Suless’s eyes turn blue when she casts spells. Not every spell, mind you. Just the enchantments, just the moments when she’s playing with someone’s mind. It is as though in those precious seconds the old woman named Wyrga cannot help but show the goddess who lives underneath. I’d learned to notice the telltale clues, but given no one else seemed to have, I found myself wondering if I could only see the signs because of what Suless had done to me.

Suless proved good at teaching, but I hated the lessons. With each one, a little more witch-queen seeped into my soul, an infection taking over my mind. So I tried, as much as possible, to learn elsewhere. I studied books, tutored with Qown, and even sat in on Thurvishar’s lessons to the Spurned, as Kaen’s rejected wives began calling themselves. They deserved their pride. Since they’d begun studying under Xivan, her relentless training had turned them from a gaggle of bored, pampered prisoners into a proper fighting force.

The Yoran men were … incredulous. Quite unable to understand or believe how these women—who had just a short few years earlier been nothing more than beautiful furniture—exceeded them for speed, strength, and ferocity. They didn’t know about the spells the women had developed to increase their physical prowess to supernatural levels.

The stories I’d told Talea about my own strength had been the inspiration. She’d gone to Bikeinoh, who had figured out how to make the spells work. Then Bikeinoh taught any other woman who could learn.

Most of them, as it happened.

However, no man suggested putting the Spurned into the field. The women became a luck charm, an accessory for the Hon to wear while receiving guests, much like myself. Women warriors both scandalized and delighted visiting royals. Duke Kaen had special armor made for the women, which accentuated their femininity: still no more practical for surviving freezing cold than the old gowns had been. Useless for protecting against sword blows too, since it showed a great deal of cleavage and leg. Still, the stories spread. Maybe it did some good, when more distant Yoran villages heard rumors of the Hon’s fighting women.

Maybe.

I learned right alongside them. Thurvishar D’Lorus turned out to be an excellent teacher, although his insight into exactly what he needed to say or do to help me comprehend a spell occasionally unnerved me. He’d turn the book in my hands, say something, point out a flaw in my approach, and it would trigger some great breakthrough in my understanding.