Amara silently entered the room, her eyes pinned to the reddish mark above Opheliana’s ankle. Her heart raced, leaving her breathless. It can’t be, it can’t be!

But there was no denying the flaming birthmark on Opheliana’s ankle.

The mark of House Friere.

There was a gasp behind her. “Lady Amara, I didn’t hear you enter.”

Amara spun around, anger replacing the shock from moments before. “What is the meaning of this?” she shouted and pointed at Opheliana.

“What do you mean, your ladyship?” Maura slowly edged around the room, putting herself between Amara and Opheliana.

Opheliana turned around on the stool and stared at Amara with her head cocked to the side.

“That mark on my sister’s ankle!”

Maura’s face paled as she sidestepped over to Opheliana and used her body to shield the little girl, which only made Amara angrier. What did the nursemaid think she was going to do? Hurt her little sister? “Explain, Maura.”

The nursemaid’s lip began to tremble. “Please, my lady. No one was supposed to know—”

“Know what?”

Maura tugged on the apron around her waist. “If I tell you, she’ll kill me.”

Amara folded her arms and held tight to her elbows, her nostrils flaring. “Who, my mother?”

Maura nodded her head, her eyes so wide the whites showed.

“I won’t tell her. But I do want an answer. Why does my sister have the mark of House Friere?”

Maura looked down and let go of the apron, wringing her hands instead.

Amara clenched her teeth. “If you don’t tell me, then I will go to my mother.”

Maura’s hands worked faster. “Lady Opheliana is part of House Ravenwood . . . and House Friere.” Her last words were so quiet Amara barely caught them.

She let out her breath in one quick whoosh. “How is that possible?”

Maura shook her head, keeping her eyes down. Opheliana stepped down from the stool and came to stand beside Maura.

Amara narrowed her eyes as she stared at her little sister, taking in every feature. Opheliana had the same dark hair as her mother and Selene, with a red tint to the curls. But on closer look, her eyes resembled Lord Ivulf’s shape and amber color, and her lips were thin, like Lord Raoul’s.

Dart’an! How could her mother . . . ?

Amara spun around, still gripping her elbows. The longer she thought about it, the more it made sense. All the trips to Ironmond. The close relationship between Ravenwood and Friere, particularly between Mother and Lord Ivulf. The hints dropped by Lord Raoul.

All that talk of House Ravenwood and preserving their house purity, only to have the evidence otherwise on her sister’s ankle. A person could possess only one house gift, and apparently the mark of House Friere had been passed on to her sister. What did that mean for Opheliana? Was that why her mother kept her little sister cloistered away like an invalid?

A hand tugged on her dress. Amara looked over to find Opheliana standing behind her. For a heartbeat, she thought her sister would finally speak. But she never opened her lips. Instead, she gazed up, her eyebrows drawn together as she tugged on the fabric again.