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It’s her tone that strikes fear in my heart—the musical lilt of her voice that declares she has found a way to control me.

“Someone?” I demand.

She makes a tsking noise as she loops her arm through mine. She should smell like sickness and death, but instead, she smells like flowers. Likely camellias, since she’s so fond of her namesake.

Reluctantly, I follow her back into the great hall and through a side door. I catch Pranmore’s eye as we leave, and his eyebrows shoot up. I nod toward Clover, reminding him to keep his promise.

He looks torn, but he nods.

We wind through the palace and then out into the night, toward several buildings that appear to be an armory, stable, and…

I recognize the smell before I realize where we are, the smoke and soot. The familiar muted clang of a hammer meeting metal is a lullaby of my childhood, as is the cadence in which the metal is being worked.

“You mustn’t say a word,” Camellia says, pressing her fingers to my lips. “He’s in the middle of an important project, and I’m afraid you’ll distract him.”

“What have you done?” I demand, knowing who I’m going to find inside.

“What have I done?” laughs the princess. “I brought him for you.”

I press through the door, hurrying past several sleeping forges. Their coals smolder, waiting to be stoked in the morning.

The sound comes from below, down a winding flight of stairs, deep within the space. The stairs end at a closed door. Bars over the window emit heat.

The man on the other side manipulates a golden metal, hobbling back and forth on his wooden leg as he works. His long graying hair is pulled back, and he wears a blackened leather apron to protect his clothing from the sparks.

It’s the same apron he’s had forever, nearly worn out…hand-tooled at the bottom by my mother while she was still alive.

30

Henrik

“Why haveyou taken my father prisoner?” I demand at a harsh whisper.

“Prisoner!” Camellia exclaims quietly. “Hardly. Shh, now you stay here and don’t make a sound.”

“What are you—”

Before I can finish the question, she removes a key from a deep pocket of her skirt and walks into the room. “Hello, Roarke.”

I stand to the side, ready to charge in.

“Princess,” Father says gruffly, abandoning his project to bow before her. “Have you come to check on my progress?”

“I have,” she says brightly, stepping over to the sheet of golden metal. “Oh, it’s beautiful, isn’t it? You’re so talented.”

“I finished the breastplate this morning, Your Highness.” Father practically beams. “Would you care to see it?”

“I’d love to,” Camellia says warmly. They walk to the side of the room, to a place I cannot see through the bars.

“Oh!” she exclaims, and this time, she sounds genuinely impressed. “It’s perfect.”

“It should fit, given the measurements you gave me.”

“He’ll never be able to tell it’s talvernum,” she says with a laugh. “My goodness, you are talented. My father never gave you enough credit.”

I close my eyes, feeling ill. That’s why the necklaces looked familiar—they were crafted by my father. They’re his workmanship. Camellia recruited him from under my nose, and I didn’t even realize he was gone because I didn’t bother to visit him when I returned to Cabaranth.

“You’re too kind, princess,” he says gruffly.