Raisa stared at Micah, her stomach clenching into a miserable ball. It was a good thing she’d missed supper, because she would have lost it right then.

She felt impotent, utterly frustrated—and frightened. As the Montaignes had amply proven, nobody was more at risk than someone who competes for a throne—and loses. The Bayars would cut her throat or strangle her and leave her in some back alley—the apparent victim of a street thief. Too bad rebellious Raisa had left the protection of Fellsmarch and got herself killed.

“Mellony is thirteen,” Raisa said. “I hope you have experience babysitting, Micah, because you’re going to need it. Assuming the Demonai don’t assassinate you first. Married at thirteen, widowed at fourteen. Poor Mellony.”

Angry tears stung her eyes. “Even if you survive, you’ll be ruling over a country torn apart by civil war. The Fells will become the Arden of the north. You’ll never win against the clans in the mountains, I’ll tell you that right now.”

She extended her hand toward Micah and spat out a curse worthy of any of her clan ancestors. “By Hanalea’s blood and bones, if you marry Mellony ana’Marianna and mount the Gray Wolf throne, may you be fighting for the rest of your short and miserable life. And may Mellony’s babies be copperheads, every one.”

Micah blinked at her, stunned to silence. His gaze dropped to her extended hand, and his eyes widened. Seizing hold of her hand, he dragged her into the pool of light spilling from the sconce on the wall. He nudged Elena’s wolf ring with his forefinger, turning her hand so it caught the light.

“Where did you get this?” he asked.

Raisa shrugged, pretending indifference, though her heart was pounding. “I think it was a suitor gift. For my name day.”

“It looks like clanwork,” he said, frowning.

“Most of my jewelry is clan made,” Raisa said, trying unsuccessfully to pull her hand free. “That’s no surprise. They are the best metalsmiths in the Seven Realms.”

Micah tugged at the wolf ring experimentally, then with more force. It did not budge.

“Take it off,” he said, thrusting her hand back toward her.

“Have you turned robber as well as murderer?” Raisa asked. “The Bayars aren’t rich enough as it is?”

“That ring looks like a talisman,” Micah said. “It might account for your resistance to wizardry.”

“It’s just a ring,” Raisa said, tugging at it herself. Even if she’d been trying hard, which she wasn’t, it wasn’t going anywhere. “And it seems to be stuck. So unless you want to chop my finger off, you’ll have to let it be.”

“All right,” Micah said, raising both hands. “We’ll let it be. For now.”