“I’ve been one of her bodyguards for nearly a year. I know her well enough,” Cameron said somewhat stiffly.
Sophie was starting to wish rather desperately that a hole would open up before her feet and swallow her. She really didn’t want Cameron to have to tell his brother that they had . . . transgressed. Not when she was present, at least.
Liam turned his gaze to her. “And you, Lady Sophia. Are you amenable to marrying my little brother?”
She forced a smile. “I am happy to serve my queen-to-be as she bids, Your Grace. Lieutenant Mackenzie has always been kind to me. I’m sure we will be very happy together.” She looked down, hoping she looked demure and maidenly, like a well-bred young court flower rather than shifty.
“I see,” Liam said. He took a breath. Blew it out. “Well. I imagine that Father might have had many things to say on this subject, but he is no longer here to speak them.”
Cameron shifted in his seat. She rather thought he was thinking that his father’s passing, when it came to this particular matter, was somewhat of a blessing. She could only agree with him.
“And,” Liam continued, “it is a good match for you, Cameron. Better than the queen-to-be has considered, perhaps.”
Sophie turned her attention back to him, wondering how he had reached that conclusion.
“How so?” Cameron said, echoing her thoughts.
Liam shrugged. “Did the commander have time to go through the casualty lists with you?”
Cameron shook his head.
Sophie’s stomach grew tight. Casualty lists. What did they have to do with her?
“The west and east towers took a lot of people with them when they fell,” Liam said, voice somber. “More than just Father. So many people here for the birthday celebrations.”
Sophie felt a cry of protest rise in her throat, choked it back. It wasn’t her fault. It was the court that wanted the birthday celebrations, not her. It wasn’t her fault. This wasn’t her fault.
“Who?” Cameron asked, sounding wary.
“Well, the Erl of Farkeep’s entire family, for a start,” Liam said.
Sophie froze, distracted from the guilt by a chill spearing through her. A previous Erl of Farkeep had married her grandmother’s elder sister. A royal witch. A whole branch of the line direct gone. The line closest to the throne after Stefan’s, in fact.
She counted frantically in her head, trying to think.
“Who else?” Cameron demanded.
“The lists are long,” Liam said. “And falling stone and fire pay no heed to noble birth. But before you try to figure the situation, I am guessing that your lady wife-to-be is now fifth or sixth in line to the throne. Depending on how Princess Margaretta figures in all of this. We’ve never had a queen who wasn’t a strong witch, and her power is small. Those above Sophie are all women save Barron Nester— the new Barron Nester, who is yet to be of age. And I have no idea if he’s shown any aptitude as a blood mage. And, besides Eloisa, Sophie is the only other royal witch in that number.”
Which meant, Sophie realized, that her true position—if the court wouldn’t accept Margaretta due to her lack of power—was more like second or third. She looked at Liam in horror.
“Welcome to the family, milady,” he said with a smile that was in no way reassuring.
By the time Sophie returned to the palace the next afternoon, she was nearly exhausted. The Domina had carted her off to the temple for “instruction” at the first opportunity after Sophie had presented herself at the queen-to-be’s apartments that morning.
Instruction meant using magic. A lot of magic. She felt as though she’d been in a battle, muscles aching from the unfamiliar effort, even though her mind buzzed with the aftershock of using her power.
Combined with a night spent lying mostly awake in what was apparently Cameron’s room, trying to distract her madly spinning brain from contemplating the possible consequences of Liam’s news about her place in the succession by toying with the trio of earth-lights sitting on the mantel above the fireplace, she wanted sleep quite badly.
Then she pictured the large empty bed in that room back in the Inglewood apartments and how alone she’d felt lying there. She’d spent her sleepless hours lighting the earth-lights one by one and then extinguishing them again, drawing on the ley lines she could feel skimming through the earth so many feet below her. She’d been very careful with the power she expended, not wanting to explain shattered earth-lights to the erl or his wife in the morning. Or to Cameron, for that matter.
Cameron, whom she hadn’t seen since he’d left with Liam and Jeanne the previous day. Jeanne, at least, had been sympathetic and had been happy to provide food for Sophie in Cameron’s room, so she hadn’t had to face meeting the strangers downstairs. She’d crept out just after dawn, leaving a note for Jeanne with one of the door guards, explaining she was required to attend on Eloisa.
She wasn’t looking forward to returning to the Mackenzies without Cameron.
Not that she had much choice. It was either the Mackenzies or beg a bed from one of the other ladies-in-waiting. At least at the Mackenzies, she had a semblance of privacy.
So far the only bright spot in the day had been the Domina removing the sigils—the proof of her rejection—from her hands with a foul-smelling liquid that had stung like fire. But pain was better than every woman in the palace who’d ever been through the ritual knowing what the sigils meant.
The ley line that ran north-south through the palace shimmered beside the path to the main gate. She had no desire to step into it now. Enough magic for one day. But the dancing light was a pleasant distraction, and she let her tired eyes focus on it and trace the patterns in the sparkling glimmers rather than keep thinking.