake and continued forward.

"Second, they're not both crows. One is Crow-Affiliate and the other a cat. By this inaccuracy, we see the danger of presenting a hurried report, of acting before we possess all the facts. Most important of those facts would be that neither of the Reeves boys presents a threat to the kingdom. Corvin Reeves, the future lord baron, even saved my life using his magic."

"They're wild beasts!" interjected Marquess Haskett. "Animals presenting human faces to lure in prey."

"They are no such thing," Aria said sharply. "Have you met them, Lord Haskett?"

"I have." Earl Wycliff's deep voice cut in with inarguable certainty. "Marcus was a good man who raised good sons, and those twins are both friends with my youngest. They've spent time at my estate. They're not exactly the picture of manners, and perhaps that wildness can be attributed to magic, but I refuse to consider them a danger."

Aria could have hugged him.

Her father glared daggers at Earl Wycliff. "You speak in defense of dark magic in my court, Wycliff?"

"I speak in defense of the innocent, Your Majesty." He hesitated. "Someone has to."

And Aria saw it—

She saw her father's flinch.

Her palms grew sweaty. The moment had come.

"This is nonsense," her father growled. "There is only one course of action regarding shapeshifters—"

Aria interrupted. "The Reeves boys aren't the ones on trial here, Father."

"No one is on trial," he shot back. "You have called a council but presented no accused."

"I present one now." She took a deep breath and spoke the words. "I accuse you, Father, of the unlawful murder of Charles Morton."

There was no going back.