“You’re Ambrose Madigan’s daughter. Emrys Madigan’s niece. The blood of the mountains runs through you.” He paused, but his dark eyes measured mine. “You’re a strong contender for the sovereign claim of Seren.”

I snorted. “And so are you and Lennox. And so is Olivette.”

“My mother doesn’t see Olivette as a threat.”

“Are you certain, Phelan? Perhaps you should still warn Nura.”

He pressed his lips together but nodded. “Yes, you’re right. I should warn them both. But Mr. Wolfe is devoted to my mother. She gave him favor and protection in the era before the curse and I don’t see him turning against her now. I have no doubt he will support my mother’s claim to sovereignty.”

“And do you?” I countered. “Do you support your mother’s claim?”

“No.”

This is the moment, I thought. The moment I told him what I hoped for. Who I wanted to see bring life back to these mountains.

There was a knock on the door.

Phelan stiffened. He eased my hair forward, so that it flowed over my shoulders, concealing the auburn strands as well as the scars in my neck. Reluctantly, he went to answer the door.

It was the countess. She stood on the threshold, holding a platter of roasted hen.

“What is it, Mother?” he asked, sounding just as surprised as I felt.

Lady Raven glanced at me, her eyes as cold as the snow drifting beyond the window. “I hope you have recovered from last night, Anna.”

“You’re interrupting her rest, Mother.”

“She has been resting for hours, and in case you forgot, Phelan . . . all of us suffered a hard night,” Lady Raven stated. “I would like to speak to Anna alone.”

“I don’t think—”

“It’s all right, Phelan,” I said.

He didn’t want to leave me alone with his mother. I read the lines in his brow, the set of his jaw. I noticed how his hands clenched and released as he strode past the countess, out into the shadows of the corridor.

As I felt the draft of his leaving, I wondered if she had discovered my deceit. If she knew who I was beneath my guise.

Perhaps the countess had come to kill me.

Lady Raven kicked the door shut. She crossed the chamber to set the platter of hen down on the table.

“You shouldn’t have troubled yourself, lady,” I said.

“Oh, this is not for you,” she replied. “It is for the troll.”

I blinked. “The one called Mazarine?”

“Yes. Brin of Stonefall.”

I hadn’t seen Mazarine since the day we’d arrived. She had kept to herself in her chambers. I often forgot about her presence.

“The duke tried to poison me early this morning,” the countess said, brusque.

“He did?”

“Yes. And so the time has come for me to finally rid myself of him.”

“Are you certain it was the duke?”