her robe tight to keep out the draft. The shutters are not quite as effective as they might be, especially on these windy winter afternoons. “He will find the culprits. I cannot understand how this could happen while Violla Ruza was so well-guarded. Either the ranks of my guards were infiltrated or powerful magic is to blame. The Aphrasians grow very bold. This business in Baer . . .”
“What business?” I sound overeager, I know. My mother’s eyes narrow. She is always measured in the way she speaks and the way she moves. I wonder if she still disapproves of me, in a way, and thinks I rush about too much. But my wild childhood, growing up with my aunts in the countryside, was her decision, not mine.
“The mining at the abbey has been abandoned. A miner was killed there and I still have no intelligence on the cause. Holt was sent to investigate, but of course when the palace burned, that took precedence.”
Baer Abbey. The place is so potent in my memory that its very mention makes me shudder. I think about the day I stumbled upon it, out on one of my illicit adventures. I had a vision of the great battle there where my father died at the hands of a monk in a black mask. And I almost met my own end there as well; I was about to be run through with a sword when Cal saved me.
I knew exactly who he was, though I’d only glimpsed him in the flesh once before, at his own father’s funeral. Cal was famous already, despite being so young, and I was just Shadow, afraid of getting into trouble with my aunts.
My mother is talking about black lightning strikes seen at the abbey. I need to pay attention rather than drift off into my own memories, into events that were such a short time ago, really, but feel like an eternity away now.
“The guards sent me reports of black lightning, which I found to be impossible to fathom. They’ve never seen such a thing in their lives, and neither have I. But it has such similarities with that horrible incident in the north of Montrice, and the King of Stavin had told me of such things as well. You have seen it here?”
I tell her about the bewitching of my horse at the Winter Races, and how it hacked another horse to death. My mother shakes her head, her hooded eyes almost closed.
“Aphrasian magic is infiltrating Mont,” she says. “And once again, my darling, you are its target.”
“But who could possibly think I would be involved in burning down Violla Ruza?” I ask her. “Why would I want to destroy the palace where my mother lives, where my parents were married, where my own portrait hangs on the wall?”
My mother leans forward to take my hand. This is a rare act of affection from her, and it reminds me of sitting with Varya and seeing the vision of the Obsidian Monk in the fire. Unlike Varya’s hot hand, my mother’s is cold and limp. I know she loves me, but she’s never been demonstrative. Luckily, I grew up with plenty of hugs and kisses from my aunts.
“Such strange times,” she says at last. “Rather than attack you directly, the magic has been used against you in a more sophisticated way. But this attack on our palace is something quite different, I agree. I’m sure the Chief Assassin will have his theories when he writes to me. We must wait and see.”
Waiting. That’s all I do, I think. Wait for good news, bad news, any news.
“This attack at the races,” my mother continues. “How is the king taking it?”
“He’s afraid . . . and confused, as we all are. If the Aphrasians want to get rid of me, then why target those around me, like my priest or a horse in a race, instead of just attacking me directly?”
“You are better protected, perhaps,” my mother says, dropping my hand. “In the meantime, you are made to look culpable for what is happening. Enmity is stirred between Renovia and Montrice. And Renovia and Stavin.”
“When Hansen and I rode out to villages this autumn, the crowd turned against us. Well, against me, really. They see me as a foreign witch, rather than the queen.”
“So,” my mother says. She looks me straight in the eye with that intense gaze of hers. When I was a girl, I thought she could see into