“Do you think…” Luscia stared at cracks in the ceiling. “….maybe I’m like her? That I took after her somehow?”

“Heh’ta. Stop that.” The grinding paused before resuming at a calculated pace. “Assumption is not becoming on you, niece.”

Alora was truthful. Her mother’s madness hadn’t exhibited physical symptoms before…before it had suddenly worsened.

“I’ll simply increase the potency of your dosage as well as the frequency. You’ll soon find court life a continuous stressor.”

“What elements will you add to my treatment?” Luscia propped herself up on an elbow, genuinely curious.

“Many.”

Knowing Alora, the complication of its creation would likely double as well. Her aunt tended to implement herbal blends and methods most Boreali healers wouldn’t think to attempt.

“Ana’Mere, we need to discuss the nature of this elixir I’m to produce for the prince,” Luscia pressed. “He summoned for more the night I arrived and, frankly, it was dishonest to pretend I’d even known about it.”

“This is not the time for that conversation, Luscia, nor is it mine to have with you.”

Alora positioned her back to Luscia as she worked. Her aunt would not give further comment on the matter.

“Will you at least share the cause for your delay, then?”

Luscia knew she was pushing Alora’s tolerance, but she deserved an explanation. Never had another al’Haidren been presented to court devoid of their predecessor’s support. Begrudgingly, she’d sacrificed one of her mother’s consort daggers because of it. Her father had gifted Eoine with the set during their courtship, and now Luscia had forever separated the two blades. Meaning, Luscia lost two of his gifts to Bastiion, coupled with the kuerre.

Alora ceased muddling and set down the bowl of half-ground ingredients.

“You are no longer a child, so I must resist treating you as such,” she confessed, threading her slender fingers together. “I was notified of a situation in Port Tadeas shortly before your party departed Roüwen. As you know, after declining allegiance to Boreal, cross-castes are not permitted to remain within our territorial borders. Most migrate to the port towns or all the way to Bastiion Proper. It is difficult to survive without the providence of a House, and recently, some of our cross-castes have gone missing.

“I instructed Emiere to reroute us near Port Tadeas so we could investigate. With an indication of darker crimes, the only option was to go and demand answers myself. I honestly don’t believe anyone would have found the boy if we hadn’t gone looking on his behalf.”

Alora chewed her lip before continuing.

“My guard discovered his body downstream in a hidden creek bed. He looked prepubescent, perhaps ten or eleven years old. Boreali-Unitarian descent. I will spare you the specifics—no one should describe that degree of desecration—but the majority of his body had been ripped apart. The markings resembled that of an animal attack, but from the pattern of victims, it’s clear that isn’t the case.” She met Luscia’s gaze, her eyes full of an unspoken, depthless sorrow. “I am sorry for my absence, Luscia. You will soon learn that, as Haidren, our lives are no longer our own. And as much as I wished to see you recognized by the court, that little boy needed his Haidren to recognize him, too.”

It was difficult conversations such as these which made it impossible to stare into the twin cosmos under Alora’s thin brows and not see her mother’s eyes in return. They were Phalen’s eyes. Luscia’s eyes.

Tiergan eyes.

Luscia buried her longing for the past and seized the ire swimming in her chest. For centuries, the House of Boreal had been revered, respected for their unique service to the crown. Somehow, that respect was spun into envy, and envy twisted into suspicion—a suspicion that had led to Boreal’s complete defamation.

Still, the Ethnicam had never demonstrated such violence against their people before. Not after the signing of the Accords. Luscia couldn’t help but imagine the pale, withered frame of a child with walnut curls and vacant, teal eyes. One more relative to Mila, than herself.

“What was—”

“Finnian Wollack,” Alora murmured before Luscia could ask the boy’s name. “The threads speak differently to each of us, Luscia. I, for instance, can see… climates about a person. The lumin around you pulsed with curiosity, one could say. It may take years for you to learn how to pass in and out of the Sight continuously, but eventually you’ll employ it on a daily basis.”

Alora patted Luscia’s hand and returned to the window to complete her concoction. Her hair shimmered in the sun, much like the sheen of Saoirse pearls, but concealed any emotion by hanging over her delicate face and cascading loosely down her shoulder.

“I need to speak with the prince. He’ll want to know this is happening to our people,” Luscia declared. “Ana’Mere, if you’ll help me out of this bed, Mila can assist in dressing me and I’ll be on my way.”

“Niit. Those feet aren’t going anywhere,” Alora ordered, seriousness altering her tone. “It is time to think, Luscia. Marching down Unitarian halls like some wild, northern zealot won’t bring Finnian Wollack honor. Always think before allowing your emotions to dictate the path for you. I already brought the matter to the king’s attention when I gave an account of my delay. His Majesty wishes for the local military to handle it, and we are going to let them.”

“But Darakai controls the military. Any investigation for Boreal under their command will result in nothing!” Luscia argued zealously.

“But until this proves true, I cannot use that argument with his Majesty,” Alora countered, thwarting Luscia’s rebuttal. “You will not fight me on this. Our House is not in a position to make demands. My years of collaboration with Korbin Thoarne have been cordial, but we are no longer his priority now that the others have set their hooks in him. The louder Boreal screams, the more attention we bring to the fact that the Ethnicam does not see a need for us anymore. They do not know what they cannot know, Luscia, and we won’t resent them for it. Korbin hasn’t felt the threat of battle in decades. He has little experience in what Boreal means to his line, or the realm.”

Frustrated with their political predicament, Luscia lay in silence while Alora poured the modified treatment into a tray of cloudy vials. Accepting one of the doses from her aunt, Luscia drank the marshy fluid in a rush. A sour, bitter tang skimmed the back of her tongue and slid down her throat.

A telling screech came just before a hawk soared through the open window in a flurry of wings. Alora lifted an arm as Amaranth glided onto her master’s perch. A rolled piece of parchment was fastened to one of her legs. The hawk had always been a mystery to Luscia, as she was never privy to the information the lavender bird carried to her aunt, or from whom it repeatedly came.