Did that mean the mountains owned a part of me? That I had a place among the clouds? Would I dream again, once the curse was broken? Where did I truly belong?

I felt divided, yearning for Hereswith and my old life. But that had been a life built upon a facade. And so I acknowledged the other half of me, which secretly longed for something new and dangerous.

Papa must have read my slant of thoughts. He continued in a low voice, “You inherited the curse, but something else as well. You also have a claim.”

“A claim?”

“To sit upon the throne.”

“Is this what you want for me, then?”

“Mere weeks ago, I wanted you to lead a normal life,” he said. “One where you could draw, paint, become a deviah magician if you wanted. I sensed the countess was hunting us when her sons arrived in Hereswith, and I fought it as long as I could. I tried to keep us from being discovered by her, so our lives could move forward here. But everything has changed now. We’ve been drawn into this century-old conflict, and you are the only one I would see end it.”

I stared at him. “How can I trust you now? After all the lies you have raised me beneath? In what world would I believe what you are telling me? In what world would I follow you up the mountain?”

My questions wounded him. Agonized, he reached for my hand. I sidestepped his touch, a knot in my throat. There was a warning in my chest, a painful scrape of stone against tendons.

“Listen to me, daughter. When we ascend the mountain tomorrow, alliances will be formed. Not all of us are promised to survive. If you want to throw your lot in with the Vespers, then by all means, you are grown and your own person. But if you want to take the throne, you have my support, as well as the duke’s.”

“The duke’s?” I remembered how my father had met with Lord Deryn one afternoon not so long ago. How his hand had smelled of bergamot. A cologne the duke must wear to hide his true scent—that rotting smell of parchment.

“For years I protected Mazarine for him,” my father said. “And now the time has finally come for me to call in a favor; he will support your claim to Seren, should you desire it.”

Another bird call, this time more insistent. I didn’t want him to see how his words had affected me and I asked, “Was the Duke of Seren good or cruel?”

Papa had never told me mountain legends when I was a girl. Imonie had occasionally, and her myths had depicted the duke as an oppressor. But I wanted to hear what my father thought.