“Pierre, calm down,” I said. “I can’t get involved – my father specifically commanded me to leave the Guild to its business.” I flicked my attention to the three trolls. “He’s right, though, you know. You cannot treat this structure as static. It wasn’t built that way.”

“It seems fine,” the wheezy one replied, gesturing skyward. “It looks fine.”

“Looks?” I repeated, looking pointedly up at the blackness. “You can’t manage the tree by looking at it. You have to do it by feel.” I muttered a few choice curses and then tossed my coat and hat on the back of Pierre’s wheeled chair. “Warn me if anyone comes.”

Reluctantly, I peeled off my gloves. Setting them aside, I put my hands into the nearest column of magic, feeling the warm vestiges of my own power flow over my fingers. I closed my eyes, letting my magic drift over the ceiling above, each rock a familiar old friend. There were a few small changes, but nothing of great concern. I started to pull away from the tree when the blind guild member approached. “Will you tell me how you do it, Your Highness?”

“By feel,” I said, glad that it had been him who had approached because he couldn’t see the damaged state of my wrists and hands. “You must memorize how each and every rock is placed so that you will know instinctively if something has shifted. Then you must judge how the weight and balance has changed and modify the canopy to compensate.”

The man smiled, resting a hand against the column. He was quiet for a moment, then he said, “Northwest sixty-three and sixty-five are lower, but barely.”

“Yes,” I said, frowning at him. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“I did.” He turned his head toward where Pierre was arguing with the other two guild members. “But it was an excuse to speak with you.”

Curiosity flared in side of me. “About?”

“I knew what the half-bloods were constructing would never work,” he said softly. “I could hear where they were building, and it didn’t feel right. And I wasn’t the only one. Others noticed it too.” He wrung his hands together. “We knew he’d tricked them, but we’d be fools to say anything against your father.”

I hesitated. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because we want you to know that it isn’t only the half-bloods who will rise up against your father to put you on the throne.” He turned his face back to me, and even though he had no eyes, I could have sworn he was seeing me.

“The guilds are full of your supporters – full-bloods who believe you are the key to our survival. That you will be the one who sets us free.”

A thousand thoughts chased each other through my mind, but I couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

Pierre’s whistle stole away the moment. “Visitors,” he hissed, jerking his chin in the direction of the bobbing light coming swiftly down the street.