“I have big plans for the House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar,” she announced. “And those plans don’t involve boring books, ridiculous witch rituals, long-winded lists”—she said, thinking of her mother—“and they definitely don’t involve . . . you.”

Arlais gazed directly into her great-aunt’s eyes. She found that milky one kind of fascinating and could stare at it for an age, just so she could see what it would do at any given time.

“Personally,” Arlais went on, “I don’t believe life and the obtaining of power has to involve so much sacrifice. And look at you, dear auntie . . . you have clearly sacrificed so much for the life you lead. That body. That face.” Arlais shuddered. “I may have my mother’s face but at least no one looks away from me in horror. Besides, who needs to be beautiful when you’re a royal? When the whole world is open to you simply because your grandmother is queen. And why would I risk losing any of that merely to be the daughter you never had?”

Reaching a spot near her aunt, Arlais rested her ass against the table, crossing her arms over her chest. “I wouldn’t risk losing any of that. I haven’t not killed my mother for this long so I can give it up to follow you into a dank cave for the next few centuries.

“Of course,” she added, walking around her aunt and picking up the bowl of fruit, “you can always try to go after the Five but my daddy and uncles will tear your cave down around your ears, and I don’t even want to think what my mother would do to you. She can be really mean when she’s angry,” she mock-whispered.

Arlais pushed the kitchen door open but stopped before she walked out, looking back at her aunt. “Keep in mind one other thing, auntie dear. As long as you’re on our side—the right side—you have nothing to worry about from me. But cross me . . . and I’ll show you how much I truly am like my mother.”

Arlais smiled and waved. “Lovely seeing you, auntie dear. When this nasty war is over, we must have tea!”

* * *

Brigida had just passed the tower behind the human queen’s castle when a voice behind her pointed out, “I thought my grandmother made it clear no one was to be opening doorways and moving around mystically until this war was over.”

Brigida stopped walking and looked over her shoulder, but no one was there.

“Well?” the voice pushed and when Brigida looked forward she found Unnvar Reinholdt standing before her. He’d been calling himself by his mother’s name for a few years now. Although why anyone would want the name of a Northland warlord rather than the House name of a royal, Brigida had no idea.