I.

To the King she was Lenore. To everyone else, including Astara, she was The Queen. But there hadn't been a Queen in Callis North in a long time, and never one from beyond the mountains.

She was pale like the Northerners, but that's where the similarities ended. King Varus said she was from the islands, a place where they wore lots of jewelry and colored gems in their hair and their hair was the color of sunsets and open flames. Where the Northerners had rounded features the Queen had delicate curling red lips and long regal eyes that she rimmed with kohl and that were flecked with lavender. Not like Astara's eyes, the color of tree bark.

Whenever King Varus looked at Lenore he still saw her from the first night, her hair red and curling down her back, slipping out of the white silk in the candlelight. She had had her ears pierced and the long chains of filigree caught the light as she came to him. He'd imagined her with deer horns, a crown from the wilderness. Desire immobilized him.

Now she was watching the stables while the mares whinnied and nudged in wooden boxes, the trail of her green dress sullied in the cut grass. Astara watched her from the brambles across the field. The stable boys averted their eyes but Astara knew they were sweating and their hearts beat fast. What was the Queen doing there? Should they say hello? She had not been unkind to the help, but neither was she kind. They murmured among themselves until the head boy came to greet her. If she'd wanted a horse a page would have fetched it. But she never rode the horses.

The boy laughed at something the Queen said and then did a sharp bow, retreating to the stables. The Queen stood a while longer, then abruptly turned back toward the castle path. She glanced over toward the brambles and Astara ducked down, her heart beating fast. But after a moment she retreated from sight.

A touch ran up Astara's back and she screamed as a hand closed over her. Quiet laughter erupted behind her, a man's chest against her back. Astara could smell the scent of vetiver and her skin sparked. Edwain.

He removed his hand and spun her around, still laughing. "You are a wretch Edwain!" she said, still shaking. But he was smiling his pirate smile. Astara did her best to be indignant. "And we're supposed to be quiet here, remember?"

He led her away from the brambles and she pictured the curve of his back beneath his shirt and the last time her hand was in his hair, a tangle of amber in the sunlight. "My apologies, your highness," he said, as they sat on the rock below the statue of Calliope. "You were frozen in your gaze and I could not help but tease you." He produced two apples from his cloak and handed one to her, his fingers lingering over hers as she closed around it. "What is it that makes teasing a beautiful girl irresistible? I believe I'll never know." Astara looked up at him, caught in his smile. "These are from the Endley Grove," he said. "I searched for one just right for you. The lame fellow let me take them. He said 'Anything for the Jewel of Callis North."

Astara's cheeks colored red, embarrassed by his callousness. "His name is Adan. He isn't lame. His leg has been injured from a horse. He's kind. And you're not supposed to mention me to anyone, remember?"

Edwain took a bite of his apple, eyeing her. He had told her she reminded him of a winter's forest, her features woodland and fine, with a full pink mouth and large oval eyes that possessed him. Her hair hung down her back in shades of black and sometimes purple in the light, shadowing her pale skin like
the contours of bruise. Lately she had taken to braiding it with flowers from the garden, thinking of her father and Edwain.

"How could I not mention the name of my love?" he said.

Astara bit into her apple, suddenly feeling dangerous. Edwain was tall and handsome and the envy of the court. He'd caught her one night in the glow of Summer Garden and had pressed his lips softly to hers. Since then they had become secretly inseparable. But he had never called her his love before. She fell silent, staring at the white inside the apple, wondering if anyone had an inkling.

"Astara?"

She looked up and their lips met. She could smell the vetiver again and she thought of leaves and the warmth of the castle fireplace.

"We are wicked," she said. But the fires in her eyes burned.

The autumn gold fell across the field as they sat quietly in the grove and inhaled the crisp sense of a new season. Astara noticed the sadness creeping back and shuddered. Her father had been especially unwell lately and she knew no one would be looking for her.

"What were you spying anyway?" Edwain asked. "I didn't think I could spook you that easily."

Astara looked at him sideways. She had never spoken of her feelings for the Queen before. "My…Queen Lenore," she said. "She was out there staring at the horses. It was strange."
"Perhaps she was admiring their beauty."
"Perhaps," she said, curling her fingers around his. "Although the beauty she admires the most looks her right back in her own reflection. I don't see her outside much. And never out here."
"Does that mean you come here often?" he said, a smirk on his lips. "Am I not your only beau, then?"
Astara shook her head at him. "You do so tease me, Edwain. I come here alone to watch the horses graze. And to get away." She studied him thoughtfully. "To be honest, the Queen has not been warm with me. There is…no affection." She calculated. "It's been nearly a year since their marriage. I don't think I please her."
Edwain straightened and took her hand to lips. "It's not possible for you to not be pleasing. You are like a sunbeam between trees. Perhaps the Queen is not an open sort of person to begin with. She does seem rather frigid. And she's the Queen after all."
Astara sighed, looking ahead. "Who knows," she said absently. Now she was thinking of her father. She had been trying to think of other things all day.
In the silence Edwain reached for something else inside his cloak and brought out a small burgundy box. "Astara," he said. She glanced at him, at the box. Then up at his green eyes that sparkled in the late afternoon light.
"Edwain?" she said, her voice sounding far away.
He smiled down at her, then opened the box and pulled out a moonstone ring. Lifting it he set it delicately on Astara's finger, its gem cut into a square of laced silver, patterned with emeralds.
Astara stared at her hand and tried to say his name again. But everything was underwater. He lifted her chin in his hand.
"Astara," Edwain spoke softly. "This is my mother's ring. It's been in my family for two centuries." He smiled. "And I want you to have it. As my betrothed."
The air waivered. Astara glanced up at him, her heart running a mile. "Edwain. This, this-"
"I know it's moving fast. Very fast. And I know it may not be the ideal time," he said slowly. Carefully. "But on the other hand, it could be best time we have. The only time. Astara," he said, his eyes clear and bright. "I love you. And I would want nothing more than to be the man at your side."
Astara felt herself crying. Edwain said he loved her? They'd only been able to share their affection in secret corridors and behind brambles and hidden in long glances. There had never been a normal time for them to make their relationship known. Not even to her father, who was now bedridden. And especially not to the Queen. Marriage had been the furthest thing from her mind.

"Your silence worries me," Edwain said.
Astara looked at him hard. Did she love him? She had never asked herself the question. He made her stomach flutter. He excited her. She thought about him much of the day. When he kissed her it felt as though he were drawing air from her and she would often stand afterwards, trying to catch her breath. But father.
"Yes," Astara said. She could hear the power behind her voice, surprising her. "I will, Edwain. I will be your betrothed."

Edwain smiled down at her and then they were kissing. The ring felt warm upon her skin.

Astara pulled away. "Edwain. I don't think we should say anything. Not until after the Hunt, anyway. Father…"

Edwain clasped her hand in his. "How is he?"

Astara looked away. "He hasn't been eating much. He's sleeping often. And he's frailer and thinner by the day." The tears had begun again. Somehow she found her way into Edwain's arms.

"He hasn't been up to making decisions for quite some time. The Council has stepped in in the interim but…eventually there has to be a decision."

"And...could that be you?"

Astara looked up at him through her tears. "I haven't thought about it as much as I should. And the Council. We've not discussed it." A bad sign, Astara realized. She hadn't been proactive. "If not me, then who?"

Edwain was silent. But she knew he was thinking of the Queen. She sniffed and wiped her eyes, wondering at the pang of anger inside her. "Oh Edwain. I'm so scared for him."

Edwain stroked her hair and held her close. "Have heart," he said. "He is the king. He has a strong heart. He will recover." But there was an edge to his voice that made her heart leap.

In her chamber that night Astara hid the ring in her dresser and watched the room across the hallway. The Queen had called it her crafting room but Astara had never seen her at work with a needle. It was cracked for once, and the Queen was elsewhere.

Astara had seen inside the room once before after the Queen moved in, and made note of everything inside it. There was a daybed, a table, a mirror. But also dark, horned things. Spiked candlesticks and twinkling dark gauze and books in non-Northern languages. There was a window facing a parapet outside and another facing the courtyard that the Queen strung dried herbs and flowers to, "for the air," she had said. But Astara had read of these herbs in books before. They were used either by physicians or witches, and the Queen was no physician.

The edge the mirror stood just beyond the doorframe, a great hulking presence behind the cracked door. On the day the Queen had moved into the castle Astara had seen them cart the mirror up, four men in in total. It was covered in red cloth and impossibly large. The Queen had called it an heirloom, priceless. She did not lift the cover to show her, and kept its doors shut. Now Astara stared at its doors, their animal etchings.

Something slithered within the Queen's room and disappeared into the gauze of the curtains. Astara knocked a vase over, jumping back against her dresser in fright and glancing wildly around the room.

She should go get help. A serpent could have wandered in through the dark shadows of the halls.
But had she really seen it? She looked back toward the room across the hall, searching hard for any other movement. She'd only seen it for a second. And the curtain hung still.

She was surprised to find herself walking slowly toward the open room until her hands hovered just above the green scrolls on the door handle. She could open it with a push, and she did.

The mirror stood on the far side of the room, its cabinets opened. She blinked, certain they were closed before. Next to the cabinets was the Southern window where the Orchard lay below. Astara realized she had never looked at the garden from this height, but she was afraid to approach the curtains.

The room made her shiver with its darkness. It felt heavy to her, like something was pushing closely around her. Had any servant remarked on the odd tastes inside? Certainly her father had never mentioned it. Perhaps he didn't even know. She looked around, one eye on the curtain. Near the window there was a tiny red figure made of cloth, man-shaped, appearing in a kneeling position. Astara lifted it, noticing soot or something similar near its head. Something told her to drop it, and she backed away.

Her reflection in the mirror caught her attention. Astara stared, struck by its vision of contrasts and colors, her eyes sparking bright in the coming dusk. She was so white and so dark all at once. And she looked fuller, more vibrant than how she looked in her own mirror. Was this the effect of the type of glass, or something else? She touched it, studying its warmth. She could practically feel her own fingers pressing through it, sliding gently against her fingertips.

Behind her she could see a body drop over the curtains, a horrible colored snake that slithered down the wall and right toward her. Astara screamed and the door burst open with the physician and the Queen.

"What are you doing in here?" the Queen gasped, grabbing Astara by the wrist and pulling her out. She had never touched Astara before. Her painted nails dug into her wrist as she dragged her into the hallway. When she let go there were droplets of blood. Astara looked back toward the room for the serpent but the Queen snapped the door shut.

"I," she began, rubbing her wrist. "I just thought…I just saw something in your room from across the hallway. A snake."

The Queen's eyes widened. She shook her head a few times, evidently speechless, then smoothed her dress and crossed her arms over her chest.

"You've been under so much stress, my dear," she said, her voice returning to her normal calm. "It surely was a trick of the eye. This room," she said, waving her hand in front of the door. "It's filled with priceless artifacts. If there is something it concerns, please come to me first. Otherwise I beg you to let it be next time."

"Queen…Queen Lenore," Astara said, still uncertain how to address her. "The snake could have wandered in from the wilderness. I beg of you, please have the guards check your room for it."

"That will be enough, child," the Queen said sharply.

Astara saw the flash of ire in her eyes and knew that the Queen had no love for her. Still, it hurt to be talked to in such a way. "I want to see my father," she said, feeling the tears come again.
The physician looked at her troublingly. "Your Highness, the King is sleeping right now. I told him to get as much rest as he can. It may behoove you to try again tomorrow. Seeing you will make his spirits brighten in the best way."

Astara nodded and wiped her face, a smattering of blood still on her wrist. "Thank you. I'll be in my chambers." She glanced at the Queen, but her face was a mask as she looked upon her.

Astara locked the door behind her and crossed herself. She had seen it. And so did the Queen.

In the night she dreamt of ravens. A sea of them across her room and out through the castle window, across the fields, into the ocean. The moon shone on their heads and they moved together like waves. Slowly they all started to croak.