But what does her seeing Mabh last have to do with us?

“What if Mabh isn’t dead?” Croi’s words echo in her mind, and her other self falls silent.

“Yes, my mother extracted a promise from her to do so. Otherwise, she would have faded when she lost my mother,” Ceara replies, not noticing Croi’s blank gaze.

“Oh.” The response is inadequate, but Croi doesn’t know what else to say. She pours herself some of the drink the princess seems enamored with. She takes a cautious sip of it and widens her eyes at the taste. It is sweet but not cloyingly so. The floral notes are tempered by a spice Croi has never tasted before. She takes a deep draft and sighs happily before pouring herself another glass.

“Don’t drink too much of the sun-drink,” Ceara warns. “You’ll have a headache tomorrow morning.”

“Who is looking after Tine now that your father is here?” Croi asks drowsily.

“His new consort,” Ceara says, the tone of her voice warning her not to ask more. Croi and Tinder exchange looks.

“How are you related to that angry soldier who stopped us before—what was his name?”

“You mean Lorcan.” Tinder shudders, expressing her feelings directly.

“I’m not related to him!” Ceara bursts out, looking horrified at the idea. She jumps to her feet. “I’m going to bed.” She leaves without another word. Croi blinks at Tinder.

“How did I offend her? Are they really not related?” Croi says.

“Lorcan is the general of the Tine soldiers and the Tine King’s close friend. I don’t think he and Ceara have any other relationship.” Tinder rubs her slightly protruding stomach.

“They’re really not related by blood?” Croi narrows her eyes, remembering the similarity of their magicks. “How is that possible?”

“Ah, but if Lord Lorcan’s wife and child had survived the Great Betrayal, his daughter would have been the same age as Ceara currently is,” Tinder says.

Croi, who had just taken a bite of a squishy fruit, chokes, and fruit juices dribble down her chin. Her chest aches as if it’s going to split, and her face contorts.

Pay attention. This is important.

“Who was Lorcan’s wife?” Croi asks.

“Mabh’s lady-in-waiting. A fae woman by the name of Lilia. Not much is known about her. Only that she accompanied Mabh to Talamh with her daughter and unfortunately fell victim to the Usurper.” Tinder yawns.

Do you think Ceara is Lorcan’s daughter?

“Their magicks are too similar for her to be anyone else’s.” Croi’s chest is throbbing.

Why would the Tine King accept his general’s daughter as his own?

“Do you think I have any answers?” Croi grumbles to her other self. “All I have are questions.”

Tinder is snoring on the table, her face content. Croi picks her up gently and carries her over to the bed. She places her on a pillow, slips off her shoes, and climbs into bed too. Quiet descends upon the room as the torchlight wanes. Everyone else has retired for the night since the camp will be broken down at dawn the following day. Croi wonders if the princess is asleep. According to Tinder, the sleeping arrangements in Ceara’s room are complex. Apart from the two guards who stand in front of her room, the handmaids Aislin and Caoimhe sleep on either side of the bed, protecting her from midnight assassins. The brownie mother has a pallet at the foot of the bed just in case the other four kin fail to keep the princess safe.