“Gods,” Bri groaned.

“The witch hunters were always a problem, one the Queen conveniently ignored.” Cole’s tone soured. “They made themselves good money, and the West was largely exempt from the aftermath of Yexshire. I understand why the Queen did it, to stop them would have made her an enemy to Hennen Vostemur.”

Bri grimaced at the name of the fallen Northern King. His shadow still hung over Okrith, even after his death. His tyranny had echoed throughout every kingdom, and his passing revealed wounds that had festered for years.

“She still should have gotten control of the witch hunters,” Bri insisted.

“Agreed.” Cole sighed. “She allowed so many of her people to die . . . humans, fae, and most of all, witches.” His voice dropped to a whisper, and Bri wondered what happened to his own family to make his voice turn so hollow. “Now those witch hunters are rabid, and it is Princess Abalina who will have to tame them.”

As they drew closer, Bri noticed the black shrouds waving through the open windows, blocking out the sun. The palace was in mourning, the Queen murdered by monsters of her own making. Bri gritted her teeth and urged her horse up the narrow land bridge toward the cliff. Too late to turn back now.

Chapter Two

Bri followed the hunched servant through the darkened halls, their footsteps echoing across the stone floors. Cole had left Bri in the stables with a hasty farewell, tasking the closest servant with guiding her to a guest room. They walked through the eerie quiet, the aftermath of the attack seeming to cling to the stone. Rolling her shoulders, she shifted the straps of her heavy pack, trying to keep them from chafing against her sweat-stained tunic. The servant hadn’t offered to take it, not that she would have let him anyway.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” he snickered. She rolled her eyes. Even the servants were getting their jabs in. “A Catullus in Swifthill . . . Maybe I did die in the attack and this is the afterlife.”

“How many attackers were there?” Bri’s eyes swept across every room they passed, making note of each hall and doorway. No signs of struggle remained, no broken windows or knocked-in doors. She needed to hear as many recounts of the attack as possible. The survivors would each have a slightly different tale. In the panic, their fear would exaggerate details, and she needed to know what they were really up against.

“A dozen, not many,” the man grumbled. “It was only after the Queen was poisoned that they attacked, trying to kill Princess Abalina too.”

“Poisoned?” Bri’s eyebrows lifted as if it were new information. “What kind of poison?”

“They still don’t know.” The man shrugged, turning down a gloomy hallway. “That brown witch healer is still trying to discern what they used. Three other fae at the dining table dropped dead too, but . . .” He paused, leaning in to whisper his bit of gossip, and Bri had to hide her grin at how easily she got him on the hook. “They have food tasters. So the poison couldn’t have been in the meal itself.”