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“You mean Camellia,” Bartholomew says when none of the rest of us dare.

“Now that Hellebore has died, it’s possible she’s had a change of heart.” Quickly, he adds, “Clover, let me finish.”

I clamp my mouth shut, glaring at the elf even though I’m not truly upset with him. But he’s a fool if he thinks Camellia was innocent in Hellebore’s plot.

“She’s been orphaned,” Pranmore continues, “bereft of her mentor, and is likely realizing she’s in over her head. Lawrence, if you’re willing to call a truce, I believe she might turn from her dark magic.”

“It’s a nice thought, Pranmore,” Lawrence says skeptically, “but Camellia isn’t as innocent in all this as you believe.”

I nod, thankful he took my side.

“And too many have died cruelly at her hands to simply excuse her of her crimes,” Audra argues.

“I understand that,” Pranmore says gently. “But this is a political situation. If it prevents more deaths, is it worth offering forgiveness? If it frees your mother?”

Pain crosses Audra’s face, and she looks down at her lap.

“This is a turning point in Camellia’s life,” Pranmore argues. “A chance to bring her back from the edge of darkness. Shouldn’t we at least try?”

“How do you propose we go about it?” Ayan asks. “And what do we do about Ferradelle? The elves aren’t likely going to allow her to keep the dukedom.”

“Ferradelle belongs to you,” Audra says vehemently.

Ayan smiles. “And while I’m excited at the prospect, I’m not certain Camellia is going to go quietly when we oust her from her ill-won throne.”

“The first step is talking to Camellia,” Pranmore reasons. “Let’s find out what the princess truly wants.”

“Who’s going to go to her?” Audra asks, her eyes straying to Lawrence.

“I nominate Henrik,” Lawrence says. “He’s the only person she truly likes.”

But Henrik sits like a statue, arms folded and tense, jaw clenched and eyes hard.

“What is it?” Pranmore asks, also startled by the dark expression that graces the commander’s face.

Henrik suddenly rises and heads for the door. “Choose someone else to make peace with Camellia. I cannot.”

He strides into the hall, practically slamming the door behind him.

“What was that?” Bartholomew asks, looking a little like a spooked puppy.

“Camellia has manipulated, mentally tortured, and humiliated Henrik every chance she’s been given,” Audra says quietly. “It’s too much to ask him to extend the olive branch.”

Pranmore finds a chair and sits, steepling his hands in front of him and resting his forehead on his fingertips.

“I’ll talk to him,” Lawrence says heavily, already rising.

“Should I come with you?” I ask.

He studies me with a frown. “Not this time.”

26

HENRIK

Lawrence finds me in the garden, in the overgrown section that seems to draw me. Maybe I feel a connection with the broken, weathered fountain.

He sits on the ledge, studying me in the waning light as I stare at the dead leaves and dirt in the basin. After several minutes, he says, “We should repair this.”