Maera. I've never known much about her other than that she was quiet, shy, and quick to jump to tasks. I always thought it was loyalty and deference, perhaps a little more timidity than is normal, but until I cast on Mother, I certainly never thought her capable of subterfuge.

Even now, rushing to keep her from being alone with Sela, hurrying to argue with Reyan about who should watch over our sister, I can't help but doubt myself. This isn't a girl capable of lying to us, much less of regicide. My own investigators dismissed the case. The maid Leavi saw in the hall, conspiring, was red-headed, not dark-haired like Maera. But no matter the evidence, I can't ignore the nagging suspicion, like a skeleton tapping at the back of my mind. Mother is dead, and someone is responsible.

Whether or not it's this girl, it's not worth the risk to preserve her employment to Sela. Someone else can take the job.

I head to the main strategy room. It's on this floor already, and even if Reyan's not in there, the likelihood is that someone who knows his location is. I feel like we're all playing guessing games these days, trying to track one another down. I'm just glad I had to retrieve a book from my room earlier, or else Leavi might not have been able to find me.

Unlike the Mage Room, no one stands to verify the identity of the people entering the strategy room. Normally a soldier would stand guard, but that man has no doubt been relocated to the wall.

I knock once, then enter. Two Lieutenants and Reyan stand around the central table, and they all look up.

Relieved, I say, "Captain. An urgent matter requires your attention."

He frowns but leaves the battle map, shutting the door behind us. "What?"

It suddenly occurs to me how ridiculous my objections will sound to him, and in my wearied state, I want to laugh at the impossibility of the situation. I know you were in a very important meeting, but I need you to agree to dismiss Maera because I don't trust her. My inferior-seeming magic makes me think she might have poisoned Mother. That's reason enough for you, right?

"What, Aster?" he repeats, sounding frustrated.

"I'm not here to argue with you, and I rather hope we can resolve this quickly, without angering the other." I shift. "I don't see the harm in assigning some trusted maid other than Maera to watch over the Queen. Worst come to worst, I'm wrong about Maera's involvement in Mother's death, and the poor girl is briefly demoted."

"No, worst come to worst, we put some traitor in the room. Maera is a trusted maid, Aster."

I fight to keep my frustration out of my voice. "I think we do have a traitor in her room."

Reyan's jaw clenches. "You're suspicious of the girl who has practically lived with Sela for the last ten years, but you're okay with leaving the foreigner with her?"

"I know the foreigner won't betray us. But—"

"That's funny, because she seems to be there every time something goes wrong!"

I growl, running my hand through my hair. I know what the argument should be, thatshe's observant and has come to warn me, but Reyan won't accept that. "At this point, I don't care who you put in there, so long as it's not Maera and you trust them." His eyes are dark, and I add, "But Illesiarr trusts the foreigner. And you know how perceptive he is."

"No." His gaze hardens.

"Then pick anybody! But not the maid. Other than her, I trust your judgement." I drag in a deep breath. "Reyan, I am begging you. Please. Not Maera."

The anger in his expression wavers.

"Please."

Lip curling, he turns to the wall, whips out a piece of paper, and scrawls a message on it with a bit of charcoal. After scribbling his sigil onto it, he hands it back to me. "There. Pick your replacement and read the order to the guards."

I scan the letter. It dismisses Maera and replaces her with whoever I bring, similar to the last note. Like the last letter, it still prohibits Leavi from seeing the Queen.

I nod. "Fine." I tuck the letter in my pocket, taking in his heavy brow. "Thank you, Reyan."

He gives a wordless nod and returns to the room, shutting the door tight behind him.

Exhausted, I stand there for a moment, unsure of my next move. I want to collapse into bed. I need to find a maid I trust, bring her to Sela, explain the situation to the guards, and return to the Mages. I chew my lip. They're still waiting on me.

I might know names and faces of many maids, a little bit of personality for some of them, but that doesn't mean I have some sort of great trust in any one of them.

I remember the maids in the infirmary with Illesiarr. He has seen almost every person in this castle at some point or other. Some many times, surely. He would have to know which maids would be adept at helping in order to choose them. I start heading that way.

Right as I get to the door, though, it occurs to me again how busy the old physician is. I shouldn't be wasting his time with recommendations, and I hesitate to enter.

Sela's life could rest on this choice. I push in.

Illesiarr actually sits at his table, and I don't see the maids. He rests heavily against the chair back, but he looks up as I come in.

"My boy." He face creases. "Did something happen with that arm?"

"No." I wander in, disconcerted by the lack of flurry that characterized this space only hours ago. "They can't have all..." My gaze comes back to him.

Expression solemn, he shakes his head. "Most of them are in the back rooms, and a handful have been released."

I appreciate his attempt to focus on the better part of this, but I know what he's not saying. A lot of them still died.

I slip into the seat across from him. I wish I could comfort him like he's comforted me in these seats so many times before, but comfort is a luxury neither of us can afford anymore. "I need your advice."

He pushes his own exhaustion from his face, and guilt pricks my mind. "Of course. What's the matter?"

"Reyan doesn't want Leavi to watch over Sela because of..." I trail off, uncertain how to indicate her foreignness without tipping off anyone else who might be listening.

He folds his hands. "I suppose I understand that."

I nod, relieved. "Well, I need to find a maid to replace her, and I thought you might know who was trustworthy better than I do."

He looks thoughtful, leaning back. "Didn't Selenia's maid watch over the late Queen? Shouldn't she be able to do the same for her mistress?"

"No." My voice is flat, and surprise takes Illesiarr's face. "We need someone else."

Illesiarr nods slowly, and I'm thankful he doesn't press me. Finally, he says, "You can take Elénna."

My eyes widen. "Don't you need her here?"

"I can enlist a maid. It's not so hard to take orders and have an eye over you as to be the primary caregiver of the most important woman in the country." His eyebrow raises, and I smile faintly.

"Thank you."

It feels like more should be said, but he nods and stands. "Elénna!" he calls up the stairs.

She hurries down. "Yes, sir?"

I stand. "The physician has generously offered your assistance in caring for Queen Selenia. I'm sure he can explain to you her condition and what's currently being done, but I would appreciate if you came and served her personally."

She looks surprised, then glances at Illesiarr. He nods. "Of course I'll come, milord. May I get my things and some supplies?"

I gesture. "Please."

She goes back up, and Illessiar gathers a kit for her. When she comes back down, he takes her to the side and talks quietly. Propelled by mindless curiosity as I wait, my feet take me to the door of one of the back rooms, and I gently push in.

People fill every bed, and cots on the floor beside. Most sleep, but a few lay propped up, quietly talking to one another. They see me and fall quiet.

The room is still. Some of them I can see bandages on. Some, whatever's wrong is hidden by the blankets. So much damage. So much death. So many more than these must be gone.

"Hello," I say softly.

A man propped up a few beds down shifts. "Hello, Prince."

The room is silent and distant. Distant but warm.

A woman a little farther down says, "Have they crowned you yet?" She must be one of my wizards.

I shake my head.

We all watch each other without really seeing anything. I drift down the main aisle. The third person I pass coughs, a thick, wet noise. "Prince."

I stop and turn to him. Beads of sweat hover on his forehead, and bandaging covers his opposite shoulder all the way down his torso until the blanket hides it. My heart cracks, and I step closer. "D'orien?"

"I'm sorry, milord." His words are weak.

My head shakes, and I kneel by him. His feverish gaze locks on mine.

"Have we won?" he rattles.

My breath catches. "Not yet, mage."

"Oh." He sags, and my soul twists.

"We will, friend. We will."

He nods, but his eyes are drifting away, toward the ceiling.

Heart heavy, I stand. He snatches my hand. Startled, I look at him again. His skin is cold and clammy.

"I don't want to die," he rasps, "without magic."

My throat burns. Responding to such a request feels like acting the fraud, but at the same time... It's a dying man's favor.

"Of course not." I withdraw my hand. "The line of Jacqueline will remember you." The ceremonial words pass my lips easily, though I've never performed the rite for someone before.

I pull out my spelling oil. The spell is simple, little more than a cantrip, but I'm buzzing with nerves. I pour a coin-sized pool into the palm of my cupped hand. The spell is designed so that each caster has to find a personal incantation ending for their magic to react to it. It is a simple task for some Seconds, but one which took hours of painstaking research and many, many failed casts before revealing itself to me. I hadn't ever thought to need it, and I'm suddenly grateful Agraund forced me to learn.

"Zæphanae ezhelí," I begin, twisting my free hand around the hand with the oil. No onlooker can copy the spell since each caster has to learn their own ending. With only Second Sons knowing how to cast it, it remains a mysterious blessing.

D'orien watches me intently.

"Electa raeunon Jacqueline..." I gesture in a flowy pinching motion from my head to my hand, then my heart to my hand. Now for the part unique to me. "Divælis lectar valí."

The oil in my hand swirls into a dark, iridescent blue. Where the light hits it, it shines with orange and yellow, like warm fire. My fingers swipe across the oil, and it all slides onto my fingertips, leaving my palm devoid of any trace. The tips brush his still outstretched hand, where the oil glows up into those same orange and yellow hues, like heatless flames.

"Valí," I repeat as I touch him.

His body relaxes, and a faint smile reaches his lips. I know the soothing effect isn't strong, but it's enough to make people believe it's a legitimate blessing from Jacqueline. Some say that since Seconds can see the future, they can influence fate to shine kindness on the subject of the blessing spell. It's a lie, but a lie they want to believe.

I withdraw my hand, the magic still active on my fingers.

"Thank you," he whispers.

"All is not lost." I swallow. "But if you go, go in peace. The line of Jacqueline has not forgotten you."

I turn away, eyes burning, and the man nearest me also extends his hand. I cross to it, swiping the oil onto him as well. "Valí." My voice is choked.

I step into the aisle, continuing down it once more. As I pass, the soldiers and wizards reach out their hands to receive the oil. "Valí," I whisper. "Valí."

Finally, only the wall greets me, and I turn back. Very little oil remains on my fingers, and I watch the injured. The first ones I touched have all lost their little ghost flames. I slip back down the aisle, returning to where I began.

D'orien shifts in his bed, eyes roaming. I brush his hand again. "Valí." He calms, and my own state of mind settles.

This is what it means to be prince. This is what it is to lead my people. Standing with them in their darkest hours and comforting them in their last. The blood on my hands and the weariness in my bones means nothing compared to the safety and peace of my people.

Silently, I leave, glancing back over the room when I reach the door. I have things to coordinate, people to talk to, but this was not time wasted.

"The favor of Jacqueline be with you."

"The favor of Jacqueline," many murmur back. I leave, just as much a stranger as I entered, but a stranger who showed them kindness and favor.

Elénna stands by the door with a small knapsack in her hands. I nod at her, and we go.