A girl accustomed to rivalry.
Blair Archer grew up surrounded by Elites. The father knew that his daughter was special, which means she should become the next queen and strengthen the influence of the family.
Brian was born a Mundane, but persistenc...
I suspect she will go to her father, and I do not stop her. I even encourage her to do so by leaving.
When the general summoned me this morning and began questioning whether anything unusual had happened to Blair since the start of the Trials, I told him only one thing—the Veil girl's attempt to attack her before the first had even begun.
The general watched me for a long time. His gaze was expectant, assessing, but he didn't like to reveal his true concerns.
"Nothing else?" he asked, idly twirling a thin letter opener between his fingers.
"Nothing that could pose a threat," I replied evenly.
But if the general was already suspicious, it meant he had his reasons.
And if he knew for certain, he wouldn't have asked me. He wouldn't have betrayed that faint flicker of unease, the subtle deception I had caught in his demeanor.
He knew exactly what he was looking for. Or rather, who.
And he wasn't the only one—Blair's nanny knew as well. I remembered my conversation with her right after the attack on the castle. She had warned me. Since then, no one had made another attempt on Blair's life, since the only Veil capable of doing so had died during the First Trial. And then Blair's fragile state of mind had begun to waver, making her question what was real and what wasn't.
But that contradicted the general's actions and Mrs. Hope's behavior. One was searching for something. The other was hiding it.
As far as I knew, Mrs. Hope had been Blair's nanny, raising her in an estate far beyond the castle walls. When the general secured his place at court, Blair had moved to the palace, while her nanny remained behind. Blair's earliest memories were tied to her, not to her mother.
She never spoke of her mother.
Thoughts swarmed in my head like bees, forming a pattern I couldn't quite make sense of. I felt I was on the verge of something significant, but the truth still slipped through my fingers.
And when I stood in that room with the Scholar and the two Guards, and I met Mrs. Hope's gaze, I understood everything.
And I was ready for it to end badly.
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I sense it before I hear it. Catch the sound—muted, barely discernible, but clear enough to put me on edge.
