“I’ve guarded it well,” I carefully replied, but I could still taste Phelan’s lips on mine. I still saw him on his knees before me, captivated. I still heard the way he said my name.

“Time will tell, won’t it?” Mazarine said, as if she sensed the cracks in me.

“May I ask you a question?”

“Perhaps.”

I took that as a yes. I held her beady gaze and asked, “Can I trust the duke? The master of coin?”

“Hmm.” She drummed her fingers on the table, her long nails clicking on the wood. “Can you trust him, you ask. He often says one thing and does another in secret. Who do you think spread rumors of how great the cruel duke was a century ago? And yet who bribed the guard at the duke’s door the night of the assassination? The master of coin. But who promised the master of coin an endless cave of jewels and gold once she reigned? The heiress, who you call countess.”

Her answer did nothing to bolster my reassurance. The duke might be playing me, or he could be genuine, eager to see the countess’s ultimate plans dashed.

“Does that answer your query, mortal girl?”

“Yes.”

“But there is another question in your eyes. Speak it, Clementine of Hereswith. I will answer with truth.”

It was so cold in this room I could see my breath, and the snow was swirling, gathering in my hair. And yet I had never felt more alive than at that moment.

“Will you support Phelan if he takes the throne?”

She must have been expecting this question, because she answered it smoothly. “I support you.”

“But I’m not a worthy contender.”

“You are a daughter of the mountain, even beneath the veil of my magic.” Mazarine began to walk a circle around me. “You have crept into my stone of a heart and softened me, to my immense dismay and utter astonishment. I would support your claim without fail, but if you forgo it yourself, I would support your choice of sovereign.”

She rendered me speechless.

And it pleased her. She came to a halt before me, studying my face. “I always knew you would help guide us home.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.