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“And they put them on even though they’re talvernum?” he says incredulously.

Lady Ellaine drops the pendant.

Audra’s face turns white. “That’s not talvernum—it’s the wrong color. It’s some sort of gold.”

“May I see it closer?” Pranmore asks.

Audra waves Lyredon forward, and he produces a wooden box.

Pranmore opens the lid and cocks his head to the side as he studies the pendant. “It’s an alloy, but the majority of the blend is talvernum.”

“How do you know?” Bartholomew asks.

“It’s a Woodmore gift,” Ayan says quietly. “They’re more sensitive to the natural elements than we are. Though any High Vale should be able to tell if it’s spelled.”

“Has the pendant been charmed?” Henrik asks, voicing the question that’s plaguing each of us.

“It doesn’t look like it.” Pranmore frowns. “But there is…something.”

“Blood magic?” I ask nervously, my eyes flicking back to Audra’s mother.

“I’m not sure. It’s strange. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“Please, Mother, take it off,” Audra begs.

As Lady Ellaine’s face begins to twist in unnatural anger once more, Pranmore quickly says, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He sounds as if he’s made a discovery, and it’s not a good one. A chill of foreboding skitters down my spine.

“Why?” Audra asks, growing desperate.

Pranmore gives her an uneasy look. “I believe there’s a thread of magic attached to it, near the clasp. I can see it flare every time Audra asks Lady Ellaine to remove the necklace. The metal itself is not charmed, but it’s feeding off something that is.”

“What doesthatmean?” Lawrence demands.

“It means we don’t know what will happen if Mother removes it,” Audra says, looking like she’d like to heave her necklace across the room. “At best, it wouldn’t do anything. At worst, it could kill her.”

“Are you familiar with such magic?” Pranmore asks Lyredon.

The family’s shadow rogue stands to the side, looking pensive. He slowly shakes his head. “I’ve never heard of such a thing in my life.”

* * *

By the timewe retire for the night, it’s the wee hours of the morning, and I’m exhausted.

That doesn’t stop me from answering the quiet knock on my door just before I crawl into bed.

Henrik stands in the hall, looking weary. The commander’s tired eyes meet mine. He doesn’t say anything, but it feels as if he’s asking permission.

But for what, I don’t know.

“It’s late,” he says raggedly. His eyes move to my nightgown. “And you’re already dressed for bed.”

He shakes his head as if questioning himself, but I catch his wrist before he turns to leave.

“Come in if you want to talk,” I say, giving his arm a tug.

“Five minutes?”