and rituals?” Ianta asked, leaning over to snatch the whiskey back. They’d not stopped drinking since the afternoon, and both moved with the purposeful care of inebriation.
Hal said, “The kings of Aremoria aren’t supposed to need magic, so what did—what did Rovassos want with it?”
Ianta groaned at Hal’s directness. “Legitimization.”
“What? He was the son of Segovax, who was the son of Isarnos, who was the nephew of Morimaros the Great. That is as legitimate as it gets.”
“But not the oldest child of Segovax—that was Vatta Gaunt, your grandmother.”
“And maybe a bastard, definitely a woman.”
“Pff, it was a coward’s lie that she was a bastard.”
Hal chewed her bottom lip. “Rovassos wanted to prove to others he was meant to be king?”
“To himself, truly.”
“He wanted a prophecy to create his legacy. The stars say I am king, and so you cannot deny me.”
“It does work for the queens of Innis Lear,” Ianta muttered.
“Because they already have power.”
“So Prince Hal cannot use magic for power, because she does not already have it. What a paradox, ha!”
Hal knocked her head back against the stone hearth. “Do you believe in earth saints, Ianta?”
“Yes.”
“No joke nor equivocation?” Hal felt her pitch rise. “Just yes.”
Ianta drank again, then smiled. “How can you not believe, after what you’ve seen and heard?”
“I’m afraid to believe, and afraid not to. And why shouldn’t I be afraid of magic here, guiding the future?” Hal blinked. She thought of her hand on her sword, its blade cutting straight forward into Hotspur’s belly. The Wolf’s mouth gaped open—and then Hal imagined her crying out for an entirely different reason: Hal’s tongue against her throat, her fingers digging into Hotspur’s well, the taste of sweat and the curve of an arched back.
Prince Hal shivered and pulled her knees up, pressed her forehead against them.
“Fearing magic is already losing,” Ianta said acerbically.
Hal laughed. Her shoulders shook. She was entirely screwed.
“We would slip down through a secret stairway cut into the limestone,” Ianta said. “There are a few doorways into those passages in the backs of star chapels, or what used to be star chapels, throughout Lionis. Or you can get in by the gaping black maw of the cave mouth, right at the riverside to the northwest of the bluff beneath the palace. There is an altar there, the sheered-flat base of a stalactite. We would hold hands, me, Vaso, and Matomaros. Me, standing alongside two princes. We called out to the earth saints to greet us, we who were related to the greatest of Aremore kings. At least Rovassos and Mato were. Vaso had found a cypher in the Queen’s Library with old words in an ancient Aremore dialect, little chants and spells for healing and elf-shot, for talking to the trees as they do on Innis Lear. So we read it and made up our own songs. Nothing happened, though we all fell a bit more in love with one another every time.”
A great sigh issued from Ianta, and the chair creaked as she stretched.
If there were a song for falling in love, Hal would—
The prince crushed her eyes into her hands, then looked up abruptly to say, “Come back to Lionis with me. I need you.”
“Hal, no. There’s no place for me there.” Ianta frowned, lines dragging at her lips and eyes, her neck sagging.
“There is, though.” Hal got to her knees, setting the honey liqueur aside, and clutched her hands together to keep from seeming to beg. “I need more allies. You know me! I’m a trickster, a charmer, a lover—not a leader. I can make people break into the throne room with me, or put honey inside Abovax’s gauntlets; maybe I can command a small company, but not an army! Not an entire kingdom. What if they see me, Ianta, really see me? What if my mother does?”
Hal clasped her hands over her mouth. She’d never say such a thing sober. Thank the saints Hotspur had not heard—or worse, Mora.
“Hal.”
“Please, Ianta. You founded the Lady Knights. You know how to make things happen in Lionis Palace.”
“There are no Lady Knights.” The bitterness and certainty in Ianta’s voice stunned Hal.
The prince said, “We are temporarily disbanded, but informally. When I— I only need to prove myself capable as a prince and I can make them again.”
“No, Hal. Don’t you see? The Lady Knights were always a lie. Rovassos …” Ianta stopped, closed her eyes.
After a moment, Hal said, “We were not a lie. We mattered—to one another. How can you discount