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The doors before me are as large as the entire face of a building. The wood is so black as to almost be blue, and silver filigree swirls up the midnight mass like shooting stars frozen across a night sky. Their beauty is both breathtaking and intimidating.

The guards stop. Standing tall in front of the doors are two women with blue cloaks. The one on the left regards me. "Is this the prisoner the Princesse summoned?"

One of the men gives a curt nod. From inside their cloaks, the women each produce a pinch of green powder. Tossing it at the doors, they call, "Et væ!"

The wooden behemoths gently swing open, and the guards march me through.

My breath catches. Compared to this room, that door was nothing but the carving of a primitive. The silver marble floors shine with the white light of ten crystal chandeliers. Faint magical voices whisper in the air above.

At my feet, a deep blue rug runs from the doorway and through the open end of a U-shaped table. Like the door, silver-threading runs through its dark wood, and beyond it rises a dais with a massive, twisting tree carved of silver. The branches drip with dainty leaves, reaching up to the domed ceiling. As my awed eyes drink in the scene, they catch on the tree's inset seat—it's an elaborate silver throne. Two smaller thrones sit lower on the dias, their backs swirling into the shoulders, head, and antlers of the staglike creature from the forest. To my left and right lie tiers of empty but opulent seating, and far above, a glassed-in ring forms a viewing gallery. I feel like a tiny doll in some crystal display case.

A voice as crystalline as the room breaks through my transfixed state. "Leave us."

My eyes stop roving the vast space to fix on a woman standing on the dais. She's at least a foot taller than me, willowy and graceful. Her ash blonde hair lies on her head in intricate braids topped by a silver circlet. The chandelier's glowing gems shimmer over her layered sapphire and midnight dress as though she wears flowing water.

The guards glance at each other, but the woman stares at them unwaveringly. They release me, drop to one knee, and leave. My eyes fix on her face, struggling to place her amid the overload of details. I've seen her somewhere before. I know I have.

Frustrated, I glance at her two companions. One is a boy with hard features and the same metal shirt as the guards. A silver circlet rests on his brow. On the woman's other side, though...

The doors boom shut.

Aster. He's here, dressed not in his black, travel-worn cloak but in a dark blue one. A bronze circlet lies over carefully combed hair that I'm far more used to seeing mussed. Silver-threaded finery has replaced his sturdy traveling clothes. His eyes meet mine, but there's no hint of surprise or even recognition. His gaze is cool and level, as though I'm a complete stranger.

Cold fear twines its way around my heart. This isn't the boy I know, or if it is, he's hidden himself.

"Come closer," the crystalline voice calls.

My eyes snap back to hers, and I bury my uncertainty under analysis. Refined cheekbones, high brow, petite and rounded nose. I'm not sure how I missed it—the only way she and Aster could resemble any more is if he were a girl. This is Sela, the woman from the Meadow. The Princesse of Morineaux.

"Child," she prompts.

Child? This woman can't be more than a few years my senior.

"Shouldn't have sent the guards away," the man mutters to her.

Sela ignores him, but he continues, louder now. "This is a waste of our time, Aster. The girl's a foreigner, simple as that. You don't have to take half a glance at her to see it. The judgement is set. There's no reason to draw this out."

Still facing me, Sela says, "I will have the final say, Captain. There are exceptions."

"Exceptions when the Kadranians are banging at our front gate, and she looks far more like one of theirs than one of ours?"

"I said"—she turns to stare him evenly in the eyes—"I will have the final say. Do you understand?"

His lips press together in a dissatisfied line, but he nods. "Of course, Princesse."

Still Aster says nothing.

Sela turns toward me again. "Now, child, come closer." While her face is kind, her eyes are determined. I don't press my luck any longer, walking up the blue carpet until I'm inside the curve of the table. With the three royals standing feet above me on the dais, I have to tilt my head back to look at them.

Sela smiles, but there's something in its soft radiance that sets me on edge. "Now," she says, "Prince Aster tells me you saved his life. Is this true?"

My eyes flick to his; his face reveals nothing. A cold stone settles in my stomach, but I do my best to keep my expression cordial. "Yes, Princesse." The title tastes funny coming out of my mouth.

"He also says you helped him make his way home. Is this true as well?"

Does she expect me to say he lied? "Yes, Princesse."

"Can you tell me why you did those things?"

This isn't a simple storytelling session, and she isn't some kind benefactress. Aster has obviously given her the details; she wants to know my motivations. She wants to know I'm with them and not the Kadranians they fight.

Words are the most powerful, most dangerous thing in this world, Eleaviara...

And my next few will save or condemn me.

"Child?"

Her eyes are intent, and inside them lies a scale, ready to weigh the sincerity of my response.

My fingers itch to play at my necklace, and instead, I twine them in front of me. "I saved him from Lady Veradeaux's jail, Princesse, because I believe no one should be falsely imprisoned."

The Captain's fist tightens beside him, and for the first time, Aster's mask slips to display a guarded concern.

"Is that so?" Sela says.

If I'm not careful, I'll turn that benevolent smile into a sneer. "Yes, Princesse." I dip my head. "Out of fear, the enemies of Morineaux sought to capture and kill your prince, and sought my life as well for helping him. So I am glad to have done whatever I could to return him to you and to be in your good hands now. I may be a foreigner, but from what little time I have known your prince, he has shown me that your people believe in loyalty and in doing what is right, just as I do."

My words teter on her scales. I may have aligned myself with her people and against her enemies, but I'm walking through a cave of crevasses blind. I don't know these people's customs, and knowing is the first step to influencing. I could have slighted her unintentionally, and the longer she considers, the more I regret speaking so boldly about falsely imprisoning people.

Still, I hold her gaze, unafraid of the truth, doctored though it may be.

She smiles, glancing at the Captain. "Well, brother, she's certainly no Kadranian wench. She might dress like a peasant, but she almost sounds like one of our own Ladies, doesn't she?"

Jaw clenched, he says, "Whatever she sounds like, the law is still the law."

"The Queen is the law. And Mother would not stand to see any more bloodshed than this war has already caused." She turns to me. "Child, considering the substantial favors you have performed on behalf of Prince Aster, and therefore Morineaux, it is hardly fitting to repay you with the executioner's blade. You shall go free provided that your foreign status is kept a secret."

Muscles I didn't realize were tense relax. Sela glances at Aster. "It would not do if someone were to find out, but with how well-spoken she is, it seems it should be little problem. I trust you can have this taken care of without detracting from your duties?"

Aster dips a graceful nod. "Of course, Princesse."

"Then I release her into your charge. Child, your crime has been pardoned."

Unsure how to properly thank her, I drop to one knee like the soldiers did entering.

A sound like bubbling laughter being held back fills her voice. "Rise, child. My brothers, you are dismissed to your duties."

I stand. The Captain's mouth twists like he's sucking something sour, but he nods deeply and leaves through curtains at the back of the dais. Aster bows and descends, moving around the table. I follow him down to its opening, where he offers his arm to me. As I take it, I long to lean over and ask one of the million questions running through my mind, but Sela's gaze rests heavy on the back of my neck. Aster leads me back down the blue runner, throwing powder at one of the great doors to open it. We stride past the wizards guarding the doors and through empty halls far away from Sela's sharp eyes.

"Where are we going?" I murmur.

"Just trust me," he whispers back.

Voices sound ahead, and Aster tugs me into a different hallway. He pulls me up two winding flights of stairs and through more wide, empty corridors until we stop in front of a door. Unlocking it, he pushes it open and gestures me inside.

Beyond two cream couches and a coffee table sits a fireplace. To my right rises a bookshelf filled with thick, leather-bound tomes begging to be read, and to my left rests an empty table. Aster leads me to the couch, leaving the door wide open behind us. "Now we can talk."

My eyes flick between him and the open door.

"No one should be on this hall other than my siblings." He lights a few candles, then sits. "It's the closest we'll get to a private conversation."

I sit as well, wondering why. After all, we've had much more private conversations at the Kitten. Then again, at the Kitten, the only person we might worry thinking the wrong thing was Marcí.

"It's..." His eyes search my face. "Good to see you again," he finishes warmly.

With that, any worry that this isn't the boy I knew at the inn melts away. I smile, placing my hand over his. "It's good to see you too."

He smiles back and shifts to face me more, his hand slipping out from mine. "Well, anyway." He twists a ring on his finger. "I should probably find you a place to stay. And," he hesitates. "Some extra dresses."

I look down at my scuffed leather pants and grin. "You mean you don't want anyone else thinking I'm a Kadranian?"

He offers a small laugh before saying, "I'll see if there is an open room left, and I'll have someone bring the clothes there."

He's kind and gentle about it, but his words suddenly sting. They are a polite brushing-off, his tone adopting the nice-but-firm edge that asks the other person to take a hint. "That's... kind of you."

His eyes flick away, as though they can't quite meet mine. "I want to make sure you're taken care of."

My heart aches, and a hundred fantasies about what our reunion would be die a quiet death. "I suppose this is it then?"

"Leavi, I—" He looks at me with a pained expression. "I'm sorry. I wish it could be different, but—" He looks away again. "Morineaux needs other things from me. I—" He meets my eye. "I can't."

I nod on reflex and wonder how red my cheeks are, how much of an idiot I must seem to him. "Of course." 'Of course?' You sound like he just gave you logical grounds to refuse a research proposal, not like he told you goodbye. In the uncomfortable silence of the moment, the childlike whispering of my bracelet fills my ears. For the first time, I notice birdsong weaving in and out of its voice. "Aster?"

He waits, eyes attentive but mouth twisted.

"If this is the last time I'll see you, could I ask you something? Before I go."

"Of course." Above his pained expression, his brown eyes are still gentle and warm.

The strange events of the last few days set bees in my stomach, but his gaze promises he'll listen to me. That he won't call me crazy, like my mother might have, or dismiss it as impossible, as Sean would. If I'm going to get an answer to this, now might be the last chance I have. "When I was in the forest, running from the Kadranians, I heard a voice. It's what led me to the tunnel into the castle. But—" My eyes find my boots. "This voice didn't seem to belong to a person. No one I could see at least."

In my periphery, his head tilts.

"And it's not the only voices I've heard. In the hall, the throne room—"

"Auditorium Arbitrate," he corrects quietly.

I nod, tucking that away. "And my bracelet. I think it talks to me too. I don't know what any of them are saying, or why, but—" I clasp my hands in front of me to keep them from fiddling. "I was hoping you might."

Aster reaches for my bracelet, and I hold my wrist up to him. "Where did you get this?"

Not sure what he'd think if I told him the truth, I simply answer, "It's what lets me speak your language."

"An artefact," he murmurs. Understanding illuminates his face, and he snaps his fingers. "I think you must somehow be identifying artefacts and registering them as sound."

I stare at him blankly. I recognize it as an explanation, but for me, it explains nothing.

"And," he continues haltingly, "you're probably wondering about the lights back at the inn, too. The silver ones?"

I nod, unsure how the two connect.

His fingers steeple, his expression reminding me of one of my teachers explaining a concept to a struggling student. "I think you might have a rare form of magic. I hadn't wanted to say anything until I was sure, and then I was leaving..."

"Wait. You already knew something was wrong with me?"

His hand waves the notion out of the air. "Nothing's wrong with you. It's just magic. Some—rare—magicians can cast strong spells without materials, without necessarily even speaking." He bites his lip. "But mainly without intending to."

"What?"

He cringes and lowers his voice. "Wild magicians don't naturally control their magic. It just sort of... triggers in response to their strong emotions, sometimes even in their sleep." I stare at him in horror. "But," he adds quickly, "I have heard stories of them learning to wield it. They make for amazing, powerful casters."

I try to rein in the tide of shock and fear in order to analyze. "So you're saying... I do magic, by accident, and that's why I hear those voices? And the voices are... magical items?"

"Yes."

My fingers find my necklace. "That sounds more like a curse than a gift."

His hand pushes into his hair, stopping when he nearly knocks off his circlet. He adjusts it. "Ahm. There's one more thing."

I watch him, and he clears his throat uncomfortably.

"Many years ago, there was a problem with a group of wild magicians that couldn't control themselves, and—" His hands clasp in his lap. "Well, wild magicians are outlawed."

My eyes widen. "Outlawed like foreigners are outlawed?"

"Well, just foreigners during wartime on our soil."

My incredulous gaze pins him.

"But, ahm, yes. The penalty is the same for both."

So now I'm doubly execution-worthy. Great. I draw in a deep breath, trying to bring order to my thoughts. "Why wasn't this a problem before? I never saw any strange silver lights when I was growing up, never heard magic talking to me. Why now?"

He considers. "I've heard stories that sometimes it didn't present until the magician had cast normally—unlocked it, so to speak. That's the best answer I have in that regard."

"But my bracelet didn't start talking to me until a couple days ago. And I cast long before that."

He shrugs. "Perhaps your powers are getting stronger."

For him, this is a technical problem, a rare curiosity. But for me, this is the difference between a reality I can rely on and one I can't, a life to live or one that will be taken from me. I pull my hair back. "Alright. Alright then. But you said people could learn to control it. How do I do that?"

He regards me, and I can't help but wonder what time I'm taking from his war efforts and can't help but hope he'll answer my question anyway.

He smiles. "I might have a few ideas."