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“Thank you,” Summercut started, “for finding another solution. I’m glad you didn’t listen to me.”

I lowered my head, and the look in his eyes was enough to set mine watering. “Go get something to eat,” I said. “Enjoy this time with your family.”

Summercut bowed and backed away, his wife and daughter absolutely beaming, leaving me a sniveling mess in the street.

“Wipe those tears, your Majesty,” Nell quipped as she emerged from the crowd, a sly smile on her face. Whit followed close behind. They stood beside me, looking out on the crowd. “Can you believe it?”

I let out a deep breath. “No, I can’t.”

“You heard what Kauvras’ little dog said back there, right?” Whit jeered. “He called us yourcourt.”

I nodded and didn’t fight the smile that rose. “He did.”

“What do we need to do to make it official, then? Swear our lives to you?” Miles interjected, joining the group with his brother at his side. The smile instantly melted from my face in Belin’s presence, the conflicted feelings bubbling up inside me.

I pushed my shoulders back. I could ignore those feelings. I did my best to force a smile. “I think you’ve all done enough.”

It wasn’t meant to be sarcastic, but Belin still shifted uncomfortably. I supposed he’d be an asset to my court given his knowledge about Castemont’s plan. I told myself that was the only reason he would be any part of my court.

“The Invisible King, a part of another queen’s court?” Nell remarked. “Interesting.”

“I’ll be whatever she needs me to be, whether it be king, sworn sword, or cup bearer.”

Nell gave a contented sigh. “Your Majesty,” she sketched a bow. “Your court.”

“The Penumbra,” I smiled.

“Petra,” I heard a feeble voice say from behind me, one that was quiet but rose above the dozens that were chattering nearby. I knew who the voice belonged to before I turned toward it, knew who I’d find waiting for me.

“Hi, Ma,” I whispered, tears involuntarily flooding my eyes as I stared at the woman, the blonde hair and icy blue eyes, so much like Larka, and so unlike my own. The Penumbra suddenly found better things to do.

I could tell that she’d been wrestling with what to say in this moment as her own eyes filled. I pulled her against me, her body quickly overtaken with sobs. “I didn’t know,” she choked out between breaths. “I didn’t know.”

My lungs filled almost uncomfortably before I released the breath and pulled away to stare at her. “I know. But I have questions.” She mustered up a soft smile and nodded.

We’d managed to find a small pocket of quiet among the bustling crowd and sank to the ground, our backs against the rough stone façade of a Taithan spice shop. Silence befell us for a moment, the air between us strained and uneasy.

People rushed by, so entrenched in their tasks or their joy or their freedom that they didn’t notice us sitting on the side of the street. A woman walked by, clutching her small daughter to her chest as she navigated the crowd. I smiled as she nuzzled her cheek against her daughter’s head.

“You’re still my mother, you know,” I said quietly.

I heard a breath enter her nose sharply as her fingers absentmindedly ran across a hole in the thigh of her tattered brown trousers. “I had no idea,” she whispered. “I don’t even knowhow, unless…” She trailed off, and I let her gather her thoughts. “I gave birth that night,” she began, her voice low and even, as if she were trying to convince herself. “I gave birth to a baby. The same wispy blonde hair as Larka.” It sounded as if she were trying to convince herself rather than me. “But I do remember…”

“What?”

“I remember after a few hours, you fell asleep. Larka was asleep upstairs, and so your father and I dozed off. And when we woke up…” Her eyes narrowed, her head shaking as she sorted through memories. “I remember noticing that your hair was darker, much darker than Larka’s. Still wispy, but darker than I’d first thought. It was a difficult labor. I figured it must have been the fatigue of childbirth.”

“So I was switched at birth.” A statement that should have shocked me, but didn’t in the slightest.

“I don’t know,” my Ma answered, her head hanging between her shoulders, her voice so sorrowful that it rang through to my core. “I just don’t know.”

I leaned back, letting the sun hit my face. “The Bloodsingers told Castemont the Daughter of Katia would be born in Inkwell. Maybe they didn’t meanborn,butborne,as in… I was a product of Inkwell.”

My mother let out an exasperated breath. “I should have known,” she whispered to herself. “But you were my baby.” Tears streamed furiously down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I was never a good mother to you or Larka.” Her voice was small, but the words shot through me with a sudden power. I hadn’t ever expected to hear the words leave her lips. I hadn’t even expected her to be sorry.

My first instinct was to tell her it was okay, to forgive her. But even though I’d come to the conclusion that forgiveness was what made us human, I couldn’t forgive her. I sat with that feeling, the foreign, bittersweet taste it left in my mouth. I’d always told myself she’d done her best, but what if the truth was that she hadn’t? I was the one who had to provide for us. I was the one who agreed to go through Initiation so she could marry Castemont. It always fell on me.

“Where is he?” she asked then, her tone changing from sorrowful to something hard, something angry. Flames crackled beneath my skin at the thought of Castemont somewhere out there, probably in a tiny village with a bag of leechthorn, a pipe, and a growing army headed to hide behind Eserene’s walls.