I snorted, but she was right. Normally, I would have told Razel exactly what I thought of her pretend show of playing nice. I’d even managed to smile at a few members of her court. “I guess spending time with Ericen had at least one benefit.”

There was a knock at the door, and I called for them to enter. Auma stepped inside, and Kiva bolted upright, smiling. Auma blinked at her, head tilting a fraction in the first show of emotion I’d seen from her. During dinner, she’d kept a neutral mask, no matter how harried she’d been.

Even now, her face had already returned to an impassive wall. She stood a little straighter than she had at dinner and held my eyes in a way she never looked at Razel. “Prince Ericen has requested you join him tomorrow morning. I’ll escort you after breakfast.”

“Thank you, Auma,” I said. “If I have a letter to send, could you help me with that?”

She nodded once, and I dashed into my bedroom to compose a quick letter to Caliza. Pulling out the invisible ink Lady Kerova had given me, I wrote a visible message saying I’d arrived safely and missed her and an invisible portion indicating the egg was safe.

When I returned, the silence in the room had the delicate tension of unspoken words. I looked from Kiva to Auma as I handed the latter the letter. “Thank you.”

She nodded once, eyes flashing momentarily to Kiva, before she stepped from the room.

I eyed Kiva as I retook my seat. “That was smooth.”

She dropped back onto the couch. “Let’s talk about the fact that you and Ericen are spending time together instead. Snakes don’t make good pets, Thia.”

I chucked a pillow at her.

Twelve

The next morning, Auma woke us for breakfast. I’d slept horribly, waking constantly from dreams of fire and blood. Utter blackness greeted me each time, and I swore the darkness twisted and moved, mocking my fear.

For several moments, I lay in bed, dreading the day to come. Though I’d chipped away at the weight inside me, I’d only begun to work my way through this.

After dragging myself out from beneath the covers, I checked on the egg. Each time I saw it felt like reuniting with a lost friend, and deep below the excitement and anticipation, that scared me. Because what if it never hatched?

What if it did?

I would be dragging the crow inside into a war. If I was this attached to the egg already, how would I be able to put the creature inside in danger? The idea of losing it cut through me like a cold knife. I closed the trunk, banishing the thought with an expelled breath.

I couldn’t think about things like that. Not when I didn’t have a choice.