The marble paths between the twisting bases of the trees were overgrown, carpeted with moss and fallen leaves, so my shoes made no noise as I approached the Roots of the great Arbor at the center of the room.

Conversation ground to a halt as I stepped into the light.

Da rief sie einen Jäger und sprach:

“Bring das Kind hinaus in den Wald,

ich will’s nicht mehr vor meinen Augen sehen.”

—Schneewittchen

. . . and she said to a Huntsman,

“Take the child away into the forest.

I will never look upon her again.”

—Little Snow-White

4

Potomac’s Council—Secretary Gidcumb, Secretary Moreau, Captain Marshall, Lieutenant Lefevre, Secretary Allen, and Judge Roth—stood clustered together. They stared at me, tumblers of amber Appalachia bourbon in hand.

I’d never attended a Council meeting before, and I hadn’t expected to for many years yet, not until Daddy needed me more. Until he was ready to begin training me in politics, I had expected to be left to my work.

Evidently, tonight was to be full of surprises for all of us.

A trio of strange men sat on the far side of the Council table. Their faces were indistinct in the candlelight, their voices pitched low.

I wrung my fingers, fighting the urge to shrink between my shoulders.

It was bad enough I was going to be chastised for Peter rejecting me. That’s what this was about, surely. I’d miscalculated, and it looked bad.

But the Council was elected to help the seneschal steward Potomac’s resources, to oversee its courts and its militia and its administration, small though it was. Did all of them—plus a cadre of strangers—really need to be present tonight?

“Good evening, Your Grace,” said Captain Marshall, a thick-skulled man with short brown hair. I’d never liked Marshall. Years of military service had apparently taught him only how to mindlessly obey orders.

“Good evening, Captain. Gentlemen.” I was relieved my voice didn’t shake. “Happy Arbor Day.”

Marshall nodded, swirling his liquor, not answering.

I swallowed hard and moved toward the table, set beneath the Arbor’s Roots. The great Arbor domed overhead, its Roots curling and twisting like a globe around the table and chairs.

We all straightened at the sound of footsteps on marble—one clacking step moving briskly down the stairs, one plodding tread following after.

Alessandra swanned into the room, followed by my father, and the Council drew near at a wave of her slim hand, muttering and shuffling papers as they settled into the seats unoccupied by the unfamiliar trio. Secretary Gidcumb, one of the Council’s more competent members, lit the candelabra at the center of the table before he sat.

“Now,” Alessandra began, eyeing us all significantly. “We all know why we’re here.”

I bit my lip, bracing myself.