“Did you ever see the masked woman again?” I asked. Anushka had obviously wanted Catherine dead, but Marie had interfered. Had she known it was Anushka who’d requested the love potion? And why would Anushka do such a thing to her ally? There were so many unknowns.

“Not since the night I delivered it to her.”

“And you have no idea who she was? No clues that might narrow down her identity?”

Catherine lifted one shoulder, then let it slump. “Not really. She was of average height and build, and she moved easily, so I do not think she was past her middle years. Her clothes were of fine cut and material, and she always met with me in the castle, but never anywhere that would suggest her identity.”

“Nothing at all?” I pressed. “No mannerisms or tics you recognized from any of the women at court?”

“None. She was very careful to keep her identity a secret.”

I hesitated. “Was there ever any suggestion that she might be a witch herself?”

Catherine grew still. “Why?”

I stared silently at her until she sighed.

“She gave no such indication.”

“But you would have known, yes?” I pressed. “You knew I was.”

“Only because you drew on the earth’s power right in front of me,” Catherine replied. “Which is something she never did. What cause have you to believe she might have the talent? Do you know who she is?” She leaned forward, eyes searching mine.

“If she were a witch, she could have substituted her own potion for yours,” I said, choosing not to answer her question in its entirety. “What better and more sure way to get rid of you, with no one ever suspecting her. Not even you.”

Catherine said nothing, but her cheeks rose to a high color. She had long since ceased petting Souris, but I could see her hands balling into fists where they lay on her lap. Her anger gave me the answer to my question. I could not even imagine how I would feel, having thought for all those long years that I had ruined my own life with a simple mistake, only to discover that it had been orchestrated by another.

“We could find her,” I said softly. “You and I, together.”

Her eyes flicked to mine. “Revenge?”

I shrugged. “At the very least, you could discover the truth.”

“Why would you help me?” she asked, suspicion in her eyes. “What interest have you in this?”

“A very personal one,” I said. “Because I believe the witch whose curse I wish to break is the same one who orchestrated your fall from grace.” I purposefully refrained from telling her that I suspected her former mistress knew the witch’s identity.

All the color fled from her cheeks, but before I could garner much more than surprise from her expression, she dropped her head. “Marie warned me to stay away,” she said. “I need to think hard about the consequences of doing otherwise before I take any action.”

I wanted to demand that she decide now – the promise all but forcing the words from my lips, but I clamped them shut. Better for her to come around to the idea herself than for me to try to bully her. She’d be a stronger ally if she acted of her own accord. “Very well,” I said, rising to my feet. “If you decide you want to discover the identity of the woman who ruined your life, send me word.”

Twenty-Six

Tristan

He had gone too far.

Brushing aside the guards as though they were little more than flies, I flung open the doors to the throne room and then bound them shut behind me with enough magic to ensure we wouldn’t be interrupted.

It was disgusting. An abomination.

The heels of my boots thudded against the marble as I strode toward the throne, the lamps flaring up as I passed, my power looking for an outlet as it filled the room.

He had to be mad – what else could drive him to make such a match?

My father was alone in the room, and he did not bother to look up at my approach, which infuriated me all the more. There was a table spread in front of the throne, laden with enough food to feed two dozen men; but of him, all I could see was the top of his head as he bent over a steaming platter.

“You great gluttonous pig.” The words were out before I could even think, the icy coldness of my voice at odds with the fire burning through my veins.

The hand holding a leg of chicken paused in its rise, but still, he did not look up. “Have you no shame?” I hissed. “All your people suffer food rations, and here you sit, shoveling all you can fit and more down your gullet.”

His gluttony was not what I was really angry about, but it would serve. I wasn’t ready to put words to the real reason, though it hung between us like the stench of a sewer.

My father set the chicken leg down. And then he raised his head.

He looked as weary as I had ever seen him, eyes drooped and shadowed, lines I had never noticed before marring his skin. “Tristan,” he said, leaning back on the throne and resting his elbows on the arms. “I have very, very few pleasures in life. I will not begrudge myself this one. Not as long as I am king.” He tilted his head slightly to one side. “Unless, of course, that is why you are here?”

Reaching up over his head, he lifted the crown from where it was casually hooked over the back of the throne. “Finally come to take it? Here.” He tossed the golden circlet over the table. “Have it.”

It landed with a loud clank against the stairs of the dais, bounced once, then rolled across the floor before coming to a stop at my feet. I stared at it, astonishment chasing away my anger and giving me a moment of clarity. A moment was all I needed to realize what had happened.