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As if it was some sort of hardship, to be nearly soiled by one of his queen’s exquisite mistbirds, which filled Castle Stratiara with soothing song, day and night.

As if it wasn’t Celestyna’s generosity that had given him a home in her own castle, his people a home in her city—while his province, Estar, far below the capital, fell to ruin at last, after years of growing darkness. Once Estar had been a thriving province of greenery and life, just as Westlin was. Now it was a wasteland.

Westlin would be next, Celestyna knew. The darkness flooding out from the Break would coat everything in ruin.

Celestyna set her jaw and glared until Lord Wycklin dropped his gaze to his boots. And to think, Celestyna thought angrily, thatthiswas the kind of person her advisers wished she would marry.

A bird boy hurried over from his perch at the back of the room, his long gray coattails flapping. He mopped up the soiled floor, then scurried back to his seat.

“An incident,” Celestyna repeated.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” continued the old harvester. “There was a strange bolt of lightning. Very strange, indeed. It... Your Majesty, it struck our young Brier.”

“Lightning,” Celestyna pointed out, “is known to strike.”

The harvesters shook their heads.

“This was different,” insisted the old man.

Farver. His name was Farver Pickery. Celestyna’s mind retrieved the information for her.

Sometimes she imagined her mind as a tired, stooped scholar. The poor thing had reached the end of her life but was doomed to forever roam the libraries of the world, searching for a book that did not exist. Alone, and lonely.

Quietly Celestyna dragged the fingernails of her right hand across the stone arm of her throne.

Better to be alone forever than to trap anyone else in the horrible web her family had woven.

“The lightning was waiting for Brier on the Black Ridge Flat,” continued Farver Pickery. “That’s what Norojedzia told us. And he and Brier are the fastest pair we’ve got—”

“I know,” interrupted Celestyna, because now she remembered the name.

Brier Skystone—the girl with lightning in her blood. So said Celestyna’s harvesters, and her forgers, and the simpering, silk-robed flatterers among her court.

They believed Brier was the girl who would save the Vale.

Celestyna’s fingers longed to claw something.

Most days she figured the Vale could not be saved. But if anyone was going to do this impossible thing, it would be Celestyna herself. Ithadto be. After all, her parents had named her the Mender of the Break, right before they—

Beforeshehad—

Celestyna swallowed hard. She did not blink, and soon her eyes dried.

“Is Brier dead?” she asked.

Farver Pickery bowed his head. “No, Your Majesty, but she’s badly hurt.”

“Because the lightning struck her.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. It jumped back and, well...” The man fell silent, his mouth twisting.

Celestyna lost her patience. She couldn’t stand the sight of the old man’s tear-bright eyes. It pierced her heart, and heartache was something she could not afford.

“Speak,” she said, “or I’ll send you to Estar for three straight rotations.”

Farver’s wrinkled, sallow face went sallower and wrinklier. The air in the throne room stilled.

To Estar.