By the time she reached the temple around half an hour later, the shadows were lengthening, and she realized Emris would arrive in the map room with supper shortly—that is, if he wasn’t already waiting for her. What would she tell him? Slowly, she climbed the stairs to the map room. Mercifully, it was empty. She flung herself into a chair, panting, unable to believe what she had done.

The little brass creature crawled out of her pocket, flew up, and perched on the end of her nose, inspecting her eyes as if it were as curious about her as she was about it.

“This is all because of you,” Lena said quietly. “Why did you choose me? Why were you in the crypts? What magic was in you then, and why did it go away?” She’d gone to Lord Chatham for answers, only to find more questions—and a lot more trouble than she’d bargained for.

The butterfly flew to her palm, and she cupped her hands around it as she usually did. It seemed happy in the dark. It didn’t glow as it had done the first time she’d seen it, years ago. Instead, she noticed a little vaporous heart of gray cloud. The butterfly was animated by her own magic now, she realized. Chatham’s bee had glowed yellow, like his horse. The animals she had brought to life hadn’t glowed, because her magic didn’t either. The first time she’d seen the butterfly … what color had it been? She remembered it only as a pale light. What color was Patience Santini’s magic? And why had her spell flitted to life when she’d been dead for so many years?

But there were more pressing matters to deal with. She had killed a woman with her magic. She might have killed Chatham too. Blood drained from her face as tears stung her eyes.

“Lena?” Emris was holding a tray loaded with food, but as soon as he saw her face, he set it down on the table and rushed to her side, kneeling on the floor beside the chair. “What’s the matter?”

“I’ve done something stupid, Emris,” she said, the tears falling in hot, heavy trails down her cheeks.

He ran a thumb across her cheek. “Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad,” he said gently.

“It is,” she choked. She opened her hands to show him the butterfly. For a moment, it was still, and Emris’s face remained caught between confusion and kindness—but then, with a flutter of its wings, it rose into the air, circling the chair. His expression changed.

“All right.” He looked up at her, then slowly lowered himself into the chair opposite hers. “Looks like you have some explaining to do.”