Of Whispers and Daggers ✓ [TLRQ #2]

Chapter 41.3 - Aster

The days pass in an intense blur. Immediately, we begin preparation to receive the Retrans. Janeaulí, of course, does not protest the role we offer her, but does surprise me by asking for a few hours to consider it. Perhaps it's calculated, but it only solidifies my instinct that she was the right choice.

I check in with Illesiarr in the mornings to hear if there's been any change with Sela. He says that Elénna thinks Sela dreams sometimes because her fingers twitch and her eyes move. Supposedly, it's a good sign, but she still hasn't woken.

Dread hangs over me like rain clouds. I don't know what we'll do if she dies. Mother's brother died young, and Agraund's wife, son, and daughter all died in the Liaetta Theater Fire when I was eleven. An heir for the throne would have to come from me or Reyan—him unengaged and me marrying a foreigner. The sober reality of the situation crashes on my head. I refuse to put a girl on the Morineause throne who's just as much Retran royalty as Morineause, and certainly not one raised outside our land. My heart pangs. That leaves it up to Reyan to produce a girl, and then I'd have to return to perform the rite to ensure she'll receive the proper Jacquelinian blessings. At least I'd be promised one trip back to my homeland.

But what if he doesn't have a girl? And what will we do until then, to rule Morineaux? The idea of a regent ruling for so long instead of a Jacqueline sets needles in my stomach. That would promise a time of turmoil, as Ladies lobby to be the one on the throne while whoever has it is constantly on guard against silent and violent removal. They wouldn't have the excuse of bloodline to anchor them to survival.

But none of that matters if we can't hold the castle. Every day that passes builds the unsettling instinct that another attack is imminent. It's a nervous buzzing in the back of my head I can't shake. They must be regrouping, simply waiting to strike until they've lulled us into carelessness.

Each night, sleep hits me hard, when I'm tired from casting and from working and from worrying. Dreams assault me. Sometimes they're gifts of peace, images of Jeanna or of the castle as a child or of Leavi. Most of the time, they're not. I try not to dwell on them during the day. Best to leave it all where it belongs—in the past and in the night.

Alongside everything else we have to worry about, I ask Reyan to pick someone from the Army to quietly investigate my Corps. Someone let Amarris out and gave her powder, and it's hard for anyone but magicians to get access to that material. It must be the same traitor that instigated Mother's poisoning—he could have pressured a maid into putting it in Mother's food. Plus, there was the conversation that Leavi overheard. The traitor was pressuring a maid there—presumably to get him the key to set Amarris free.

As much as he may doubt that Mother was poisoned, Reyan doesn't deny that someone has to be a turncoat for Amarris to have escaped. Knowing that a traitor slinks through my Corps haunts me, a feeling like being constantly watched, and I'm desperate to catch him. But I don't know how.