“Not in the same way. The wardens are … soldiers under my command. They know their skills and their worth. The wardens don’t need me to have a purpose in life. To patrol the roads and to serve the empire. To feel they have freedom of movement and choices they can themselves make. From what I saw of the menials and the concubines, they serve only the body and whim of the prince. If the prince’s displeasure turns on them, then what is to become of them? Do you know? Is it something awful?”

“I don’t know what goes on in the palace.”

He raised a hand, waving a finger to emphasize his point. “That’s what I meant about Hemerlin. These menials and concubines are so dependent upon the one they serve that they must observe and know that person better than anyone. Maybe better than the person knows themselves. Besides how unpleasantly obsequious it is, it’s also very dangerous in my situation. As I’m sure you can see.”

“I can. But what about Fulmo, then? You kept him on, and he’s a menial.”

“A gagast cannot be coerced, not as humans can, which is why his arrangement with the palace puzzles me. How Hemerlin is involved is a question I can’t answer. And I’ve no way to ask that doesn’t reveal my ignorance. Still, we’ve made it this far, you and I, have we not? Working together.”

His gaze had its own enchantment, inviting her in, offering her a partnership. It was impossible not to incline toward him. His hand crept toward hers, across the stony ground, as if he meant to take hold. What would that even mean? She imagined how it might proceed: the brush of warm fingers over her own, the twining of hands, the way bodies lean toward each other as toward fate—

Movement caught in the periphery of her gaze, and she jolted back. Don’t get distracted!

But the movement was the viper, which had finished its circuit and, racing back to her, slid up beneath her hand and, with the familiar burn, poured itself back into her flesh.

“Here we go,” he said, looking past her. “To break the shell, a gagast needs the touch of an ally so they know it is safe to emerge. Me hauling him out will have triggered the change.”

On the river’s stony shoreline, Fulmo’s body shuddered as a tremor passed through it. A series of pops sounded in snapping, sizzling bursts. Elen leaped to her feet.

The gagast’s skin crackled, a thousand tiny lines spreading across his body. With a loud crack, his epidermis shattered like ceramic splintering. It fell away in a thousand pieces, spilling onto the ground in a clatter of shards. A new, fresh Fulmo emerged, slightly smaller and with a brighter, more coppery skin tone, but otherwise apparently the same.