“That never helps!” Emry didn’t mean to be shouting, but suddenly, she was. “You can’t cure magic with tea! All of this”—Emry thrust the scroll at Gran— “just handed to him because of Father! I don’t know which is worse, that he didn’t realize how lucky he is, or that he was stupid enough to ruin it! If King Uther had summoned me . . .”

Emry trailed off, because of course that was impossible. And dwelling on it only made her more infuriated.

“Are you done, dear?” Gran asked calmly. “One can never tell.”

Miserably, Emry nodded.

“Let’s hope your little tantrum didn’t knock anything out of place,” Gran said, plucking the teacup from Emry’s hand and peering down at the dregs.

“Don’t you dare predict I’ll marry the blacksmith’s son,” Emry warned.

But Gran merely pursed her lips, studying the cup.

Emry was used to Gran’s fortunes, which always sounded like vague nonsense. Gran peddled them in the market for extra coin, but her predictions weren’t magic. They were just educated guesses.

“You look so much like your brother,” Gran mused. “A stranger would be hard pressed to tell the difference.”

“Wait, what?” Emry asked. The old woman couldn’t be saying what Emry thought she was saying.

“The leaves predict a journey ahead.”

“A journey?” Emry echoed with disbelief. “Am I supposed to show up at the castle claiming to be my brother?”

But as she said it aloud, she realized that, actually, she could.

Emry bit her lip, considering. Emmett would likely be up and about in a week’s time. She could keep her head down in court for that long. After he woke up, he’d set off for London, and they’d trade places before anyone realized a thing.

Being the court wizard was Father’s legacy, and they had so little of him left. And there was no denying they needed money. The roof was half made of spells and charms as it was, and Emry doubted it would last through another winter.

Emmett may have inherited their father’s estate, but without income to run it, they were quickly sliding toward ruin. They had already sold off the silver and rented the land to tenant farmers to make ends meet, and it still wasn’t enough.

Three pounds a month. They couldn’t lose this. Not if she could help it.

“We’d switch back in a week,” she mused, and then stopped, shaking her head. “No, I can’t just leave you here.”

At this, Gran scoffed. “Child, I’ll be fine.” She arched an eyebrow. “It’s high time the women in this family did something more than get left behind while the men leave their mark on history.”