“Listen to yourself,” Henry said in astonishment. “You’re scaring me. Is this the wizard’s doing? Did he do something to you?”

“No, of course not!” I said. “Please, you’re making this worse—just go, Henry. Please!”

“Come home with me,” Henry said. He reached out to take my hands, but I pulled them away. I saw the hurt in his eyes, and it felt like the walls were closing in on us.

“What’s happened to you?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “Everything. I’ve changed. I don’t know if I can go back to the way things were before and be happy.”

“So you won’t be happy with me, not ever?” I looked up as anger flooded his words. “You know we’re supposed to be together; it’s the way it’s always been!”

But it was no longer the way it could be. How do you tell someone that he is a part of your past, and not your future?

“Please go,” I said. When he refused, when he tried to fold me into an embrace, I was the one to leave.

The door shut behind me, and it felt like a poor ending to a story that had been written long ago in the sands of a yellow mountain.

The weaving room was deserted by the time I found it, for which I was grateful. The thought of facing anyone, even a complete stranger, was unbearable. I wanted a place to be alone, to work in silence.

The other women had left the loom up. I rubbed my hands along the length of the cloak as I sat down, the threads smooth beneath my fingers. There was only a little still to be done, but I dove into the work with everything I had. I saw nothing else, felt only the warmth of magic and something else rushing through my veins.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The next day passed as had the day before. The other women came and went, but I stayed behind long after they had gone, for what I hoped would be my final night of work. I poured every wish, every part of myself into each thread. I watched the yarn between my fingers take on a faint glow, even as my bracelet tinkled with the furious movements of my hands. I finished the row I was working on and sat back, a new thought coming over me.

I retrieved a sewing needle, and before I could begin to doubt myself, I stuck my finger. The droplet of blood, the same blood that had already caused so much strife, welled up against my pale skin. I pressed the finger to the upper left corner of the cloak. The effect was instantaneous—at the touch, the cloak lit up as if on fire, warming beneath my hands.

If my blood can do this, I wondered, what else can it do? Could it heal the curse of a dead witch, one passed from father to son? Could I give enough of it over time that it would cure him?

But, more important, would North ever take it?

Ingredients, plans, and tests flitted through my mind as I wove love—and more—into the remaining threads.

“Syd?”

I sucked in a deep breath, rubbing my face. The light in the room was a dull gray—an overcast morning. I had meant only to rest my eyes for a few moments.

North laughed as he helped me sit up. “Sleeping on the cold stone floor when you have a perfectly good bed upstairs. I was wondering where you had disappeared to.”

“I’m in hiding,” I said.

“From who?”

I sighed. “Henry. We had a fight, and it didn’t end well.”

“Does…?” North paused, taking a deep breath. “Does he need to be dealt with?”

I had to laugh. “No, nothing like that. He’s just angry that I didn’t want to go back to Cliffton with him.”

“Ah,” North said. “Well, I can’t blame you. You’d be depriving yourself of my charming company.”

I rolled my eyes. “What a loss.”

“In all honesty, though, I think you should find a way to make amends if you can,” North said. “Real friends are hard to come by, and as annoying as Henry is, he’d throw himself in front of dragon’s fire for you.”

“And that’s the definition of a real friend?”

“Oh, yes, just ask Owain.” He laughed.

“I’ll take that into consideration,” I said. I reached up to brush a splotch of dust from his cheek.

“I keep forgetting,” he said, pulling something from his pocket. “I’ve been carrying this with me for so long I just got used to having it.”

In his hand was my necklace. He put it around my neck, still warm from where it had lain against his own skin.

“The king of Auster is dead,” he said.

I looked up sharply. “What? You’re sure?”

“Word came this morning to the Sorceress Imperial,” he said. “You won’t be hearing celebrations in the streets until she deems it the right moment to inform everyone else, though.”

“That’s good news, isn’t it?” I asked. “Not for her schemes, of course, but for the rest of us?”

North blew out a long breath. “The queen of Auster and the remaining nobles want to negotiate for peace,” he said. “On one condition.”

I looked at the newly finished cloak, still hanging on the loom. I already knew what they wanted.

“They still think you’re their goddess,” he said. “What happened on the mountain only proved it to them, even with the king’s death.”

“How do they know I’m still alive?” I asked.

“They don’t,” North said, running his hand through my hair. “We’ll find another way.”