“The Tree!” She gasps, sucking in air like she’s been underwater for far too long. Was she dreaming of the tree again, like she was that night on the balcony? Her eyes are wide black discs, terrified and fervid all at once, like she’s seen into the face of the New God himself. She notices me out of the corner of her eye, and she flicks her sweat-sheened face to me.

“You. What are you doing here?”

“You were having a nightmare,” I say, pointing at her leg. “And beating yourself up about it.”

Varia’s disoriented gaze moves down to the injury, her face twisting with irritation and her chest rising hard and quick as she tries to catch her breath.

“Get out.”

“You—” I start, my throat dry. “Were you dreaming of the Bone Tree?”

“I said get out!”

Her eyes are embers—hotter even than the moment I saw her in the woods. She isn’t a wise, waiting owl now. She is carved in anger and something like panic. The command is a chokehold—the hunger gripping my legs and arms and forcing me out of the room in an instant. The bedroom doors in front of my face slam shut with some invisible force—magic, no doubt. The slam echoes and then settles.

The command releases my rigid body and confused mind, and I collapse on the nearest love seat. I’ve never seen her command so quickly, so ferociously.

Why would she react like that to a simple, innocent question?

11

11

The Weight
of Unliving

The next morning, Varia acts like nothing at all happened.

It could be that she doesn’t remember it. Or it could be that she’s purposely pretending it never happened. Either way, the crown princess is ensconced in her closet, being dressed by her maids, when Fione walks in, her hair left long and curled and tied with daisy-yellow ribbons to match her dress. She looks lovely. She looks uneasy. The full fear I saw in her face the first few times we met again after the clearing is much less—no doubt thanks to Varia’s command. If I touch her, I stab myself. And I can see, tangibly, that idea is giving Fione some measure of security; her eyes still avoid meeting mine, but I catch her staring at my profile every so often.

“Where are you two off to this fine morning, Your Grace?” I play the polite noble card, hoping to put her more at ease. Fione’s lips purse slightly.

“A breakfast,” she says. “At my manor.”

“That’s right.” I whistle. “You have the whole of the Himintell estate to yourself now.”

“It’s nothing much,” she says modestly, and I laugh, picking up my morning chocolate drink and sipping at it, washing away the taste of the liver I’d consumed not minutes before she and the maids walked in.