An uneasy frisson skittered down her back, one she couldn’t place. There was something here she should know. Some bit of reasoning that was escaping her. “Sire, what does your hunger mean?”

He kissed her and shrugged as if these cravings were nothing more than trivial news. “It means I am awakening, Imogen.” He gestured to her bag. “Get dressed,” he repeated. “I’ll see you in a little while.”

They ate while sitting on the floor of the library’s vestibule. Dust motes danced in the air above them, reminiscent of the fireflies lighting the city at night. Imogen watched as Cededa picked carefully at the roasted hare he’d provided, slicing off small slivers and eating slowly.

She didn’t blame him. Who knew how his body might react to those first bits of food to pass his lips after so long? At his initial bite, she’d prepared to scuttle out of the way in case he sickened. He didn’t. Instead, his eyes lit up. “This is good.”

“You’ve a decent cook in your kitchens.” She shrugged. “Whoever that might be and wherever your kitchens are.”

Cededa laughed. “You’re the recipient of the most talented hedgewitch magics, Imogen. Niamh would have approved.”

Imogen sighed. “I miss her very much. I’m glad you met her when she was young. The sickness didn’t just take her life. It stole her spirit…diminished her.”

“I didn’t know her that well.” His mouth turned up in a faint smile. “Certainly not in the way I’ve come to know you. What I did know I admired.”

She returned the smile. “She was amazing. Thoughtful, loving, sharp as a well-honed blade and educated. I’d never known any to best her in conversation or bargaining.”

“Did she ever tell you why you were born cursed?”

Imogen shook her head. “No. She only said she was a coward for not telling me.”

He rose abruptly and offered his hand to help her stand. “If you’re done, we’ll return to the palace. Gather up the scrolls you want to bring with you.”

He led her out of the library and across the city’s main avenue. They passed the ruin of the temple that preserved the queens’ names in stone and crossed the green stretch of the abandoned arena where Cededa practiced with various weaponry each morning. When they neared the catafalque with his effigy, she made him stop.

“Every portrait, every statue, any likeness of you has been defaced. Except this one. Why?”

Cededa stared at his image in stone, his expression so much like the effigy’s in that moment, Imogen suffered a touch of revulsion. “It was a message. One carved in marble instead of written on parchment, guaranteed to accompany me into this pathetic existence. There was rebellion in all parts of my empire, including this city. I’d led an army to Mir. While I was gone, the mages and ministers left behind emptied Tineroth and proceeded to destroy every likeness of me, except this one. It was no oversight. No accident. They left me a sepulcher I’d never be fortunate enough to use.”