I avoid Riszev. There will be plenty of time to get to know her in Retra.

I settle cross-legged in the floor of my new bedroom, the staff laid out in front of me. Anticipation tightens its fingers around my gut. The people I set to investigate Riszev's would-be assassin won't report back until tomorrow. Given the culprit's death and their previous record, I don't have much faith in their results, but there's still nothing to do but wait. My lips twist.

It unnerves me to have no window, so I lit only the glow crystals on one side of the room, giving myself the illusion of moonlight. I suppose every night from here on will seem like a full moon to me. I don't think the next real full moon is for another couple days. Idyne's running out of time to uphold her end of the bargain, and between her admittance that the shamans aren't dead yet and her half-brained strategy, my distrust in her ability to do so is mounting.

I push the thoughts away to focus on the staff. Just like it stores Xíeme's activation spells for the wall defenses, Seconds for centuries have used it to store other spells. I wonder what Agraund kept in it. It's supposed to be easier to release a spell from the staff than to normally cast it, and apparently storing one is more of an endurance issue than a power one; it spreads the cast over a longer period, making it a steady marathon rather than a sharp sprint. Maybe one day, when I have time to sit in a training room for hours, this could make me the caster a Second is supposed to be.

Right now, though, I need to learn what's already here. Closing my eyes, I spread my hands over the staff. In the manuscripts, Seconds of times past describe the artefact as so powerful, especially when it has spells in it, that they could feel its strength just from being near it. When I pricked myself on it at the coronation, I felt its presence—an extension of me, thrumming with magic.

Now, with my hands just inches from its surface, I feel nothing.

"Evta, ahresåe. Ec diét." I grasp the staff, palm pricking on it. Now, the warmth of the magic floods me, and eyes closed, I revel for a moment in power I've never felt before. The wave starts to recede, and I focus on it, trying to call it back up. I need to center with it in order to discern what spells the staff contains.

The studying spell ends.

I release the staff, frustrated. Then I draw in a deep breath. There was no reason to assume I would succeed on the first try. I cast again, this time diving into the depths of the staff's magic as soon as it washes over me.

The more I focus, the more the magic seems to shy away from me. Angry, I cast again and again. After my fifth failure, I open my eyes to see Ollem standing with my dinner.

I rise and accept it, sitting on the end of my bed to eat. My arms are heavy as I raise my fork to my mouth.

He eyes the staff.

"Do you know much of magic?" I ask.

His eyes snap to mine. "No, sir."

I nod. Him knowing anything was unrealistic anyway since he probably came from the groundskeepers.

Looking braver than usual, he says, "What were you doing, milord?"

"Examining the staff for spells."

His brows draw slightly, but he nods. I don't bother explaining further and eat. He takes the tray for me when I finish, and I sit in front of the staff again.

I cast, throwing myself over and over into the weight of the staff's magic. I want to know, I need to understand what mysteries it holds. The force of the magic and the force of my will clash in an angry, eddying current, with me in the center of it, fighting to swim to the edge, where the spells reside. The current holds me steady, though, pulling me back every time I reach out.

A final surge of anger and determination fills me, and my mental hand claims a wisp moving at the edge of the whirlpool. It's some sort of mass teleportation spell. Not for the caster, but for other things. It feels strong, much too powerful for a near-novice like me. Shock ripples through me as it's Agraund's voice that fills my mind. "Evae vard'aya, syvo'rí." Then I'm dragged into the middle of the pool again before my uncle's voice and the magic drains away.

Victory overshadowed by disappointment and mourning, I drop the staff and rise. When I stand, my head swims, and I steady myself against the bed. I wonder just how many times I cast that spell. Obviously it was too many, and my many-pricked palm stings to remind me. Dizzy and weak, I fumble to the washbasin and rinse my hand. Then I collapse into bed, not bothering to turn out the glow crystals.

* * *

White light filters through my eyelids. When I shift, someone in the room moves. I startle awake, eyes snapping open.

Ollem freezes, halfway between the door and the bed with a stack of clean clothes. "G'morning, Prince."

I smile at him lightly and push up. My arms fall, weak under me. All the casting last night must have affected me worse than I thought it did; the lowered rations aren't helping. More carefully, I sit up.

He watches me, worried. "Is something wrong, milord?"

"No, no." I should be fine shortly after I eat, if fine includes exhausted and with a headache before I've gotten out of bed. I wonder how many mornings Agraund woke like this, worn out and tired before the day even began. "What time is it?"

"Shortly before dawn. Sorry for waking you early."

I wave my hand but drop it when I notice its tremble. Ollem moves to my wardrobe and puts up my clothes, leaving out the outfit for the day. Since I'm already awake, there's no reason to just sit here. I can dress while he goes for my breakfast. I rise.

My stomach drops out from under me, and my head spins. Nauseous, I sit back down, hard, on my bed.

He comes around its corner. "Are you alright?"

As I stay still, the dizziness and nausea fade. Eyes still closed, I say, "I think so." When I open them, he hovers in front of me, worried.

"Maybe you should continue to rest, milord."

My head shakes gently. "No. I just need to eat."

"I'll go for it now." He leaves.

After he returns, I eat, waiting a minute before carefully rising again. When the dizziness thankfully doesn't resume, I dress and head out, remembering to don my rapier and cloak.

I visit the wall but don't stay long. The good mood after our victory leaves the soldiers and wizards boisterous, which feels like nails driving into my head. I muster good political smiles for them, though, and leave.

By the time I get back to the Mage Room to talk to Solus, I'm considering visiting Illesiarr. Even if I haven't caught some sort of illness, I can't afford to feel this bad just from short nights and stress.

"Are you listening, Prince?"

I force my eyes to focus, trying to suppress the building nausea. "I'm sorry. I only missed the last thing you said."

He frowns. "The reinforcements are nearly to the city's edge. When they arrive, are there any places you recommend them hide at after they split up?"

"Ahm." I try to summon Agraund's lectures on the layout of the city and surrounding areas. "There, ah. There's a hollow at..." I pause, unsure how to describe the spot.

"Why don't you write down the locations, and we'll send them when you're done?"

I nod, then wince as dizziness constricts my head. I freeze, eyes closed, waiting to feel stable again.

"Astraeus?"

I open my eyes. For the first time, it occurs to me that my regnal name is the name of the great politician who united Avadel. That is, before he betrayed Jacqueline and fractured everything all over again.

"What is it?"

His gaze pins me as if to say I should know what he's wanting. "You don't look well."

"Ah." Uncomfortable, I cross my arms. "I'll be fine. I'll write that up, like you said."

His eyes narrow—an impressive feat considering his permanent self-important scowl. "You should see Illesiarr if you're ill."

"Solus." His lips twist as I watch him. "I'll take care of it."

"Very well." He turns away, and I step into my office, settling into my chair to write up the camp suggestions. I'll go to Illesiarr after lunch.

Selenia's in an Auditorium meeting, but they're not going over anything important. I refuse to waste time attending just to hear her confirm as Inner Court the one girl I asked her not to promote.

In fact, the Queen seems to be forming a habit of not listening to me despite her supposed reverence of my Chosen position. The only reason there's an open space on the Court is that she has decided to publicly punish Inner Lady Darraphí for abusing the new ration rules. Just as much as she's uncomfortably too supportive about the Chosen situation, she's also frighteningly set on harsh punishment for the crime. It's not like her, not even the strange simulacrum of her that seems to have replaced the friend I grew up with. For the first time, I wonder if she's fully recovered from her injury. Biting my lip, I turn back to my papers.

I don't know if it's just my lack of motion, but by the time Ollem brings in my food, the headache has receded into faint pinging and the dizziness is gone. I still feel weak, though.

"Sorry I'm late, sire." He sets the tray on my desk.

I look at the clock in the corner of the room. I suppose he is about ten minutes later than I usually eat.

"That's alright." I rearrange my desk for the tray. When I take the first bite, I realize how much hungrier I am than I thought I was. With my right hand, I finish writing up the letter, and with my left, I eat. When I'm done, I hand him back the tray. "Thank you." He nods and starts to leave, but I say, "Oh! Ollem."

He faces me.

"Don't forget that the Princesse Consort and I are having dinner with High Lady Solitaena and Lady Janeaulí tonight. Don't be late."

"Yes, milord. I'll be sure to get your tonic the first time."

I pause. "What?"

"I forgot your tonic earlier." He reddens. "I had to go back for it."

I stare at him. "What tonic?"

His brows draw together. "Your tonic, milord. The one the doctor has you take with meals?"

Apprehension chills my skin. "I don't take a tonic."