Chatham smiled, resting his perfectly manicured hands flat on the open ledger and leaning forward, eager to explain. “The history of Valorian, sweet girl, is far, far older than two thousand years. And how do you suppose mages lived before the gods became an accepted truth instead of one option among many? Speak to your huntsman and he would have you believe the whole world was consumed in Chaos. He would be wrong—if he were right, none of us would be alive today. The truth is that if you are trained properly, there is no need to allow a god to slip a leash on your power. In fact, there are ways to slip out of a leash too, if one were to desire it …”

As if prompted, Lena felt her own power leaping in her stomach, straining against its binding. She swallowed, tried to concentrate—even if that’s what she decided, now wasn’t the time. She was here for answers. “But Lord Aster…”

Chatham sat back in his seat. “He was weak. He let his control wear down over time. A better magician could never have succumbed to Chaos. A better magician would have used Chaos for his own purposes…” He raised an eyebrow, as if he and Lena were sharing a private joke. “But that’s another story entirely. We were talking about your butterfly.” He returned his attention to the ledger and started flicking through the pages. Eventually, he said, “Ah, here we are, 027,” and rested his finger on an entry toward the end. “Butterfly 8. That means it was the eighth of this design. And it was a special commission for … oh my … Lady Patience Santini.” He smiled slowly. Something important had dawned on him, Lena thought. “Yes … yes, of course. One of my first noble customers. I suspected this might be the case.”

“What?” she asked, confused.

“Where did you find this butterfly, Lena? Are you from … you can’t be … Duke’s Forest?” A kind of darkness gleamed in his eager gaze.

Lena nodded slowly, uncertain about exactly what she was revealing. Chatham’s eyes widened in something like delight. “Yes—the first time I saw you, the huntsman said he had found you on the way back—but I just assumed … Well, no one has emerged from Duke’s Forest in years…” He was murmuring to himself, and Lena watched as the golden bee settled next to the butterfly on the table. It appeared to be examining its sibling curiously.

“Yes … But I came here for you to tell me what’s going on,” she reminded him.