“So you are.” At first, it seemed she would leave it at that. She was as cryptic and frustrating as ever. Then Heloise reached into her robe’s deep pocket. “A letter arrived for you this morning.”

Although her swift pivot away from pleasantries stung, hope welled up inside Wren. Perhaps it was from Isabel, a message that she’d changed her mind. But shaking in Heloise’s swollen hands was an envelope as red as an autumn leaf. The spark of excitement fizzled into embarrassment. She didn’t need to look closely to know it did not bear the queen’s seal. Red was far too garish a color for Isabel’s preferred palette of white and only white.

Wren took the letter. Across the front, rendered in elaborate gold leaf, were stag’s antlers, the mark of Cernosian nobility. The strangeness of that struck her like a freight train.

Cernos had the distinct misfortune of existing on the same peninsula as Danu and Vesria, but due to their hostile, mountainous terrain, they had successfully isolated themselves and remained neutral through three centuries of bloody conflict. As a rule, they did not engage with their larger neighbors at risk of provoking cries of favoritism. Rather, they looked beyond the sea for allies. Technology and trade afforded them riches enough to rise above the Danu-Vesrian wars. A necessity for a country that possessed no magic.

Danu had not had official contact with Cernos in … well, a long time. Yet here in Wren’s hungry, shaking hands was her name written in elegant script.

“If you will accept counsel,” Heloise said, “I would advise you to burn it.”

On reflex, Wren clutched the envelope to her chest. “What? Why?”

“Cernos has ignored any request for aid for years. They’ve sat comfortable on their mountains of gold and watched our people bleed. They would not break their silence without a reason—and for them to come to you, a mere girl, disgraced and with no protection? What good could this bring?”

Every word struck true. And yet, this was her decision to make, hers to weigh. “Is that all you’ve come here to say, or are you confirming I haven’t slipped during my time away?”

“I only came to deliver that.” She glared at the letter as if it were cursed. “As for what you do with it, you can make your own judgments. You’re not a child anymore.”

Anger burned behind her eyes, and Wren willed herself not to cry with frustration. Not here. Not when the others were leaning closer to overhear them. Wren lowered her voice to a thin, pressurized whisper. “Am I not, Mother? You haven’t met with me until today. I’ve had no say in what my duties are here. And now I have no say with whom I shall correspond?”