Interesting that her mother hadn’t mentioned Mellony, or the pressure from the Wizard Council to name her princess heir. Did she not want to worry her? Did she not want her to rush back into danger?

Or did Marianna mean to keep Raisa in the south until a change in succession could be accomplished?

Trust no one. Never had her mother spoken truer words.

Raisa felt more trust in her friendship with Talia and Hallie than with anyone at court, save Amon.

Had Raisa done anything to encourage the intrigue swirling around her? Why was the council so convinced that she would be troublesome?

And now what? The term was nearly over. Should she wait here meekly until her mother called her home? If she returned home, would it knock down the fragile house of cards that was her queendom?

Could she possibly be more alone?

Raisa flopped onto her back, tears leaking from her eyes and running into her hair.

C H A P T E R  T W E N T Y - N I N E

A BABE IN
THE WOODS

Han cut across the greening lawns, heading for Bridge Street. It was Tuesday—the day before his class with Dean Abelard. He’d stayed up half the night for the second night in a row. He and Dancer had spent the afternoon experimenting with a talisman Dancer had crafted from a flying rowan. It was challenging to create a talisman that wouldn’t interfere with Han’s own magic while protecting him from someone else’s.

And now he was late for his meeting with Rebecca.

The flower vendors lined the street leading to the bridge. That was one thing they had more of in Oden’s Ford than at home—flowers. They grew pansies all winter long, the deep red blooms called Blood of Hanalea, white solstice stars, flowering cactus of all kinds from We’enhaven, magnolias with big saucer flowers you could serve dinner on, orchids of all colors and sizes. And now tulips and daffodils and bulb irises.

Rebecca loved flowers. She said she missed her garden at home.

On impulse, Han stopped long enough to buy a fistful from a vendor.

When he entered The Turtle and Fish, the common room was half filled with cadets, but Talia and Pearlie weren’t there. Han nodded to Linc, the bartender, walked straight past the bar, and climbed the stairs to the second floor.

Just as he put his hand on the latch of their meeting room, the door flew open and Rebecca stood in front of him, her carry bag slung over her shoulder, her cheeks flushed with anger—obviously on her way out.

“Well!” she said, looking him up and down. “If it isn’t Hanson Alister.” She paused ominously. “The late Hanson Alister.”