I snapped my trousers out before me, trying to shake out the wrinkles, and we both looked at the sagging, torn knee and frayed threads where a dozen more holes were beginning to erupt.

“You’re right, Pauline. Terravin is nothing like Civica.”

We exchanged smiles, knowing rags like these had never graced even the outer halls of the royal court, and we let the unsaid pass. After three decades on the throne, my father didn’t know his own kingdom anymore. Some things were easier seen from a distance than when they were right under your nose.

We both dressed, tucking our shirts into our trousers and pulling on our boots. I belted my knife to my side and put on my soft leather jerkin to cover it. A six-inch blade. I smiled. Did he buy it? It was actually just shy of four—but very nicely weighted—and as Aunt Bernice noted, a little exaggeration was always expected when describing weapons, victories, and body parts. I wore the small jeweled dagger more to feel close to my brothers than for protection, though it might not hurt for Rafe to think otherwise. Walther had always sharpened the blade for me, taking pride in how I attacked my chamber door with it. Honing the edge was left to me now. I touched the sheath, making sure it was snug against my hip, and wondered if my brothers missed me as much as I missed them.

With the inn still full, there were no rooms to clean out this morning, and Berdi was sending us on a hunting expedition for blackberries. It was a welcome change of routine, and I was eager to give Otto, Nove, and Dieci a day out too, though I knew they’d be just as content to eat hay in their pen and provide occasional commentary on anyone passing by—which they seemed to do with perceptive regularity whenever Enzo was close about.

We were to pick up Gwyneth on our way, and she’d show us the route to Devil’s Canyon, where the blackberry brambles were thick. Berdi claimed the berries there were the sweetest. With the upcoming festival less than two weeks away, she was preparing to make blackberry scones, preserves, and flummery. Also, as Gwyneth revealed on the sly, Berdi needed fresh blackberries for the new cellaring of blackberry wine she would put up to replace the bottles that would be drunk at this year’s festival.

I had wondered what was in the dark cases stacked in the corner of the cellar. Apparently all the merchants contributed something to the festival, and blackberry treats were Berdi’s specialties year after year. A tradition. It was one tradition I looked forward to.

I braided Pauline’s hair, trying to circle it about her head, but I wasn’t skilled at weaving and finally had to settle for a simple but neat braid down the middle of her back. We traded places, and she did the same for me, but she created a more elaborate design with much less effort, beginning braids at each temple and having them meet at my crown, artfully leaving loose tendrils in the wake of the cable to soften its effect. She hummed to herself as she worked, and I decided she must still be musing over dreams of Mikael from the night before, but then a little murmur escaped her lips as if she had discovered something in my hair that shouldn’t be there—like a big fat tick.

“What?” I asked, alarmed.

“Just remembering those two fellows from last night. They looked positively stricken when Berdi banished you to the kitchen. You have some interesting admirers.”

“Kaden and Rafe?”

“Ho! You know their names?” She balked and tugged on my hair, making me wince.

“Simple courtesy. When I waited on them, I asked.”

She leaned to the side to make sure I could see her in the mirror and rolled her eyes with great flourish. “I don’t see you asking old bald butchers what their names are. What about that third fellow who came in later? Did you get his name too?”

“Third fellow?”

“You didn’t see him? He walked in right after the other two. A thin, scruffy fellow. He shot plenty of sideways looks your way.”

I tried to remember him, but I had been so occupied with the miscreant soldier and then serving Kaden and Rafe, that I didn’t even recall the tavern door opening again. “No, I didn’t notice him.”

She shrugged. “He didn’t stay long. Didn’t even finish his cider. But Kaden and Reef certainly lingered. They didn’t look anything like scampering rabbits to me.”

I knew she was referring to Charles and the many other boys who avoided me. “His name was Rafe,” I corrected.

“Ohh … Rafe. Did you favor one over the other?”

My spine stiffened. Favor? It was my turn to roll my eyes. “They were both rude and presumptuous.”

“Is that Her Royal Highness speaking or someone who’s afraid of fleeing rabbits?” She pulled on another thin strand of hair.

“I swear, Pauline, I’m going to behead you if you pull my hair one more time! What’s gotten into you?”

She was resolute, not the least bothered by my threat. “I’m just returning your favor of last night. I should have stood up to that soldier myself long before you had to step in.”

I sighed. “We all have our different skills. You’re patient to a fault, which sometimes doesn’t work to your advantage. I, on the other hand, have the patience of a wet cat. Only on rare occasions does that come in handy.” I gave a resigned shrug, making Pauline grin. I quickly added a scowl. “And just how is plucking me bald doing me a favor?”

“I’m saving you from yourself. I watched you with them last night.” Her hands dropped to my shoulders. “I want you to stop being afraid,” she said gently. “The good ones don’t run away, Lia.”