Platters of food are carried into the room by the same rotund creatures Croi saw before. They are a kind of kin Croi doesn’t know and has never seen. They aren’t important at the moment; the food is. Different types of meat, gravy, fruit, and dishes she doesn’t recognize but wishes she did find their places on the table. Artistically arranged desserts and colorful drinks in pewter jugs are carried out. The aroma of the food nearly makes her swoon, and Croi furtively wipes the drool from the sides of her mouth.

Her attention is caught by the princess and her father. A father—the thought is novel. Croi shapes the word out, confident that no one can see her lips moving beneath the veil. The word has a weight to it, a resonance, like the peal of a brass bell. There’s a reason the Tine King’s kindness to his daughter makes Croi want to weep. He speaks to the Fire Princess and pays attention to her replies. He offers her choice bits of meat, and she glows as though he has given her the world. Her other self aches and aches, and suddenly the sorrow twists into white anger. Croi knows she should shift her attention, but her eyes refuse to look away from the two of them.

Don’t covet what doesn’t belong to you.

“I’m not!” Croi is aggrieved. “I just think that if our life didn’t go awry, we, too, would have had a family, a f—” She snorts to herself and shakes her head. “I don’t want to see this.”

Perhaps it is the turmoil that accompanied meeting the Tine King or the fight with the Redcaps that lowers her defenses, but the pain attacks at this moment. Croi utters a whimper and falls to the ground, not seeing Tinder’s yell, the king’s reaction, or Ceara’s panic. All she knows at this moment is the pain tearing through her insides.

TWENTY-FIVE

HOW ARE YOU FEELING RIGHT now?” Tinder’s face is creased with concern. She’s hovering in the air in front of Croi, her magick an erratic orange.

Croi struggles to sit up; someone returned her to the room she was shown earlier. The pain has faded, but it stole all her energy. Croi licks her lips and feels the rawness in her throat.

You screamed a lot.

“How about you handle the pain next time?” Croi thinks sourly.

“You…” Tinder trails off, her eyes widening.

“What?” Croi croaks out. She follows the pixie’s gaze down to her bosom, and her eyes widen too. “What is that?”

They both stare at the rather obvious bumps on Croi’s chest. Croi pokes at them and then flinches. “Ow!”

Tinder swallows, looking at a loss for words. “That… They weren’t this prominent an hour ago, were they?”

Croi blinks.

“I will call Ceara!” Tinder flies away.

Croi gets out of bed and walks to a mirror in the corner of the room. “I don’t want to look at my face,” she complains to her other self.