VII.

Water

Astara penned a lengthy letter to Edwain the next day, which Aldo agreed to take for her on their next trip into town. In the letter her dwellings remained undisclosed, but she requested that he write back to an anonymous Sir A in Marchess, which would be delivered via an acquaintance to Aldo. Astara worried she would put Edwain in danger with the queen with these actions, but she could think of nothing else to try while she waited. Once she received his reply, they could figure out where to meet and she would tell him everything. Then they could decide what to do next.

As the next few days passed and Astara settled into a routine, she began to grow more comfortable around her housemates. Besides Derry, she no longer felt scared of them, and a sort of cordial easiness took shape, despite thoughts of the Edicts weighing on her mind. Vir had warmed to her, and began to laugh with her as they cleaned up after dinner together, telling her stories of his past in a land across the sea that Astara had longed to visit since her nanny had told her fantastic tales of it when she was a child. Occasionally he would pass her a mug of ale from their larder, and they would talk about their upbringings in the moonlit garden.

Coryn was a shy young man with a gift for music, and Astara was dazzled the first time he produced a lute and played a shimmering evening tune that made her yearn for the warm, candlelit halls of the castle. She told him it was lovely, and he blushed with the compliment.

Geoffrey and Aldo she felt closest to, but she was equally fond of Teodor, although in a more secretive, confused way. Throughout the day she found herself musing over him, wondering about his past and how he ended up at the helm of their motley group. It didn't come as easy to her to joke with him as it did with the others, although he enjoyed banter and laughed freely enough. There was an intensity about him that intimidated her at times. Perhaps it was his passion, and his seriousness about learning. He was a student of poetry, she learned, and most of the books of fiction and verse that had not come from the library were originally his own. Sometimes when she took a break from studying the histories of the artifacts, she read a few of his volumes and spent the rest of the afternoons dreaming of their pages and watching the colored light cut through the curves of the stained-glass door.

Shaman remained an enigma. He seemed familiar to her somehow, though she was sure they'd never met before. He was stoic, but not rigid nor unfriendly. She caught him laughing from time to time, and sometimes he would even make a joke or two with her. But he was reserved and watchful, and she respected his space.

Lastly there was Derry, who ignored her, although he was jovial and boisterous with the other men. Astara kept clear of him. There had been no repeat of the night he had grabbed her shoulder and no mention of it either. He seemed resigned to at least tolerate her presence and not try anything untoward, though Astara knew he loathed her.

A week had passed since the events at the Hunt. Aldo had intended to carry Astara's letter on their next trip to Marchess, but the main road leading down the slope toward the city had suffered a recent flooding and would take several days to dry up. And still, no sign of searchers from Callis North. Astara was convinced they simply hadn't yet made it that far up the mountain; when she walked the mountainside with Aldo or Geoffrey in search of berries or mushrooms to bring back, she couldn't help noting the density of the forests on the slope. Perhaps they were planning a wider excursion. Or perhaps the queen had convinced them it was already a lost cause.

She wondered if the queen even knew she was still alive. What had she thought when Lord Abram came back to her empty-handed?

There was a twin feeling of fear and relief at not being found. Callis North was her home. She missed her friendships with the courtiers' daughters, her studies, her walks through the gardens. And she missed her father. She imagined him confined in his bed and calling out for her, bewildered by her loss. The thought brought fresh tears to her eyes whenever it came.

On the other hand, Lenore and Lord Abram frightened her, and she was shaken by her reckoning with the implications of the Edicts. Could her father really have such a poor view of the people of the kingdom that he would seek to take their labor and property because he didn't trust them? And how could she have not gleaned that? He had been known as "shrewd and iron-fisted," as her nanny had put it, but she had never considered that his manner of Rule had been one of cruelty. Astara found herself lost in fearful thought over it, and pictured her father in each side of a quartz, secret-faceted, parts of him dark and ruthless and unknown to her.

She tried to relieve her mind by aiding Geoffrey and Aldo at their various tasks throughout the day. She learned to turn over the rich, dark earth with new seeds and soils, and pick away the thorns from the flowering winter berries while she helped gather vegetables and prepare for the coming winter. She also helped Aldo clean and care for the horses, singing to them as she fed them and watched them trot around the meadow, their bodies lithe and free in the late autumn sun. For these outdoor tasks they had given her an extra set of men's breeches and a work shirt. The first time Teodor saw her in the outfit he had dropped the bucket of water he was carrying.

When chores were done in the late afternoons, she would alternate between working at sewing a new dress and reading in the library. She wanted to absorb every detail of the magic artifacts, particularly the mirror. According to another book she found, scholars theorized that the glass in the mirrors might be items of divination that illuminated the requestor on the truth and secrets of the world. But the knowledge came with a price. The text warned that thirst for answers without understanding corrupted the user. Mortals who dabbled with the strange objects had frequently been bringers of black luck, some labelled as sorcerers. The source of the objects, according to the book, could be a trickster energy, but this Astara couldn't understand. She wasn't versed in the supernatural, nor had she ever been particularly interested in it until now. But she was becoming more convinced that Lenore's mirror was one of these special artifacts the Object-Dissectors had made from the cosmic glass.

Astara thought. Lenore had obtained the mirror from a peddler. But what sort of peddler possessed such an item, and how had it come to be brought to Lenore? A chill shivered through Astara's spine. If Lenore succeeded in becoming the Rule of the Realm while possessing the mirror….

She longed to discuss her thoughts with someone, particularly Shaman. She had an inkling that if anyone understood, it would be him. But telling him would mean admitting she believed the queen to be some sort of sorceress. And she would have to reveal that her father was dying.

The men climbed the path back toward the meadow, their thoughts trailing like dirty rucksacks behind them. Earlier in the day a bridge that scaled the western side of the mine had shuddered and gave way as Vir was scaling it, and if it hadn't been for Coryn snatching him by the shoulder (dislocating it in the process) he would have fallen scores of yards to his death. The bridge gave an awful groan as it collapsed and left a wide gap between the entrance of the cave and the rest of it, where the ore and iron laid. Shaking and in disbelief, there was nothing left to do but to head home early. There would be time to write a report of the incident to the Marchess Delegation, which reported to the Callis North Council, although there was little hope they would hasten repairs. And while they waited, it would mean losing out on days'—perhaps weeks'—worth of work. Even more grim was the prospect that the Delegation could deny repairs altogether. In the past it was hardly thinkable, but these were different times.

Shaman halted in his tracks, causing Derry to stumble headfirst into him, followed by Coryn. "Bloody hell, Shaman!" Derry roared. But Shaman was staring toward the northeast, where the mountain rose sharply behind the house.

"What is it?" Teodor asked, his hand immediately going toward his knife. Misfortune had already befallen them today, and Teodor felt a bristling of fear. He had seen Shaman like this before: glassy-eyed and focused on a distant sight that only he could see. Teodor understood it as intuitions: often what he saw, or foresaw, had become realized in one way or another. Shaman had once called it black tendrils from God.

The others had fallen silent now, even Derry reigning in his cursing.

Shaman's eyes had become two black, unreachable planets. And besides the breathing of the men, the sounds of the forest had stilled.

"Astara," he said. "In danger."

In the late afternoon, Astara shivered as she soaked up the cold temperature of the stream, her hair unbraided and curling about her in the water as she floated on her back. The sky above was half forest canopy, half blue, the last breath of day. The evenings were beginning to show themselves earlier, shades of burnt orange surrounding the mountain as the soil grew mossy and purple with the promise of coming frost. Across the western edge of the sky hung the sickle moon, waiting to glow.

When she emerged from the stream, she dressed and then sat with her legs in the water, letting the calm of the forest wash over her. She had read several pages on the artifacts earlier and had completed the last stitches on her very first dress. Her mind's eye still saw the needle weaving in and out of the leek green fabric that Aldo had provided her, and she smiled. Perhaps she was the first princess in the Realm to make her own clothing.

Her hands ran over a spatter of flowers, and she decided to recline and weave a crown out of them. Slowly, her thoughts made their way to the daisy chains she'd made for Edwain. Then she sat up with a fright.

Edwain. She grabbed the necklace at her throat, feeling his mother's ring next to her mother's locket. Besides the day she had written the letter to him, Astara had hardly thought of him since she'd arrived at the mountain house. Her days had been so filled with reading on the mirror and task after task around the meadow that she had scarcely thought of how he may be faring.

Guilty, she pictured his face. Was he scared? What could he be thinking now? Did he have hope of her return? She feared Lord Abram had convinced him it was a lost cause. She imagined Edwain behind a wall of glass, his eyes unseeing.

A clinking, crystal sound echoed in the water, like someone sifting through jewels. Astara frowned away from her worrying thoughts and peered over her legs at her own reflection. Below the surface the rocks gleamed in the pale sun, and there was a rainbow cast on her right leg. She waved her hand through it, then heard the strange shuffling-of-jewels sound again.

She leaned closer in, staring at her image. There was something familiar and dreamlike about the sound. But the rocks below were only rocks, and it was only her there in the water. Beyond her visage she could see the reflected wisps of clouds between the canopy.

The water's surface had become still, the crystal sound shimmering like a distant bee.

She peered closer, intrigued. Her reflection looked so clear that she could see the pupils of her eyes on the unwavering surface. It was as though her reflection were assessing her, staring at her critically from beyond the water. She put her hand out, wondering if she would feel the cold resistance of glass. But her fingertips breached the surface, and she let out a relieved sigh.

Then she screamed as something wrapped around her legs and pulled her downward.

Astara choked water, thrashing as she managed to surface and throw her weight at the side of the bank. Whatever had her tightened itself against her legs, its texture like the muddy lacquer of a carriage wheel. What was it? A serpent? She sputtered and coughed, frantically clawing at the earth as it pulled her ever downward, her legs kicking as she tried to stay above the surface. The stream was only a hair's breadth taller than her, but it could easily drown her if it dragged her much more.

She tried to dig her nails into the earth again and pull, but its thick ship-rope body was now circling around her ribcage, and before she could cry out again it jerked tight and all at once she was beneath the water again, catching sight of its black and green diamonds as it coiled up toward her neck.

Water filled her mouth as she screamed and felt it slide up to tighten itself around her throat. She grabbed at it with one hand, sick with panic, but she couldn't pull it off. Then another force yanked her arm upward towards the surface.

She sputtered in the broken sunlight. Pain sparked rips of black and purple before her eyes as she felt a hand upon her arm and another trying to wrench the thing away from her neck.

"Derry! Your sword!" Teodor's voice cried next to her, and Astara felt blindly for him as he wrestled with the serpent-thing between them. Now her throat was being crushed. The world began to close.

There was a roar of some sort, a primal yell, as she saw something flash and then heard a slash cut the air before her. An awful hissing followed, and then the coil crushing her throat was no longer tight as Teodor's fingers grazed her skin, pulling the thing away from her. She was gasping again, slipping into the water before Teodor caught her and pulled her onto the bank. As soon as she felt land beneath her, the world went sideways and she clutched her throat, feeling fire there as she took breath after breath, coughing and gasping. The skin where the serpent had constricted felt scaly and torn, and she wondered if she had been wrenched apart.

"Chucked the bloody head downriver!" Derry yelled from a great distance, and Astara felt enveloped by the pain around her throat. The world was loud and full of sharp light, and all she could see were flashes over black.

After what felt like an eternity, she opened her eyes, letting them focus wearily on the canopy of the forest above as her stomach curled in knots. She had been picturing the bloodied water.

With slow movements, she found her bearings on the edge of the riverbank and pulled herself up to sitting, steadying her hands before her. The wind had picked up. She was suddenly conscious of the breeze against her soaked-through white dress, but when she looked up for the others she started with fright. Before her was an empty strip of bank.

Astara glanced around wildly, but she could see neither Teodor nor Derry. There was only the wind in the trees and the scent of something like burned cedar. On shaky legs she rose and tried to call out for them, but her voice had vanished.

The hair along her arms rose as she listened for any sound. Now it seemed the woods were somehow different. They were brown and subdued, and she felt they were full of blood.

It's what's in them, she thought. What's next.

The memory of an ice floe came to her, and she tried to scream again, but nothing came out.

Someone was calling her name softly above her. She opened her eyes and saw Teodor, blurry, his hand against her cheek as her vision spun round in circles.

There were more people around her. She looked at their forms sharpening into view. Derry and Shaman knelt behind Teodor, with Coryn and Vir at her other side.

She put her hands to her face and shook. Despite the pain at her throat a well of relief came over her to see them.

"Astara!" Geoffrey's voice yelled from down the way as he and Aldo rushed to meet them. "A cloak for you," he said, panting. Carefully they helped her up to sitting, and he draped the black cloth over her as Shaman gently took her hands in his.

"Lift your chin up high," he said.

"What in the name of the Light—" Vir started at the sight of her throat, then put his hand on his mouth and shook his head.

"We came as soon as we could," Aldo said between breaths. "We searched to make sure Astara wasn't anywhere in the house. Then the horses got loose, and we had to wrangle them."

"Glad you could arrive so promptly!" Derry bellowed. "If we hadn't split up we'd have a waterlogged princess right about now!"

"Give Shaman space," Teodor said sharply, casting his eyes about the group as the last of the setting sun hit the everblue of his eye. Astara blushed, remembering that he was the one who had dragged her out of the water. Had he seen the skin beneath her soaking dress? She quickly hid the thought and tried to still the warmth from her face.

The men cleared away and left her and Shaman remaining on the ground. His fingers were cool against her throat, and she felt purity welling from them, as though they were trembling with some dormant magic.

He looked steadily at her. "You can't speak."

Slowly Astara shook her head. And slowly, as he held his fingertips to her, she felt the feeling change. The fire at her throat was still there, but she could feel it almost separating from her, the pain present but not attached. Shaman was rotating his fingers on her skin, and she fell into a sort of daze as she envisioned the sensation of a waterfall within, icy flecks flooding her neck and its burning, bleeding scales. Now the fire dulled. Now it turned to ice. Now the redness that she had imagined had changed back into a pale white. The vision of Shaman was before her again, his black eyes focused on her bark-brown ones.

His fingertips lingered on her throat for another long moment, cold and steady. And then he took them away. He was waiting for her to breathe out, and slowly she did, trembling in the late afternoon wind.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Shaman shook his head.

"Not now," he said. "Try later."

She nodded, looking at him in wonder as she took long, slow breaths of air. He helped her rise to standing, silent as ever, but there was a trace of a smile on his lips.

She looked around at everyone, a glowing timber in her heart. The horror had been incomprehensible, as was her strange, dreamlike transport after. But they were all there, panting and sweating and watching her with concern. They had come to save her life. A sudden rush of love for them pulsed through her.

Teodor moved to stand near the bank, his arms crossed as he watched the stream and pondered something a thousand miles away. Derry was standing behind him with his wet blade still dug into the bank. "It—it was a serpent," Astara said meekly, her voice barely above a whisper. She thought of its eternal black body, thick as rope and studded with emerald diamonds. She had never even seen its head. "I can scarcely believe what I saw. It caught me as I was near the bank, and if Teodor and Derry hadn't come…"

"Derry and I saw it too," Teodor said. His eyes flecked back toward Derry, who gave him an iron look. Then he looked back to Astara. "But in all my life I've never encountered such a creature. And certainly not in these woods."

She wanted to say that she had never seen it either. But she knew she had.

Astara was awakened by the trickle of faraway voices, fierce and sharp as they invaded her dreams.

When they had returned to the house from the stream, Shaman had made her a poultice that smelled of earth and rosewater. It was tied with a green twine ribbon, and Astara suspected he had performed some sort of rite over it. She retired to her room early and rubbed the cool, damp cloth over her throat and thought immediately of sleep. Now, however, she felt wide awake as she got her bearings.

Outside it was twilight. She rubbed her face and rose to crack the door of her room open, feeling vaguely scandalous. Her dress had been hung over the open window to dry, and she was wearing only her slip as she peeked out.

"...at greater risk!"

Shuffling, arguments, words held to a sharp whisper.

"...nothing wrong."

Astara opened the door in full now.

"Why haven't they come to rescue her yet? Someone? The bloody king?" Derry. "The town is erupting with talk about it. If they discover she's here—"

"It was hardly her fault today," a voice said. Aldo's, she determined. "The queen cast her out. She is little more than a refugee."

More murmuring. "...protection of the house." Shaman.

"...Half-truths. And what's at stake…" Derry again. Something had made them lower their voices as Astara strained to hear.

"...damned if we're going over it again." Teodor this time, and there was a fire in his voice. "We agreed to let her stay. It's already been decided. And there's no more talk to be had."

There was some other mumbling, and Astara could make out some words about planning and tightening the locks.

"To keep out other snakes and princesses," one of them said. Astara shook her head. Vir, most likely.

As the conversation waned she shut the door, then moved to hide back under her blanket. Some of them...maybe even most of them had accepted her presence at the house. But did any of them really want her to stay?

She shook her head. And why should they?

She didn't want to be a refugee. Nor did she want to be a burden. She was somebody, and she did have a place. But how to get back there?

And once back…what was to be done about the Edicts?

She poured over scenarios of how to reunite with her father and Edwain, and how to stop the next wave of laws coming from the Council. But her last thoughts before she drifted back to sleep were of how Lenore's serpent had managed to find her.

She awoke again shortly, the breeze from the open window cold across her skin. Now it was fully nightfall. She lay for a moment with the blanket pulled tight around her, taking in the frigid air. It wouldn't be long now until the first snow. She longed to see it up high there on the mountain, twinkling like mirrored stars in the moonlight.

She reached a hand to the windowsill and pulled herself up, her eyes landing on a lone deer grazing on the meadow. Gingerly she touched her neck, amazed to feel the smooth skin there. The raking pain that the serpent had caused had fully disappeared. Where had Shaman learned such skills? Astara pulled away her hand in wonder. Not even the castle physician could cure a wound so quickly. A sorcerer, she suddenly thought. She supposed she knew it all along. But unlike Queen Lenore, she didn't fear him.

Queen Lenore. She had to tell the others about the serpent she saw in her private room at the castle. It had the same coloring as the one at the stream. And when had she ever seen a snake of that sort in the wilds of the Callis mountains?

But if it was one and the same, that meant she was still in danger.

They were in danger, too.

She needed water, and to think. She glanced toward the dress of green she had finished making earlier that day and slipped it on, unsure of its dimensions. But it fit her well, and for a moment she stood marveling at it: something she had made with her very own hands. For the first time, she had missed the full-length mirrors of the castle, longing to see herself in it.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs she paused. Teodor and Shaman were still up, sitting near the dying fire in hushed conversation. She was nervous to approach them after her revelations, but her mouth was parched, so she took a breath and tread into the kitchen, meeting their eyes when they abruptly stopped.

"Please, don't mind me," she said. "I'm just fetching a cup for water." When her gaze landed on Teodor's she halted, arrested once again by the star colors of his eyes, blue and gray against the shadows. If he had had two eyes the same shade, he would have been just another handsome lad, but the contrast between them made him seem like some part of him was forged by a wavering fire.

Shaman rose, and Astara blinked her gaze away. "Please, let me help you with it," he said, retrieving a cup from the wooden cabinet above her. As he passed her the water from the day's well haul, he studied her neck. "The burn has largely retreated."

Astara smiled, noting the glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "I can't thank you enough, Shaman." She took a sip of water, and her eyes darted again toward Teodor, who was sitting in polite indifference. She gulped, suddenly aware of a pressing need within her. Absolution, her mind thought. "Actually, I did want to talk to you tonight. Both of you."

Shaman's expression remained unchanged. "As you wish," he said.

Astara moved toward the fire and sat on the chair with the rainbow-hued blanket, a treasure Aldo had woven. Beside her Teodor was watching her cautiously, and when Shaman seated himself, she took a breath.

"The serpent," she began. "I've seen it before. It…it was in the queen's private bower at Castle Valor." She glanced up at them. "The serpent came from her."

There was a prickling in the room, a crackle from the embers.

"I don't understand," Teodor said, crossing his arms. "How could that be? And how do you know it was one and the same?"

"I know," Astara said, "because, I could not forget the way it looked when I saw it in her chamber. Its coloring was the same, and to my knowledge there is no such large snake native to this section of the kingdom. To tell the truth," she said, her hand going to her neck, "I believe…I believe that she is a sorceress. I believe she sent it here to finish the job that was left undone. She practices spells of a dark nature." An image of the strange poppet she saw on Lenore's window flashed through her mind. "Lord Abram—the man who nearly killed me—he told me she practices the dark arts and that perhaps that's why she…wanted some proof of my murder."

Apart from the fire and the shadows on the wall, the room was quite still. Recalling these details made her skin feel like it was racing. Shaman was masked as usual, and Teodor sat with a baffled, troubled expression. It seemed as though he were looking at her in some other light, seeing features he'd not noticed before. Astara's cheeks colored. Why couldn't she have been forthcoming with them sooner?

Because I wasn't sure I trusted them.

But now she felt remorse. She rose and began to pace the floor.

"The queen has always had these ways about her, as though she could spellbind a person in an instant. Oh, she is beautiful. And she can be charming. But then I saw this room of hers on the eve I saw the serpent. There were all sorts of liquids and herbs, an inventory that would rival even a master physician's. She had showed me some healing methods in the past, so I knew she had some knowledge of those arts, but there were things in the room…." She thought of her father, his burning eyes as he looked at Lenore. "There was a…a strange doll that looked like my father, stuck with pins. I couldn't make sense of it then, but what if, what if she has been…trying to hurt him." She balled her fists, unable to bring herself to mention his illness. "She also possesses a mirror in this room that I felt almost hypnotized by. I can't explain the feeling that came over me when I saw myself in it, but…it was as though I was looking at a different person altogether. Someone who was…calling to me."

She paused, feeling a rush of fright at the memory. "I've been reading. In the library. I…I think the queen…I think what she has is a special mirror…a mirror that came from an Object-Dissector."

Shaman's eyes grew wide. "What?" he whispered. His knuckles were white as he gripped the side of the chair.

"In one of the books there are passages about the objects that are described as…mirrors," Astara said breathlessly. She hadn't seen fright in Shaman before. "I think...I think the queen possesses one. The description of them matches what I saw. And if she practices witchcraft—"

"Yet, it is unheard of," Shaman said, his voice taut. "Though some of these mirrors are said to have been preserved, there have been no valid claims of any turning up."

"If anyone could find one it would certainly be the queen," she pleaded. "Light, when I think of what came over me before it…I had never experienced such a frame of mind before. It makes me incredibly uneasy to feel how powerless to it I was. And the illustration in the book…it matched the mirror's carvings." She shook her head, her thoughts spinning. "Today when I was at the stream—before the serpent came—the water…it became hard, like a mirror. And I felt as if…as if she could be watching me through it. And that's what brought the serpent." Her face paled as she recalled the jewel sounds beneath the stream. What if it were Lenore's diamonds and stones, clinking as she leaned closer? And the strange space of time afterwards when Teodor and Derry had seemed to disappear around her….

Shaman rose, his eyes grave in the glow of the firelight. He stood a full head above Astara, who was staring at him in alarm. "When you told us, the night you came, that the queen had ordered you killed, and ordered proof of it…I did not rule out witchcraft. Many in power tend to be of a superstitious nature. And sometimes of a sacrificial one. It is why I cast a protection around the meadow, so you would be unable to track here."

Astara gasped. "But the serpent—"

"Perhaps you met it outside the circle's barriers," Shaman said. He was searching for something, his eyes cast toward the floor. "Within the circle, witchcraft cannot divine where you are. But. If the queen is, indeed, a sorceress, as you say…and she possesses an actual object from a Dissector…an object imbued with such power…then she well may have the power to cut the world." He shook his head. "Then, no amount of protection will be enough."

Astara felt the floor drop from beneath her. "Could…could she really be that powerful?"

Shaman looked steadily at her. "Artifacts from Object-Dissectors are powerful. If it is true that not all the objects have been obliterated, then one who holds a position such as hers and an object such as that can only be regarded…" He stopped suddenly, searching in his mind for something. Then he looked back up at her. "You mentioned she tried to have your heart cut out. That was an ancient practice, though unheard of now. Perhaps it was dictated by the mirror."

"Shaman," Astara whispered.

"How long," Teodor said, his voice low as he rose from his chair. "How long have you known all this."

Astara blinked. "I...I didn't read about the mirrors until...until…"

"The day after you came here," he said. "You mentioned the books in the library that day." His eyes narrowed as they traveled over hers. "You kept your revelations about the mirror a secret. For several days now."

"Teodor—"

"You knew," he said, approaching her, "for more than a week now. You knew that the queen of the Realm had this destructive object in her hands. And you kept it a secret from us."

She searched her mind frantically. When did it become clear to her that the queen's mirror was truly magic? "I, I wasn't sure until the serpent if I was right, and, and I wasn't sure if I could…"

"Trust us?" he thundered, causing her to wince. "We told you we would shelter you here for as long as you need us to, and you still didn't think to tell us this? It should have been as soon as you had an inkling, Astara!" He shook his head, standing before her now as she trembled beneath him. "You've put us in danger. You've put the entire kingdom in danger. How could you have hidden this?"

"I wasn't sure, I wasn't ready until—"

"Did you suspect she was a sorceress when you fled here?"

Astara's brain was stammering through her memory. She had suspected it, of course. Lord Abram had mentioned it…and she had been suspicious of her room…but everything had happened so fast, it was hard to parse.

Teodor was pacing now, rubbing his temple in furious thought. "You said she wanted you dead because you would continue your father's legacy. But why exactly would you be a threat? Why would the king step down now? Why really?" he asked, eyeing her up and down as she trembled under his gaze. She felt small beneath his tall frame, his anger. His eyes that had until now looked upon her in favor. This was a different side of him: not her friend, not her housemate—a rebel leader, assessing the enemy.

Tears were running freely down Astara's face now. "My…my father, King Varus. He is very ill."

Teodor halted, frozen.

Astara swallowed bitterly. Whether or not the queen had anything to do with her father's illness, perhaps the reason she acquired the mirror in the first place was to help her in her efforts to seize the throne. "It's clear to me. She wants to rule. And for that to happen…both my father and I must die."

Both Shaman and Teodor were staring at her in disbelief. Now the queen's drastic actions must be clear to them. Hiding her father's illness from them was the worst betrayal yet.

Astara shook her head, wiping at her eyes. Then she ran out the front door.

The horses were asleep in the moonlight, their sleek manes shining with starlight as they lay in the field in front of Astara. She was perched on the fence, watching their bodies dream as the night moved cold over the meadow.

Maybe now was the time for her to go. Considering the stakes, how much longer could she wait for a response from Edwain?

She'd felt safe at the mountain house, even welcome. But Teodor's anger was a blow to her. She had put them in danger, and it was her secrecy that had done it. Bitterly, she thought of his eyes, the hurt there. She is just like all the rest of them, he must have thought. She had betrayed them.

She played with the locket inside her dress. Where could she go, anyway? She could hardly wander into town alone, expecting them to offer refuge. If the atmosphere was what they said it was, she would be far from welcome there anyway.

Her mind ran back to earlier on the banks of the stream, after she had been rescued from the serpent's rough grip. She'd had a vision of being completely alone in the woods, left behind in the face of great danger. A chill crept through her.

I have to face her alone, she thought. She's still coming for me.

The crunching of leaves behind her made her sit up straight.

He handed her a blanket, the one Aldo had weaved. Astara shifted over, and he took a seat at the other end of the fence post.

After some time, Teodor spoke. "My family moved to Marchess when I was a small boy," he said quietly. "I came with my mother and father, and my older brother. We came from the Northern Lands. Finch was the name of the town. But I don't remember much of it. There were hills. And golden sunshine." Astara glanced at him, seeing the small smile upon his lips. "Most of my memories are from Marchess. My father was a soldier with the Guard, only back then, they were called the Riders." He was silent for a time. Astara recalled hearing that name, the Riders. The name change had come with the first set of Edicts.

"We had a small house on Astor Street," Teodor continued, "where my mother took in extra sewing, and my brother and I went to school. They were nice days. We used to go up the street until twilight and play stones with the other children. And when it would rain, I remember the cobblestones would sparkle."

Astara looked at him, her hand stroking the loops of yarn on the blanket about her. "What is your brother's name?" she asked.

He looked at her. "It was Abel," he said, and Astara's heart drummed.

Teodor shrugged. "After some time, my father would come home more and more frustrated. The Riders were changing, he said. For hundreds of years they had been committed to peace-keeping across the kingdom. But under the new order of the Edict, they were more concerned with reporting violations of what the citizens of the kingdom's cities discussed, or read, or failed to report in their baffling new Edict requirements. They were even gaoling people who had been cornerstones of the Marchess community for decades, because they would not—or didn't—understand the new rules."

Astara kept silent. There was no malice in Teodor's voice, nor could she detect the anger he'd shown to her earlier. But the familiar ache of misery bloomed again as she considered the town under the Edicts. She would have been just a young child when the first ones took place, running wild over the grounds and playing with poppets as the world outside caught fire.

"As you might have guessed," he continued, "the Riders realigned themselves. Their name had been changed to the Guard, and it became clear to my father that they were in the pocket of those who curried favor with the monarchs. Same as all the other institutions. Abel and I saw everything change as children—the hospitals, the schools. We quickly came to see it for what it was: a complete takeover."

He shook his head, looking at a memory far away as Astara sat in misery.

"My father noticed it quickly in the Riders…the Guard, rather. They had reorganized from a military into something of a police within each city. A…hostile police. Loitering, petty theft, small bits like that, bits reserved for the Townsguard—they were now intervening, punishing men and women and children alike." His expression grew dark. "Once, my father interfered when he saw one of them picking on a child for not hurrying home from school. My father and the guard, they got into an altercation. There was a fight and…he ultimately left the Guard."

Astara gasped aloud. Allegiance to the Guard was for a lifetime. Teodor smiled ruefully at her. "We knew we eventually had to leave. My father's departure had been an unpleasant one, and we were beginning to be targets." He sighed deeply. "Once, while we were making arrangements, a soldier approached me and asked if I was my father's boy. I knew I should have answered, but instead, I spit at him. The next thing I knew I was on the ground, and I remember there were stars blasting in my eyes. I felt as though the stones had opened my skull. And there was so much screaming from around me. The solder struck me again and again until I passed out, and then continued to do so afterward." He looked at Astara now, and flourished a hand over his gray eye. "I can still see out of it, which my mother deemed a miracle. But the color changed that day."

Astara wiped the tears from her cheek. "The mark on your arm…" she began, and Teodor brandished his wrist, showing the thin, carved scar she had seen the night she had awoken to him. "Is that related to that…incident?"

Teodor's eye sparkled in the moonlight. "That was a later run-in with the Guard."

Astara watched him, wondering at his life. It felt as though her life had been a million miles from the beating heart of the cities, where the implications of her father's decrees had such profound impacts, and for the worse. How could she possibly reconcile what she was hearing now to the oblivious peace she had always had? "What happened after they damaged your eye?"

"It wasn't enough…" he said. And here is voice faltered. He looked down at the sleeping horses. "They came for my father and said if he didn't serve out his time with the Riders, his family would suffer. So he went, of course. They stationed him far, far away. Farther even than Finch. His sentence was twenty years." He looked up at her again. "That was sixteen years ago."

Astara gaped in horror at him. "You and your family haven't seen him since?"

"He writes when he can. He sends money to my mother as well. But they would never let him write freely. For my parents...it was a death to their relationship. Although I am certain they both have love still."

"And…what of Abel?"

Teodor looked at her again, his face half cast in shadow.

"Abel went in search of my father. He was angered at the injustice of it all. The Edicts, my injury, my father's incarceration. We begged him not to go, of course. But he wouldn't listen. He was just a boy, but a brave one."

Astara pictured Abel, his features similar to Teodor's, his iron resolve. She felt sorrow, and longed to put her hand on Teodor's arm. "Am I to understand you also haven't seen Abel since he departed?"

He stared at her, unwavering. "That's right, Astara."

She swallowed, dropped her eyes as tears fell upon her hands. "I wish I could make it right, Teodor. I am so…I am so sorry...but…but…" she shook her head. How could she apologize to him? What could it even accomplish? "What befell you and your mother then?" she asked quietly.

He looked out onto the meadow. "After they took my father and Abel left, it was just she and I. You can imagine she was broken-hearted. I vowed to be a good son to her and to grow into a good man. She worked to become a teacher, and I longed to become one like her. I still do." He glanced at her again. "But I also vowed to oppose the Rule of the Realm. Whether that meant revenge, or change through justice, I couldn't be sure. I've devoted my life to action against the effects of the Edicts." Here his voice grew steely, and she could see the color of his uninjured eye even in the dark. "I will die trying to stop another such rule from landing on the people of the kingdom if that is what it takes. And my brothers here feel the same. We've chosen the hard work of mining and living out here in isolation in order to better pool our resources and organize. And of course, for the safety of the people of Marchess. Fortunately, there are others out there who are like-minded. Across the Realm, the numbers grow of those who rebel."

Astara regarded him through her tears as her skin prickled. "Astara," he said suddenly. "I am...sorry for earlier. I was wrong to blame any of this on you. You are not responsible for their actions. Nor are you wrong for not telling us of the mirror sooner. You'd only just put it together, and you'd been through such trauma. It is an unreasonable expectation, to put such trust in us under such dire circumstances." He sighed, and shook his head. "A monarch with a magical object as powerful as that...it scared me," he said. "It scared Shaman, which scares me even more. But that only resolves the fact that we must unite sooner than later and rise up against...against…"

"Teodor," Astara said. "Is my father...hated?"

He watched her for a moment. "You cannot love those who oppress you."

For a while they let the wind blow across them as the night stirred.

"Derry mentioned to me that they…they also harmed his father. They burned him, he said." She put her hand upon her face and wiped at her welling eyes.

"Yes," Teodor said. "Such incidents grew common in the cities."

"Did…his father…did he perish?"

Teodor glanced at her somberly, but did not speak. Astara let herself weep freely.

"How could I have been so blind?"

"You couldn't have known what they didn't tell you, Astara."

"The Guard at the castle…they behave so differently."

"No doubt," Teodor said with a small smile. "I daresay Callis North must be a peaceful place."

She watched the horses slumber softly again as the breeze sifted through the grass. "When your father was taken away," she said, "I could scarcely have been older than a baby. I'd thought the first set of the modern Edicts had occurred when I was a child, but I see they were enacted before I was born." Astara shook her head with scorn. "I was brought up on the most polished books of history and government. But I didn't know the truth."

"History's narrative is shaped the victorious," Teodor said softly. Then he sighed. "I make no speculation on your father as a person. But the monarchy exists to preserve power, and the very nature of power is...irresistible to man. It promises a life free from hunger, from homelessness. And once you have it, once you possess the tools to write it into your favor, possibly forever? Not many could refuse that."

Astara glanced out into the trees, then back at Teodor. "And yet, I've only known my father as a loving man."

"No doubt he loves you like the tide loves the moon." He grinned at her, then straightened up. "Is he...is he really so ill?"

She nodded, wiping her eyes. "I don't know how much time he has. And I desperately want to see him again. If only...if only to say…" Her voice trailed off, and Teodor did not press her. There was a light wind blowing as the firelight from the windows of the house grew weaker.

Astara clasped her fist in her hand. "I want to help fix this. All of it. I want to reverse these Edicts and stop the next ones. My father has no male heir. The Edicts, or maybe my father, say that I am to rule next. Unless, of course, I should meet an untimely end."

Teodor moved closer to her on the fence. "The queen ordered one of her spineless mules to cut out your heart."

"Yes," she said in a whisper.

"And you are sure whatever monster that was today was from her?"

Astara nodded. "I'm certain it was. I didn't know why she hated me before. But of course we know now: with me out of the way, she can rule. She said my father was a disaster for the kingdom. Clearly, she is against the Edicts as well."

Teodor looked at her for a long while as the breeze flew through their hair. She couldn't discern his expression, and felt the color in her cheeks return. What was he thinking? What did he see?

"Perhaps she is," he said quietly. "But we understand so little of her motivation." He shook his head. "You're not like her. I can tell. Perhaps she has made you her enemy because of the Edicts, or because she has plans for something else entirely. But whatever the reason could be, it doesn't matter. We will side with you," he said. "And we'll fight back alongside you."

She looked at him, astonished.

"I don't know what to do," she whispered.

"What do you want to do?"

Astara took a deep breath. "All my life I've been a princess. Every meeting was a performance. Every conversation a presentation. Oh, I have friends there," she paused, thinking of Edwain. "But my life was lived in public, and I knew nothing outside of Callis North. I'm horrified that we caused so much suffering." She looked at Teodor. "The things I've been hearing from you...the very reason you all have the mission that you do. I want to be a part of that. I want to help make life good for everyone. At the very least tolerable."

Teodor couldn't help but smile. "These lofty goals are exhausting, are they not?"

Astara chuckled. "I suppose I'll just have to get used to it. Surely there are worse things than stumbling upon a house in the forest belonging to the enemies of your father."

Teodor watched her, amused, as Astara straightened. "What?" she asked, suddenly self-conscious.

"Nothing," he said. "It's just, it's been a rarity to hear you laugh. I hope to hear more of it."

Astara smiled at him. Then her hand went to the silver chain inside her collar. She fumbled past Edwain's ring to retrieve the heart-shaped locket, rubbing her thumb over its etchings as she slipped it off the chain and held it in her palm.

"This is the only possession that my mother had put in writing to pass down to me if something happened to her. Inside is a salve that she received as a girl. It's made out of…" she paused, running through the ingredients in her mind, "rose hips, and some blessing water, and some things that are lost on me. According to my father, she swore that this salve could cure any affliction, as long as the wearer's heart is true." She smiled at Teodor. "I've worn this every day since I received it, and I've never used it. Amazing, considering the attacks on my life." She shook her head, then held out her palm to him. "I would like you to have it, Teodor."

Teodor straightened, his countenance suddenly serious. "I couldn't possibly accept it."

"But you must," she said, feigning a scandalized expression. "Princess's orders. I know it cannot heal your eye. But you have a long fight in front of you. It's likely you'd need it more than me."

"Is that so?" he said. "As you yourself mentioned, only one of us has twice brushed the shadow of death in the past week."

Astara arched her eyebrow at him but pressed her palm toward him again. Teodor's hand rose and closed around hers, large and strong as it lingered for a moment and they both blushed. But he accepted the locket.

"Thank you," he said after a moment. "This is very kind of you."

"My pleasure," Astara said, her voice smaller than she had expected. Her eyes hovered across his, then she caught herself and turned back toward the distant line of trees.

"It's very late," she said, moving to untangle herself from the fence. "I'd better get back to bed. Aldo asked for my help cleaning the bird houses. I haven't even seen where those are yet."

Teodor rose, and helped her down from the fence. "Oh, you're in luck. They're seven hills away, right before the largest slope."

Astara stared at him, agape. "Truly, all the way out there?"

"Geoffrey insisted they stay far from his precious garden," he said with a smile. Then they both burst out laughing.

"Wait a moment," Teodor said, as they made their way back to the front door. "Is this the frock you stitched yourself?"

"It is," she said, coloring slightly. "Aldo is an excellent teacher, but it's just a first attempt."

Teodor nodded, studying the outline of her dress. "You are an impressive student. Aldo has tried to show me the basics of threading a needle many times, but I'm afraid it always ended in disaster. Your work is quite becoming," he said, smiling slightly.

Astara tried to stave off the red in her face. "Thank you, Teodor," she said, her heart beating fast. "And…good night to you."

"Good night, princess," Teodor said, bowing slightly. "And...thank you, as well. I already feel more protected."

Astara nodded. She realized she was lingering, watching the sparkle in Teodor's eyes under the tumbling light of the stars.

There was a moment where she could have drawn closer. Then her mind flashed to the ring that hung still beneath her dress. She dropped her eyes from his, then turned and hurried back to the house.