My mouth opens. I want to protest, but he very accurately summed up every thought I’ve had in the last five minutes. “I wasn’t thinking you are jaw-droppingly powerful,” I say to spite him, and the words come out more defensive than I want them to. I don’t even address the handsome comment. He just keeps smirking.

“Look, if the rebels ask me about it, I’ll just tell them you asked me to come, and I had no choice if I was going to keep up appearances with you. And now would hardly be the time for me to betray you, right before we’re about to implicate ourselves in a heist that would easily give you an excuse to have me killed if we’re caught. I can help.”

It’s convincing. But what if I’m the one being played? What if he orchestrated the attack, and he wants to go to help the rebels get away, or for some other duplicitous reason? Or, what if this is just a way to get close to me, to build my trust in him so I spill all my secrets? I can’t forget that Nemesia thought Mazus wanted the Prince and I to meet. There’s got to be a reason for that. I study his features. His eyes are pleading, open and genuine. And it would be the worst possible time for him to show his hand and betray me. It’s a risk, but we’re already in this, and I can’t deny the injured. But I don’t plan to take my eyes off him while we’re there.

“Fine,” I relent. “But you heal people, and you stay where I can see you. If I suspect you of doing anything other than healing, I will rip the air from your lungs until you suffocate to death.” He only grins, the bastard unafraid of anything I say.

“You know, my father makes these kinds of threats all the time, too. Maybe you have more in common than you think.”

I pull the air from his lungs instantly, then flood them with water for several seconds. When I release the magic, he chokes, spitting water and gasping for breath.

“Point made?” I ask.

“Clear as ice, witchling,” he replies, eyes somehow twinkling with mirth, as if he enjoys my threats.

Now it’s my turn to grin, a feral expression that’s more bared teeth than smile. “Good.”

I aerstep four healers, the Prince, Carex, and six guards to Rusthelm. Thick smoke immediately fills my nose when we arrive, quickly followed by the sounds of groans and screams. Most of the village is on fire and black clouds rise high above into the sky. I steel myself, locking the mask of the Queen in place, ready for anything.