“Your father is going over some arrangements for the Proving, and he requests your review.”

Aven nodded. “I will join you shortly.”

Dyon gave him a dubious look but took his leave.

As quickly as he could, Aven flipped through the second book. It, too, was sprinkled both with the common tongue and another language. Perhaps it was Serabain, but some of the spellings and characters were different, twisted. He strode to Teron and held open a page.

“Do you know this language?” he asked the Takaran.

“No,” Teron said. He spoke softly so only Aven could hear, and all of the usual charming lilt had faded from his words. “I hoped you did.”

“No, unfortunately.”

“I have seen it. It hasn’t been used since the Dark Days.”

What did Teron know about the Dark Days? “Perhaps one of the scholars would know,” Aven said.

“If I were you,” said Teron in a voice for only Aven to hear, “I might keep it to myself. Or a very trusted few. Certainly not any nosy foreign princesses.” Then he gave Aven a small, polite bow with a smile.

He knows, was all Aven could think. Gods, he knows. Evana had told them. But—the books, the pretense, the coordinated distraction of the others—what did all this mean?

By Anara, they all know, he realized. And they’re trying to help me.

Miara said goodbye to the mare Cora the next morning after she had saddled Kres and packed up her things. Don’t worry, girl, she had told her before she left. My horse friend Kres will be back for you. The mare had huffed in reply. Miara had left the stall unlatched.

Then she and Kres had headed for the mountains. She had dropped the disguise just out of town to save energy. Dawn had barely broken, and she’d ridden in the direction of Estun until the sun had cracked the horizon and cast streams of light down into the forest. At least, she thought it was the direction of Estun. That was one location Sorin couldn’t really confirm for her because the maps weren’t terribly precise as to the location of the hold, probably by design. Gods, let her find it quickly because she dreaded going back to that flea-bitten inn. Perhaps the woods would do just fine tonight, whether she found Estun or not.

She picked an isolated clearing near a creek. There was good grass for Kres to munch on and a musical, clear stream as well. She stopped and splashed the frigid mountain water on her face. She tried to center her thoughts, to calm the core of her soul, but the current of her emotions twitched and trembled, half excited, half terrified.

Briefly, her fear swelled—what was she thinking, trying to break into an Akarian fortress and kidnap its prince? Her and what army?

This was insane. One lone woman couldn’t do this. She was going to die. It was a fortress in a nation of great warriors, and he of all people was their damn prince. And she wasn’t even sure where the hell the fortress was or what this bastard looked like.

This was impossible, and she was a fool. A sacrificial lamb on the altar. The Masters had to know they were sending her to her death. But they didn’t care. Why? Why send her at all, then?

Shut up, she told herself. She forced herself to stop and breathe. One breath, another. Hear the water, the wind, the birds. Her nerves steadied.

It was not impossible. The Akarians were warriors, but they weren’t mages. Magic was nearly extinct in Akaria. They were not prepared for her or anyone like her. She was a good mage, perhaps a great one. She could be as silent as the moon, as hidden as a cat in the grass, and as steady as the mountain. It was not impossible.

Another deep breath.

She put her hand in her pocket; as she moved, her hand shook a little, but she tried to ignore it. I can do this, I can do this. She fingered the eagle feather in her pocket and carefully formed the image of her eagle form in her mind. She didn’t always need to have a token from the animal she sought to become, but it helped to focus her, to transform precisely into the right creature without mistake. She conjured up brown feathers, large and powerful, soaring mightily in the sky in her mind. Miara the girl might have difficulty with this, but she could become anything. Anything. As an eagle, what couldn’t she do? Step by step. It was possible. First step: find the damned palace.

Her body morphed and changed; her fingers could no longer feel the feather. Then there were no fingers—talons crunched the leaves and dirt beneath her. She looked at her wings—perfectly formed as she’d intended. As an eagle, she could do anything. She let out a cry, testing out new lungs, foreign and familiar at the same time. Another deep breath.

Onward to Estun. She launched herself into the sky.

“Good morning, Mother!” Aven called as he passed her in the hallway, the book tucked under his arm.

“Good morning, Aven! Where are you headed to?”

“The library,” he said. He had thought to check the shelf that Teron had mentioned and see if it was really dusty and freshly disturbed as he’d claimed.

“Did you hope to read or to philosophize? Jerrin has had Thel, Dom, and your father trapped there for a good hour already discussing ancient religions.”

He stopped short. His poor brothers. “Well, I was going to read…”

“Wouldn’t suggest the library, then,” she said, eyes twinkling.

“Right.”

The terrace would be too cold this early in the morning. He tried the parlor but caught Teron’s voice before he rounded the corner and retreated quickly. How hard could it be to find a quiet place to read this book alone?

He headed back to his own bedroom, but the maidservants had turned it upside down and were scrubbing the floor at the moment. A chair at the breakfast room table was too dark, as it was beyond breakfast and most of the candles were now out. Damn this place. He did manage to catch an apple dumpling on his way past the kitchen, so it wasn’t a total loss.

Munching as he walked, he shrugged to himself. The terrace would be cold, but at least he would be able to see. He collected a wool coat from his quarters and headed up the stairs to the terrace. At this rate, he was never going to get to read this thing.

The northern mountains of Akaria made for beautiful flying. Miara left the forested hills behind and soared toward the snowy peaks. The air was calm and cold, and the morning sun warmed the tops of her wings.

She swept broad circles around each mountaintop. A bright shot of green amid the snow and rock caught her eyes, and she headed for it. How could they keep things growing there, at this height, amid the snow? There must be magic at work. But she could sense none nearby, aside from the weak presence of the oppressive Great Stone.