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W itches didn’t deal in curses. Cora knew this, knew every bit of information she pored through stood in contrast to her ethics. But if there was any hope in breaking Morkai’s fate weaving, it had to be in one of these books. And yet by sunset, with over a dozen books read and burned, she’d found nothing to fuel that hope. Nothing of immediate value, at least.

Only three of the books had mentioned curses at all, and when it came to breaking them, all had said some measure of the same thing: To break a curse, one must cast the same spell in reverse .

That wasn’t helpful. Cora may have had access to Morkai’s blueprints for the fate weaving he’d cast, but she couldn’t make heads or tails of the complex intersecting lines he’d drawn in his book. Would it be enough to draw the pattern in ink, or did she need blood? Would she have to suspend it in the air, make the pattern weave itself, like Morkai did? And if she was supposed to cast the spell in reverse, didn’t that mean she needed to know which part of the pattern was the starting point and which was the end?

She’d found only one other option, a single sentence mentioned in the most recent book she’d read: A curse may be rendered neutral if one casts a counter curse of equal or greater power to the opposite effect of the original curse .

Yet another unhelpful piece of information. Because—as Cora had already surmised—witches didn’t deal in curses. Even if she knew how to cast a counter curse, how could she make one strong enough to neutralize Morkai’s dark magic? And what would the opposite effect be? A fertility spell?

She curled her fingers into fists as she watched the book burn, witnessed every page crumble to ash in the hearth. That single line of relevant, albeit unhelpful, text was all she let remain in her mind. Everything else, every unsettling spell, every instruction on using dark magic, she’d refused to take in. She may have decided to use Morkai’s books as a means for education in a single subject, but she wasn’t a fool. She wouldn’t be seduced by the excerpts scrawled within these tomes, nor would she allow any excuse to save a single book from burning. Aside from those that couldn’t be burned, of course, like the ones with pages laced with poison. But even those were fated to be discarded, not kept.

Even if she never found a way to unravel the weaving Morkai had placed upon her, she’d at least have the satisfaction of watching everything he’d owned be destroyed. That was where her true motive lay. This was less about gaining the ability to bear heirs and more about defeating a sorcerer who held too much power beyond the grave.

The sun began to set just as the last remnants of the book joined the ashes in the hearth. She debated returning to the bookshelf and selecting her next target, but she stopped herself, noting the heaviness of her bones, the fraying edges of her protective shields. As desperate as she was to do more, she knew better than to push herself. After expending so much energy sensing, reading, and clearing, she was at her limit. Her magic needed rest, as did her mind.

She set to the task of closing windows, putting out the hearth fire, and readying the room for the morrow. All the while, she couldn’t shake her growing ire. She’d hoped she’d have gained something from reading Morkai’s books today. Considering what little value she’d gained from the two excerpts she’d committed to memory, all she’d manage to accomplish was a slower pace than the day before.

Her frustration grew and grew as she left the tower and returned to the keep. Every step up the stairs carried the weight of her anger—an anger that hadn’t diminished with her day’s work.

All the better , she told herself. It will carry me through tomorrow and keep me from thinking about…

She cursed under her breath as Teryn entered her thoughts for the first time since she’d begun her day’s work. Her mind had been too occupied to stray to him while she’d been reading and clearing, but now she remembered how his face had looked that morning. The smile that didn’t reach his eyes when he’d told her she was right to ask for space. The distance he’d kept as they spoke. The rigidity of his spine as he’d stood with his hands behind his back, as if forcing himself not to touch her.

Or had he not wanted to touch her?

She shook her head, preferring her previous irritation to what she felt now, teetering on the edge of grief. She reached the main floor of the keep and saw the lamps had been lit in the hall.

Fire , she thought as she passed by the first, willing the element to grow within her, to spark the rage that served as a comforting barrier around her heart.

Fire , she thought again, striding past the next several sconces. She imagined the light dancing up her skin, settling over her core, and fueling her strength of will?—

A startled squeak interrupted her focus, and she found Sera at the end of the hall, face pale as her eyes locked on Cora’s. She lowered her eyes to the floor and dipped into a curtsy. Her voice came out with a mild tremor. “Highness.”

A sense of guilt washed over Cora, but it wasn’t her own. She’d left her mental shields as they’d been in the tower, strengthened only for protection, not sensing. Breathing deeply, she fully sealed them, but not before gaining a full understanding of Sera’s state of remorse.

“I’m sorry I haven’t attended to you today, Your Highness,” Sera muttered, eyes still locked on the floor. She began to fiddle with the ends of her brown hair.

“It’s fine,” Cora said curtly as she reached the girl. “I had no need of your aid.”

A rush of air left Sera’s lips as she finally lifted her face. “That’s a relief, Your Highness, for I couldn’t have been spared to aid you even if I’d wanted to come. Queen Mareleau has been dreadfully ill all day, you see. She can hardly keep anything down.”

Cora began to brush past the girl. “Do what you must. I’m sure the royal physician will take care of her.” She paused. Did they even have a royal physician on staff yet? Surely such an appointment would have been a priority…

Sera lowered her voice to a whisper. “She refuses to allow any of us to fetch him or tell anyone about her condition. I’m only telling you because you’re my current mistress, and I didn’t want you to think?—”

Cora rounded on the girl. “Her Majesty is ill and she refuses to be seen by the physician?”

Sera gave a frantic nod. “She insists she can cry and throw up well enough on her own.”

Finally, Cora found an appropriate target for her anger. What was Mareleau thinking refusing help while ill? Wasn’t she with child?

A dreadful thought occurred to her. What if she was having complications with her…her pregnancy? And didn’t want to tell anyone? Cora’s heart softened the slightest bit.

“Take me to her.”

Sera blinked at her a few times. “To…Her Majesty?”

“Yes.” Cora wasn’t even sure why she insisted. Whatever Mareleau was going through was none of her business. But with the dreadful pressures of queens and royal women so fresh in her mind, she couldn’t stand idly by if the woman was suffering.

Sera led her down the halls toward a familiar wing of the keep. Cora shuddered as they neared the late Queen Linette’s former chambers.

Master Arther put her here?

It made sense considering both Cora and Dimetreus had refused to claim the room, and it was one of the largest in the keep. Of course the steward would appoint it to the visiting queen.

Sera opened the door and ushered Cora inside before quickly closing them in. Cora nearly gagged as the scent of vomit reached her nostrils. The windows were open, allowing a gentle evening breeze inside the room, but nothing could hide the smell of sick.

Cora took in the state of the room, saw ewers of water, soiled rags, and clothing haphazardly strewn about. There was no sign of blood, but that didn’t mean the worst hadn’t happened. Mareleau lay upon her bed, the back of her forearm covering her eyes. Her hair was slightly damp around her forehead and her cheeks were pale. Her two other ladies, Breah and Ann, fluttered about next to her, trying to coax her into taking a bite of bread.

“I don’t want any more bread,” Mareleau said with a grumbling moan. “Just leave me alone and stop fussing.”

Sera led Cora to Mareleau’s side. Cora addressed the queen’s ladies. “What are her symptoms?”

With an affronted gasp, Mareleau threw back her arm, revealing her blue irises, the whites of her eyes bloodshot. “You can ask me myself. I’m not dead, you know.”

“Fine,” Cora said through her teeth. “What’s wrong with you?”

Mareleau’s eyes widened as she took in Cora’s presence. “What the seven devils are you doing here?”

“I’m here to check on you, Majesty.” Cora’s barbed tone relayed just how much she was already regretting doing so. “Tell me your symptoms.”

Mareleau scoffed. “Do you fancy yourself a physician?”

“Do you fancy yourself a fool? Surely you know better than to neglect your health in your condition.”

“My condition?”

“Your pregnancy, Majesty.” Cora was done dancing around the subject. If Mareleau wanted to be difficult, then Cora would be blunt. “The child you bear. Whether you’re suffering from the condition itself, the loss of it, or some other ailment, it’s folly to refuse proper care.”

The queen’s mouth fell open and color rose to her cheeks. “It’s…it’s not—who told you? Never mind. Get out!”

Cora lifted her chin. “No.”

“I am the queen?—”

“Not mine, though you keep forgetting. Now tell me your symptoms or I’ll plant myself in this room until you do.”

Mareleau bared her teeth with a growl of frustration. Her gaze shifted to her ladies. “Out! The three of you.”

The maids exchanged wary glances, but as Mareleau added a sharp, “Now,” the three scurried from the room and closed the door behind them.

Mareleau groaned as she pulled herself to sitting, struggling to arrange the pillows behind her. The shoulders of her silk gown hung loose as if the back had been left undone. Cora almost felt bad for the queen as she winced with every move, but her pride was too strong to offer help. Mareleau likely wouldn’t want it anyway.

Once she was able to comfortably recline while sitting, she spoke. “It’s not about the baby, trust me.” Her eyes flashed to Cora’s, then quickly away. A flicker of emotion—something like guilt or shame—crept past Cora’s shields.

“Then what’s wrong?”

Mareleau released a huff. “I’m nauseous, all right? That’s all. It started yesterday. My stomach was rumbling most of the day. I worked too hard and got too hungry. Today, I can’t keep anything down. My head is pulsing like it’s about to split in two. I smell terrible. Everything smells terrible…and I…well, I simply ate too much cake last night, that’s all.”

Cora’s muscles relaxed. What Mareleau described didn’t sound too dire. But what reason did she have for refusing the attention of a physician?

“It’s all your fault, you know,” Mareleau said.

“My fault?”

“Yes, your fault. I spent hours— hours —slaving away in the courtyard behind the kitchen setting up the perfect romantic dinner for you and your beloved prince. I should have said no, but he begged me. Can you imagine? A prince begging a queen! But I said yes, and?—”

“Wait.” Cora frowned. “Teryn had you set up a private dinner for me?”

“Obviously. You refused to attend, did you not?”

Cora’s mouth fell open but she couldn’t find her words. When Teryn had asked her to dine with him last night, she’d imagined them sitting side by side at the feast in the dining hall, not a private meal made especially for her. Her shoulders sank, as did her heart. Though she supposed it made no difference. Even if she’d known about Teryn’s efforts on her behalf, she still wouldn’t have been able to face him last night. She’d needed that time alone. But now she felt the weight of her rejection, regretted that she never saw what he’d planned for her.

“You shouldn’t spurn him, Princess,” Mareleau said, oblivious to Cora’s inner turmoil. Cora was only half listening as the queen continued. “I was just getting used to having a brother, but I daresay I liked him far less last night than usual. Still, I couldn’t let all my hard work go to waste. If you weren’t going to enjoy the bounty, I might as well, though I regret it now.” She lurched as if about to be sick, but quickly settled.

Cora’s mind sharpened, and her gaze snapped back to Mareleau. “Are you saying you dined with him in my stead?”

“Don’t act jealous with me,” she said with a scoff. “If you’d wanted to sit in my place, you very well could have. And I didn’t dine with him; I only stayed for cake. One that was clearly underbaked.”

Cora tried to ignore the pinching sensation in her heart and gave Mareleau a pointed look. “I highly doubt your nausea is due to an underbaked cake.”

Mareleau pursed her lips and reached for a lock of silver hair. She began winding three strands into a braid but halted. With a grimace, she glanced down at her tresses where they tangled in something slick. With a whine, she dropped her hair and clasped her hands at her waist. Returning her attention to Cora, she rolled her eyes. “Fine, I admit it. I might have had wine too. Just one glass! All right, two.”

Cora crossed her arms. “That’s not what I meant either. I’m referring to the baby. Morning sickness. Though it isn’t uncommon to be more sensitive to liquor while pregnant.”

“Oh, and how would you know anything about it?”

“Pregnancy and childbirth were common occurrences amongst the people I lived with for the last six years. It wasn’t a taboo subject like it is amongst royal society. We were open about it. Most of us trained in general aid, and I attended my share of births. While I’ve never experienced the condition myself?—”

And never will, thanks to Morkai . The thought invaded her mind so suddenly, her breath caught in her throat. Breathing deeply, she forced the unwanted thought away and focused on what she’d been trying to say. “I have knowledge that can help, should you want it.”

Mareleau quirked a brow, unimpressed with Cora’s credentials. “And what knowledge is that?”

“First, that you really should see a physician when you’re feeling ill. It isn’t safe to neglect such care. Why did you, anyway?”

The queen shifted awkwardly in the bed, a hint of embarrassment on her face. “I didn’t want him to know I’d had wine. If word got back to my mother…ugh. Must I spell it out for you? She wouldn’t approve because of this…” She waved a hand at her belly. “ Condition . Don’t you dare say a word to anyone.”

“I won’t, but I doubt the royal physician would have been able to read your perceived sins through your vomit.”

She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “How should I know what a physician can and can’t do? Is it not their job to read the inner workings of one’s body?”

Cora would be amused if she weren’t so tired. Now that she knew Mareleau wasn’t in any immediate danger, she was desperate for sleep. Brushing her hands on her skirts, she took a step back from the bed. “I’ll request a cup of ginger tea be brought to you at once, which you should have daily from now on.”

“Why is that?”

“Morning sickness can last weeks, and you’re certainly far enough along for it to begin.”

“Surely I’m not. My wedding night wasn’t yet three weeks ago.”

“Oh, right,” Cora said, tone flat. She recalled what Sera had said about Queen Helena preemptively spreading word that her daughter had conceived on her wedding night. All to cover the fact that her daughter was already with child. “Even if that were the case, it still isn’t too soon for these symptoms to begin.”

Mareleau released a disbelieving snort. “What do you know? I already told you it was underbaked cake and wine…” Her words dissolved, taking with it the color in her face. “Wait, what do you mean it’s not too soon to experience…symptoms? That…that even if I’d conceived on my wedding night, I could…”

“It’s exactly what it sounds like.”

“No,” she said with a light chuckle. “That’s not possible.” She held Cora’s gaze with a hopeful grin as if waiting for Cora to agree with her. When Cora remained mute, Mareleau’s expression went blank, eyes wide as they locked on Cora’s. “No!”

A spike of the queen’s emotions slammed into Cora. Terror. Shock. Panic. They made Cora stagger back before she could strengthen her shields. Breathing deep, she closed her eyes and connected with the elements, weaving them tighter around her.

When she opened her eyes, Mareleau’s face had crumpled.

“Seven devils, no,” the queen said, chin quivering, before a sob tore from her throat. She hung her head and covered her face with her hands, shoulders heaving as she dissolved into a pool of tears.

Cora stared at the other woman, too startled to know whether she should comfort her or leave her in peace. She chose the latter and backed out of the room. The last thing she heard as she softly closed the door was Mareleau’s distressed, high-pitched wail that ended in, “I’m godsdamned pregnant.”