“This manor is a known location of rebel activity,” I announce in a loud voice. Their eyes don’t widen in shock—they knew about the rebels here. “They planned the attack on Arberly’s merchant district in this very manor. Planned the attack on Rusthelm. Dozens of innocent citizens died because of their actions, not to mention the hundreds who were injured. They attacked children running in the streets looking for their parents. The Crown will not tolerate this.” Using the newfound power Thorne has taught me, I command the sky, and cracks of lightning spear the manor. It explodes in light, and the faces of the villagers illuminate with reverent trepidation. Thorne squeezes my hand and leans in close.

“Nicely done, witchling,” he whispers in my ear. I shiver at his closeness. Only a few feet away, Carex stares at us, eyes alight with ire.

“If you hear of any other rebel activity, please report it immediately. Oakton could be the next village the rebels go after,” I warn as I study their faces. Resolve crosses several expressions, and I feel confident we’ve made a difference here today, despite not being able to take out Krantz and his leaders. Turning away from the departing group of villagers, I find the Captain of my Royal Guard.

“Carex, leave a few guards here to monitor the fire to ensure it doesn’t spread,” I order. He nods before jumping into command. When everything is settled, I aerstep Carex, Thorne, and the remaining guards to a small receiving room on the bottom floor of the palace. The guards immediately return to their posts, leaving Thorne and I alone with Carex.

“Laurel,” Carex starts, still staring daggers at Thorne. I interrupt.

“I’m going to go clean up. Meet me in the Council chambers with the rest of the rebellion sub-committee,” I order. Carex only nods, his face white as a sheet, as Thorne takes my hand, and I aerstep us away.

Twenty minutes and a quick bath later, Thorne and I sit in the Council chamber, awaiting the other advisors to debrief today’s events. He disappears behind me, then reappears with a steaming cup of tea for me. I nearly groan at the aroma wafting up toward me.

“You’re perfect, princeling,” I moan with exaggerated sarcasm, even though I mean the words. He only winks, and I take a sip. It instantly soothes the nerves of the last several hours. Thorne grabs my hand under the table, absentmindedly threading his fingers through mine, stroking my thumb in gentle circles.

We sit like that in an easy silence for another twenty minutes. When I finish my first cup of tea, he simply asks, “Another?” When I nod, he stands and makes a second cup before returning to his seat and grabbing my hand again.