Dedicated to The Word Artist
for all the encouragement and interaction <3

Alaar described the castle to me when the shamans first decided to let me infiltrate it. The royals live on the third floor, in the West Wing. The running-scared little weaklings probably think it gives them some sort of advantage to be in the part of the castle farthest from the gate. The work room for the highest ranking wizards is also on the third floor, but in the East Wing. Unlike the first and second floor, which have four wings, the third floor only has the two, interrupted by a courtyard and the stairs to a tower.

I smile as I walk to the third floor. It still amuses me that my caretaker didn't think I could betray him.

I try to stay roughly between the wizards' work area and the three royals' chambers, pacing back and forth through the halls for hours. I could put my costume to the test by trying to get directions to Aster, but I doubt that's considered a polite thing for a nicely dressed no-one-from-nowhere to ask for.

Maybe I mispredicted where he was. Sure, he'll have to go to his room at some point, but where I'm standing at any given point isn't promised to intercept him.

I stop by a hall table where a painted plate sits on a display stand. Tiny, detailed r'muer fawns cavort along the border, and a silver tree blooms across the middle of the plate. It's so well shined that in it, I stare back at myself. Blonde hair falls around my face in small, false waves formed by keeping my hair in so many little braids for so long. Blush softens my prominent cheekbones, and lipstick attempts to fill out my tight lips. The couple of Ladies I've passed in the halls have full lips and glittery shadow around their eyes. I can't imagine the overload of color a room of them would be. Even just standing alone in this hallway feels like being a gnat on a vein of jewels. This plate by itself has to be worth more than all of the coin I've ever seen.

I want to see it shatter a thousand ways.

In the silence, faint footsteps whisper from what must be a few halls over. I straighten and start to walk that direction. Aster rounds the corner, and my pulse catches, not expecting such quiet steps to be so close.

He stops, eyes narrowed, regarding me.

I throw my arms out in excitement and step forward. "Aster! I'm so glad I found you!"

He draws back. "Excuse me?"

The voices burble with laughter, and a grin splits my face like a fingernail tearing skin. The little princeling can run his fingers across his halls of jewels, but he can't grasp a title. That's mine to use or disregard like these spoiled aristocrats cast aside cold bread.

He steps forward, eyes narrowing. "Idyne?"

I hold my hands out, swishing my skirt forward. "The one and only!"

He holds a hand up to stop me as his other creeps toward his rapier. "What are you doing here?"

"What, you don't like my new look?" I cock my hand on my hip.

"You lied about the portal, didn't you?" His face is hard.

My feigned idiocy infects my tongue, and I spout, "I didn't lie. I just didn't have time to tell you I changed the spell." That's not entirely how I planned to present that. I can feel the scales in my mind tipping back and forth, waiting to crash into insanity.

"You'll be fine," the voices whisper.

"You can't just change the spell of an artefact."

My arms cross. "Maybe you can't, wizard, but kra'kaa magic is centered on artefacts."

He steps forward. "Get out of my castle."

I match him. "Even though I have something you want?"

His brows draw together. "What?"

"Let's stop playing with him," the voices hiss, "and just kill him instead."

I look up and to the side sharply. "What? No." My gaze returns to Aster, whose eyes narrow. My head feels light, like my feet are lifting, floating. A smile lights my face. "Look."

His jaw is tight.

"I have information for you. No—don't guess." I grin. "But before I tell you, I need your word that you won't throw me out or in the dungeon just for being here." I giggle.

"I don't trust you, Idyne. Information is hardly a good enough reason to promise you amnesty."

"It's about Leavi," I sing-song.

He pauses, face like a shaman trying to worm his shade into your mind.

"A whole lot of nonsense he'd find there," the voices taunt.

I hold his gaze, nearly trembling with anticipation and excitement. I feel like I did this morning after I woke up from changing the spell. Gleeful, I ran to get Leavi, nice Leavi. I remember one time, my little sister found a bird with an injured leg and took it to our father, and he showed her how to fix it, and she did, and she healed the little bird. I need Aster to get Leavi out of the dungeon so she'll be safe.

"You tell me, and then I'll decide whether it's enough for your pardon."

My hand goes to my heart. "My pardon? I haven't done anything wrong. I'm trying to help you, Aster, and all you do is distrust me."

"We both know you killed the shaman."

The voices laugh. "Oh, he figured that out, did he?"

I wave my hand. "Who cares about the stupid shaman? You wouldn't have learned anything interesting from him anyway. And who wants to lug around an extra person?" I smile, shrugging. "I did you a favor." An idea occurs to me.

"If Leavi's still in Draó, then there's nothing I can do for her there. If she's not..." He hesitates.

The shamans. He doesn't like the shamans. I don't like the shamans. I bounce on the balls of my feet.

"Then I'm sure I'll find her without you."

"She's in the dungeon," I blurt.

"What?" Surprise and horror register on his face.

I nod. "The guards caught her as we came in and dragged her away."

His gaze drifts to the side for a moment, but then he focuses back on me. "How did you know I would be able to do anything about it?"

I laugh. "It doesn't take a diviner to figure it out." I smirk. "Veradeaux and one of the shamans were holding captive a certain prince of Morineaux." My head cocks. "Leavi rescued you from them. Then, suddenly, you need to get to N'veauvia in a jiffy?"

I giggle again at his reaction to my speech, but somewhere in my mind, I'm screaming that I'm spilling my secrets.

"You were working with them."

"Now that's just stupid. Why would I help you capture Veradeaux if I was working for her? No." I step forward, dangerous elation tickling my tongue. "I have a different deal for you. So long as I stay out of trouble, you leave me be. In return—" I hold his eye. "I'll get the shamans out of your way."

"How many do they have?"

"Seven."

He watches me.

"Unless you think you have a better way to keep them from hurting your friends and family..." A slow grin splits my face.

He glares. "I should just lock you up right now, before you hurt people."

"The only people I've hurt in the time you've known me are those that would have hurt you all." I shrug one shoulder. "But if you want the shamans to claw away at your country until everything you know and love crumbles away—" I raise my eyebrows. "I guess that's your call." I don't know exactly what their job here is, but it doesn't matter as long as he's afraid of them.

Jaw tight, he watches me. I want to hold his gaze, but instead, my eyes wander over the castle stonework. I smile at the tightly-woven tapestries on the wall as I sway back and forth, pleased with myself.

Finally, he says, "Fine. But you only have a month. If you do, and you don't do something to endanger people in the meantime, then I won't bother you again about being here. If you don't, then you belong in the dungeons as a foreigner who broke into the castle during wartime."

I clap. "Wonderful! Sounds like fun." I stick my hand out, peasant-style.

He moves to shake it, face still dark. My fingers close around his wrist instead, and I turn his hand palm-up. My nails dig into the flesh at the bottom of his thumb. His face twists, and he tries to wrench away. Blood wells, and I pop the scab off my thumb and swipe my blood over his. My hand twists to properly shake his now.

"I give you my word—all the shamans dead before the next full moon, and you leave me be." He tries to pull back again, but years of scraping by affords me a tighter grip than his. I bounce on my heels. "If you weren't planning to go back on your promise, there's no reason not to agree."

His glare is deep, like a knife buried in his victim's side, but he stops pulling away. "I give you my word."

Our hands turn red, and between them, a small stone grows. When the discoloration leeches away, I release him, catching the blood-colored bead in my other hand. "Pleasure to work with you."

His gaze is a thundercloud, but before I can leave, he says, "What is that?"

I smile. "If either of us breaks our promise, it'll shatter, demanding the spell's price from whoever lied." I turn away, then glance back over my shoulder. "It won't kill you." I face forward again. "Probably." I flounce off, happy. He'll do what I want, and all I have to do in return is what I already planned to.

A few halls away, I stop and admire a ceiling mural. A woman in thick finery and a heavy crown sits on a galloping r'muer. A crowd of soldiers run behind her, and together they march toward a weak force. Something glows around her hand, and the soldiers raise their swords over their heads.

I giggle. That's a terrible way to depict magic. The only magician I've ever seen whose magic glowed was a wild magic boy that accidentally pulled a house down on top of himself. Besides, Morineause queens don't lead their soldiers into battle. This is obviously a glossed-up sham. Either that, or things used to be radically different.

I wander around until I find the stairs. About halfway down, I sit on the steps. I could just go to sleep here—no reason to find my new bedroom. I lean my head against the curved wall. Who makes an entire castle of stone? That seems like a recipe for very cold nights.

I straighten. No, I need to get to my room so that no one will see me in the same clothes two days in a row. And what if someone finds me here on the steps? They'll think something is wrong with me.

"Something is wrong with you," the voices intone.

I look up at where it feels like they come from. "Shut up!"

I hurry down the stairs and to my room, flopping onto the bed. It could have been worse. My mind is still a little drifty, but at least I'm alone and not where someone can wander across me.

Hatred for the shamans flares brighter within me, and I get up and change clothes before curling into the blankets. They might have shattered me, but I've formed myself into a nasty, jagged knife from all those broken pieces. Travel, transformation, oaths. My plans are finally coming together.

"We will kill them," the voices' darkly sweet tones ring.

I smile. "Yes. We will." Comforted and warm, I let my eyes drift close.