The servants are a hive of energetic bees flowing through the halls, and snippets of their conversation buzz in the air. "Never in my life would I have thought to see something like that with my own eyes!" an older woman enthuses.

A young maid says, "He deserves it, you ask me! Best noble you'll ever meet—"

A third girl snorts. "Don't take much."

"But still, Lessa!" the younger girl says. "He knows almost all our names. I've been making Lady Riletta's bed for the last three months, and I'm not sure she even knows I exist! Sheets turn themselves down, that's what she must think."

Lessa laughs, but the older woman shakes her head. "Oh, Tallí. That tongue's gonna wag you all the way into trouble some day."

"But it's true!"

Lessa grabs Tallí's arm companionably, drawing her attention. With relish, she asks, "You see how red those Lady's faces turned when his staff lit up?"

Tallí nods, grinning, but the older woman says, "Now, girls, we shouldn't enjoy the Ladies being upset—"

"We shouldn't?" Lessa jibes, and Tallí laughs.

The woman ignores her. "We should just want them to be as happy for our prince as we are."

"Right," Lessa drawls.

"Because they're always just pleasant as flowers." Tallí's steps falter. "You think they're gonna be angry in the morning?"

Lessa's voice is scornful. "You think they're not?"

"Lessa!" the woman reprimands, then takes Tallí's hand, drawing her along with the rest of the crowd. "I'm sure it will be fine. Just stay quiet, do your job, and get out from underfoot as soon as you can. Like you said, Lady Riletta hardly notices you, right?"

The girl bobs a frightened nod, and they turn off onto a branching hall while I continue toward the infirmary. Illesiarr is there as usual, watching over the few patients left, and a pang of regret hits me that he didn't get to see the ceremony.

"How was it, m'dear?" he calls as I enter.

"Nothing like what I expected. The Ladies almost didn't accept him, and then—" My hands find the back of a chair. "Illesiarr, did you feel anything out here?"

His brow crooks up. "Was I supposed to?"

"I don't know."

"Hm. I sense there's a story there. Why don't you put on the tea kettle and catch me up? I believe my feet have earned their rest."

I talk as the tea brews, starting back at the beginning as he requests. At the Lady's delayed acceptance of Aster, he hums thoughtfully, and I set the tray on the table. We pause to mix our tea. Its bitterness is growing on me.

After a few quiet sips, I pick up the story. When I get to the part about the staff glowing, he chokes. Wiping his mouth with the handkerchief, he sets his cup down. "You're jesting."

My eyes go wide. "Should I be?"

His gaze turns distant as he murmurs, "Our Aster. The Chosen Second."

"What exactly does that mean?"

His eyes clear. "You don't know the legends?"

I flush but shake my head.

"Hm." He takes a sip of his tea, then explains, "It means the boy that idiot court disdained his whole life is going to be the greatest Second in a thousand years' history." He nods as if satisfied. "Serves them right."

My mind spins, and I can't help but think of the dark book in Aster's room. The moment rests as we both drink in thoughtful silence.

I pour myself a second cup. "Why do they disdain him, Illesiarr?"

He sighs. "I'm no politician, m'dear, so you can't take my words with certainty. Still, I do have ears, and I have lived a very long time. Long enough to see Aster's uncle, the late Prince Agraund, born and raised. My wife was physician at the time, you understand."

I nod despite not having even known Illesiarr had been married.

"In any case, Prince Malicaen, Agraund's uncle, made many grand expositions of Agraund's talent as the boy was growing up. Treated him more like a prized show horse than a child, if you ask me. But the point is that Agraund never did that with Aster. And whatever the true reason for that is, rumors circulated that it was because Aster didn't possess any talent worth showing. To make matters worse, the people love him."

My brow creases. "Why would that make things worse?"

Illesiarr lifts a finger. "Because he's never sought to make the court love him. It would be fine if he played by their rules and lived as their puppet, but as long as the people care for him more than them, he's a threat to their influence. But," he drains his cup, "as I said, I'm no politician. What do I know?"

With a wry look, he rises and goes to check on a patient.

Consideration curdles into worry. The Ladies disliked him before—how much more are they going to hate him now that he's been marked as special? I quickly clear the table and leave. I hadn't been planning on carrying messages today, but I am now.

Despite my fear, notes are frighteningly scarce. Quiet requests to tea, lunch, and dinner pass through me, and the perfectly polite, restrained facade gives me chills. It's as if they're smiling wolves, promising no harm now so they have time to gather in packs to devour their prey later.

As I wait for one Lady to write her return note, two women of lower nobility whisper in a corner. My ears strain to catch it.

"...was sure Aselle was going to keep with Irrianet!"

"Should have, if you ask me. The Queen all but convicted him of playing the rake."

"Here." The Lady in front of me hands over her note and coin.

"She must be looking pretty in the Prince's eyes, right now," the women continue. "The Table wouldn't have turned without her."

"Girl!" The Lady eyes me. "Am I paying you to stand there dead?"

"Sorry, milady."

I hurry out of the room, thoughts twisting around each other. The more gossip I hear in this castle, the more it weaves itself into a spider's web. Terribly convenient that Aselle went from Aster's greatest opponent to his greatest supporter exactly as he rose to power. I don't know how she orchestrated it, but I know how my mother would have. Tricks to make the opposing group look bad, false promises to make them do something stupid. For the people on 'her' side, it would be backroom deals, bluffing, bullying, bribery. High Lady Aselle has been spinning webs far longer than my mother. She's certainly more than capable.

Still, there's no proof, and even if there were, it wouldn't mean anything. Trick or not, she did help turn the Table in Aster's favor. I just hope he doesn't find himself owing her for it later.

It's slow enough that I call it quits well before dinner. I spend the afternoon curled up with blankets on the couch. Though they still chill me, I can't seem to stop rereading the Wyrds. I feel like there's something hidden there, like if I just look hard enough, I'll find something I never saw before. Rain patters on the window, turning the early afternoon dark, and I break the gloom with candlelight.

A darkness brewed, a darkness deep

     so our First Mother bound it in a tree

Yet the Shadesnare seeks to destroy its hold

     to let the captive darkness' wrath—

Knock-knock-knock.

I jump, upsetting the papers, and hurry to right them. I look up. Aster stands in the doorway, hand still raised by the frame. He always seems put-together, but tonight he looks especially nice, as if he has somewhere to be. He's wearing a silver-threaded shirt, set off by a deep blue cloak. His new circlet shines in the firelight.

He watches me hesitantly. "May I..." He trails off.

"Of course." I start to rise, but he gestures me back down.

He wanders to sit at the other end of the couch. I feel like I'm staring, but I can't figure out why in skies' name he's here.

"Is something... wrong?"

His fingers thread in his lap, and he watches them. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come bother you. That's—" He looks up, giving me a tight smile. "Not very considerate."

"You're not a bother at all." My voice is more serious than my words, and I wonder how many layers I can weave into a message with a change of tone. "I was just reading."

"My coronation dinner is tonight," he offers. His voice is like the rain clouds overhead, and I wish I could unravel the mystery of why. Surely the Ladies can't have affected him that much.

"I never liked formal events either."

His lips press together. "They always ask more of you than they seem to say they will, don't they?"

I feel like we're having two different conversations on top of each other, but I nod. "What do you think tonight's will ask of you?"

His gaze drops, and his lips twist like he's mustering the will to speak. "I propose tonight."

"I thought you were already engaged." The words escape my mouth before I think, and I instantly wish I could pull them back in.

He winces. "The deal has been made, but nothing has been set to paper yet. Once it is..."

I find his hesitation at the threshold strange. We both know he's already made his decision. Then again, there's a far cry from deciding and doing.

Or perhaps he's just mourning.

My hand sets lightly over his, reassuring. "You're doing the right thing."

He looks up at me, eyes searching. "I feel like the stars are falling."

I swallow, throat suddenly tight. "Then if I had to trust anyone to place them back in the sky, it would be you."

A bitter facsimile of a smile twitches his lips. "You'd be one of the few, my friend." The facsimile gains a little strength. "Besides," he says, "you haven't really gotten to know the competition."

I twist toward him. "Do you remember in Niv, when you found out that Morineaux was in trouble? You said you needed to get home because your country needed you. You wouldn't have come all this way if you didn't think you could help them, Aster. You're their prince, their Second Son. Your sister called you their new dawn last night."

"That was script."

"Well, someone wrote it."

"A long time ago. About someone else."

My protests and encouragements die in my mouth. Aster watches me with flat eyes, and I struggle to get my thoughts back in order. More certain, I say, "You still came home. And your country doesn't need someone else. They need you."

His smile is sad. "They need someone. I'm who they have."

"Who could they want more than the Second chosen by the staff?"

He waves the idea, a flippant, tired gesture. "I don't know what the staff thinks it was looking for. It lit for the wrong person."

"Says who? How does anyone know who a magic staff would choose? Who fate would choose?"

His laugh is breathy. "Must be a twisted sort of fate that chooses a boy who falls for an out-of-country abduction, who can't best a second-tier wizard, and whose own brother doesn't trust him or find capable." An honest, pained expression takes the bite from his words.

I scoop up the Wyrds and proffer them to him. "Even if it is twisted, it's still fate. Tell me you don't see yourself in these pages. Because I do, no matter how much I try to ignore it. There's something here, something bigger than us, that we're meant for."

He stares at the papers in my hand for a long moment. Again, I wish I could pull back his layers of inscrutability and see what he's really thinking, feeling. I wonder if this is what Sean was thinking all those times I caught him staring at me in the caves.

Aster pushes the papers onto the tea table. "I think our problems are big enough already." He stands and takes a step before turning back to me. "Sorry for coming only to complain." He forces a tight smile. "I should go." His lips press together.

Somehow, my words disappear, and all I manage is a single nod.

He leaves.