Chapter 2

It wasn't enough to speed up the robberies and gradually move south, closer and closer to Gruidarid's capital, Roswell, to extend her popularity while decreasing the queen's. Confronting Elwood's most powerful Hartmut in a century required a measured, step-by-step strategy. Mildred had challenged the queen nine years before, and her father had paid the price because Mildred hadn't thought through every possible conclusion of her plan. She was not about to repeat the same error. "I traded these with a Volker refugee." Oma said, "None of them have ever stepped foot on Gruidarid dirt."

"So there's no way the magic Elinor is using to drain the land corrupted them, and no chance that if I touch them, Elinor's magic would identify mine and tell her that I'm still alive," Mildred stated, nodding and thanking the gods that her voice didn't waver. "And exactly where to find us," Sydney said from the loft above, his voice helpful. "Don't overlook that." "I haven't forgotten," she assured him. The silent worry that crept in the corner of her mind and kept her thinking, scheming was the knowledge that if she touched something that was bespelled by Elinor—which might be anything in Gruidarid given how much magic Elinor utilized to maintain herself on the throne.

The only way she could get stronger was to practice her magic whenever Alvie discovered artifacts that couldn't have been touched by the queen's magic that ran deep throughout the land. Magic that sucked the heart of the earth dry, withered crops, and destroyed cattle as it compelled the living heart of everything it touched to conform to Gruidarid's queen's wishes. "You don't have to do this," Mildred whispered quietly, her fingers lingering above the three things on the blanket. "You've had a tough day already. If you choose to practice tomorrow night—" "I'll practice right now."

Her voice trembled slightly. "You understand how to accomplish this," he remarked. "Use the best incantor for what you want to achieve." Allow your power to perform the heavy lifting for you. You're as determined as they come. You have the ability to subjugate the heart of any living creature or item manufactured from a live thing. Mildred, you don't have to be afraid of who you are. Being a Hartmut is not an option. What counts is how you use your authority." She made him believe she was terrified of her magic. Being a Hartmut in Gruidarid, where the only practitioners of magic were Elinor and the princess. Where magic was feared rather than revered, as it was in Mildred's mother's kingdom of Elwood.

Allowing him to believe she feared her own power was preferable than confessing she could still feel Elinor's arm beneath her fingers and the curve of her lips as she spoke the incantor to reverse all of Elinor's charms. I can still hear screaming and smell blood as the palace turned on everyone but the queen. I can still feel Sydney's hand in mine as her father spent his final words imploring her to protect her brother. She couldn't defend Sydney if she wasn't stronger than Elinor. She'd be unable to preserve her kingdom. She would fail. She quickly took up the green diamond. Its rough edges glistened in the dim light, and its weight was substantial.

Her jaw clinched till it hurt, and her strength matched her determination. Magic flowed through her veins and pooled in her palms, sparking and blazing and wanting to be let out. The jewel's heart rushed to meet her might and offered no opposition to her will. "Rast`lozh! "Become the image in my head." Her magic poured into the emerald. She hurled it into the air, where it shattered into a hundred razor-sharp needles that lingered, all pointing toward the barn's entrance, waiting for a danger that never came. "You called your magic much faster this time," Alvie observed, his eyes glowing with pleasure. "I remembered Elinor." Or, to be more specific, how badly she wanted Elinor to pay for.

"Is there any lingering fatigue?" he inquired. "Plenty. Thank you for inquiring." Sydney widened his eyes at Alvie's stare, then swiftly hefted another load and began climbing the ladder again. Mildred dropped her hand gradually. The needles raced together and remerged into the stone. "Not at all. Jewels are not very resistant to magic. They like changing forms. Now, if you truly want me to put my power to the test and see how much it drains me to forcefully subjugate anything, you should let me cure your leg." "Not a chance," Alvie muttered, his fist pressed on his left leg. He'd fractured it the night he'd rescued them and hadn't taken the time to see a doctor about it.

Mildred's drive to treat him and his refusal to heal him established the foundation of an argument that had worn a groove through their relationship for the previous nine years. "Alvie—" "I felt compelled to obey Elinor's every whim for months." I'm not sure how long residual magic lasts on someone Elinor has touched, but we're not taking any chances. If you use magic to heal me and any of Elinor's magic remains, she'll discover your existence before you're ready to challenge her for the throne, and she'll pursue you relentlessly." His tone forbade her from arguing. "We're not going to risk it for an old man's leg." Mildred riveted her gaze on him, magic in her palms.

"Now that we've decided that, who wants to assist me with the remainder of these sacks before it gets too dark and I fall to my unfortunate death?" Sydney inquired. Alvie leaned forward and ran his fingers over Mildred's long, black hair. "I'm all right. My leg is barely bothering me." "You're an awful liar." His grin was soft. "You, too." As Sydney carried the last load up the ladder, he dropped his voice. "You're just as tough as Elinor, Mildred." You were strong enough to break the spells of a full-fledged Hartmut as an eight-year-old with only a few months of training. You've only become stronger since then." "However, I may overlook something." I could make a mistake." Her heartbeat thudded.

"However, I may overlook something." I could make a mistake." "I might lose, and then there will be no one to defend Gruidarid," she forced herself to speak, her heart thudding cruelly. To keep Sydney safe. "Is that why your summer plan is meant to take eighteen months until you're finally ready to confront the queen?" "Eighteen months is eternity," Sydney replied as he stepped down from the ladder and approached them. "All we have to do now is go to the capitol and shout, 'Surprise, you slimy coward!'" We're not dead, but you're soon to be!" and then you may convert her into a fungus pile." "What if I don't?"

Lavina cracked apart the mouse's bones and pecked at the marrow, punctuating her statements. Sydney knelt alongside her and looked her in the eyes. For once, his brown eyes, so similar to hers, were serious. "You certainly can. You never let anything get in your way." "I simply need to be sure of everything." She replaced the diamond on the duvet and grabbed for her gloves, her fingers quivering. "I need to feel certain that I can succeed." "You don't go into war expecting to win," Alvie explained. "You fight because it's the correct thing to do. Get some rest now. We leave at sunrise.