She thought about the tithing. When Rozalind first showed Akeylah her ability, Akeylah thought Rozalind was sharing a huge secret with her. It made her trust Roz, drew them closer.

In reality, Rozalind had been lying all along.

She was carrying Father’s child.

Akeylah’s stomach churned. Surged. She clamped a hand over her mouth just in time to hold the sickness in. A passing servant shot her a look of concern, but Akeylah waved him away, soldiered on down the hall.

Rozalind had hidden her pregnancy from everyone. Even from Akeylah. What else is she hiding?

Akeylah thought about her most recent message. The puppet so carefully designed, in a gown just like the one Rozalind’s tailor sewed for her. Dearest Akeylah, the heir wrote. One might even say you’re my favorite. It sounded almost tender, compared to the other threats.

The heir promised to protect her if she played the puppet right. Was this Rozalind’s idea of leniency? Maybe she liked Akeylah just enough to make her a pet. A girl to warm her bed while Rozalind ruled the Reaches.

She felt sick all over again. She had to stop, press her forehead against a window, and take several deep breaths.

By the time she made it back to the king’s chambers, she had herself under control. At least, so she thought. Until Rozalind greeted her, face drawn with worry.

“The mender’s here,” Rozalind said the instant the doors closed. “It doesn’t look good.”

Are you carrying his child? Akeylah wanted to scream the question. Sob it.

Are you the one tormenting us?

She swallowed the cry. Followed Rozalind to the bedside with difficulty. “What happened?” Her voice sounded odd. Curious and detached.

“I couldn’t get him to swallow any water at lunch,” Rozalind said.

A week or two, the mender told them a week ago. Still no word from Zofi. No cure.

“It won’t be long now, I’m afraid.” The mender released Andros’s wrist with a sigh. “I won’t be surprised if he goes tonight. Maybe tomorrow morning or evening at the latest. Some people hang on in cases like this. But I would stay close, ladies.”

“There’s nothing we can do?” Akeylah’s voice cracked.

“Only make him as comfortable as possible.”

She closed her eyes. They’d failed. All those books she’d read, stacks upon stacks in the library. All Zofi’s efforts, come to nothing.

And Akeylah had no one to blame but herself. She did this. She killed her own father.

“Call me if there are any other changes,” the mender whispered, then ducked out.

Akeylah heard the rustle of Rozalind’s skirts as she approached. “You should stay here today,” Rozalind murmured. “If there’s anything urgent, I’ll handle it.”