A Queen of Thieves & Chaos (Fate & Flame, #3)

Heat seers into my flesh, my jaw clenching from the burn. But it’s gone as quickly as it came.

“There.” She releases my hand. “Now you are marked.”

A dull brown symbol fills the fleshy part of my thumb—a circle with two interlocked crescent moons. I’d heard about this. “Wait, does this mean—” Panic stirs inside me as I look from it to her. “Have I been—”

“No.” She smiles reassuringly. “But if you were to be infected, it would glow and that would serve as a warning not to take your vein.”

My shoulders sink.

“Do the baby too,” Kazimir says. “You said your other two were in the cellars?”

“Yes.”

A frown flitters across her face. “I hate to wake a sleeping baby.”

And she certainly will. “Wait. Can she mark the other two first? Suri will be screaming after this, and if they see that … It will make things easier for all of us if they go first.”

Kazimir sighs heavily. “Wait here.” He ducks out, sending the guard in to watch over us. As if a baker, a newborn, and a tortured priestess are intent to conspire.

A tense energy lingers in the room.

Wendeline swallows. “How was the childbirth?”

“How it always is. Difficult.”

“I cannot imagine. Will you allow me to offer you aid?” She reaches out but then freezes, checking for my reaction. “Only if you would like it.”

“Of course. I’m on the mend, but speeding it up would be great.”

She sets her healing hand over my abdomen. Almost instantly, a calm floods my body, soothing dull aches and twinges of discomfort. “There … that should have sped things along nicely.”

“Thank you.”

“I did not realize how much I missed using my gift for others. So thank you.”

I remember the day in the sanctum, when the priestess settled her hand on my swollen belly and confirmed the baby inside was progressing well. “Could you tell me … I mean, she seems to be fine, but you never do know, do you?” There are plenty of stories of healthy babies who go to sleep in their cradles and never wake up. If there is something to be seen, perhaps the caster could fix it?

“The baby? Oh, certainly.” Wendeline sets a hand over Suri’s chest and closes her eyes again.

I watch her serene face as I did all those weeks ago.

Suddenly, her eyes flash open, shock in them.

“What is it? Is something wrong with her?”

“No.” She punctuates that with a headshake, schooling her expression. “She is perfectly fine. Healthy and strong. And perfect.” She peers down at Suri. “Tell me, when was she born?”

“Uh … it’s not even been a fortnight yet.”

“A fortnight,” she echoes, and her thoughts seem to drift.

“Why?”

“Oh, no reason, I was merely curious—”

The door flies open.

“What need do you have of them?” Corrin demands to know as Kazimir leads Mika and Lilou in, the lady’s maid on their heels.

“King’s orders,” he throws over his shoulder before disregarding her. “I know this one’s yours. What about this other one?”

“Priestess!” Mika exclaims, his face lighting up as he rushes forward. “I haven’t seen you in so long!”

“It has been a while.” Wendeline laughs, taking him in. “And how is that hand of yours?”

He holds it up and flexes it open and closed in proof. “Can’t even tell no more. I can climb trees again.”

“And trellises up the castle wall,” Corrin adds, accusation in her tone.

“That is wonderful news. Can I see it more closely for a moment?” Wendeline holds out her palm.

He readily agrees, slapping his hand into hers.

“See? It’s almost as good as new!”

“Almost. I’m here to make it even better. Now, I must add something to your hand, and you must remain very still, okay?”

“Add something?” His face scrunches up. “Like another finger?”



“What need is there for this when I’m not a tributary and they are far too young?” Corrin scowls at the dull mark on her hand, her words obscured by Suri’s shrill screams. Beside Corrin, Lilou sobs. Mika is the only one unbothered by the momentary burn, holding his hand out in front of him to admire his new brand. Wendeline placed it over his scar, partially hiding it.

“All mortals within the castle are to see the priestess for their test today, without exception,” Kazimir says with forced patience. “Take the kids back to sorting in the cellar. Gracen, the king seeks an audience with you.”

“Again?” I only just saw him this morning, not that I’m going to complain. But why? My heart races with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

“Yes. Again.” He scowls at the baby in my arms. “Can you make it go back to sleep now?”

Corrin shakes her head at him. “Here. I will take her.”

“Please. Allow me,” a voice calls out.

As one, we turn, a round of exclamations escaping us as Sabrina approaches along the hall, smiling sheepishly. Gone is the finery she wore as the king’s tributary. Now, she dons a modest dove-gray dress—typical household garb. On her hand is the same symbol as ours, but it glows a brilliant silver, impossible to miss.

“When did they let you out?” I burst.

“Not long ago.” She collects a wailing Suri from my arms. “Shh …” She croons, rocking her. “It’s okay. I know what it’s like to be scared. I was so scared too.” She peers up at me with glossy blue eyes. “The king came to visit me in my cell. He said you spoke on my behalf.”

“I did, but …” I didn’t think it would matter. Atticus listened to me?

“Come on, the king does not wait for anyone,” Kazimir urges.

“I’ll get her settled again.” A tear rolls down her cheek. “Thank you, Gracen.”

With a squeeze of her forearm and a warning to my other two to be good, I follow the captain down the hall and up the stairs, smoothing my hands over my dress as best I can, wishing I’d had time to fix myself.

Kazimir leads me down the same great hall he did last night, only where before it was vacant, now lords and ladies and a few tributaries linger. They pay no attention to me as we pass, which I’m thankful for.

The two guards at the bottom of the grand staircase that leads to Atticus’s chambers don’t question us, don’t even flinch, as we pass.

“How is the king?”

“He’s been better. There is a lot going on in the kingdom, and none of it is good. Plus, as you well know, his last tributary was tainted, so he suffers. Headaches, weakness, and the like.”

“Why has he not taken a new one yet?” I’ve heard there are still a few in the castle to choose from.

“He would not risk another guard’s life, so he has abstained. Now, thanks to the priestess’s help, he no longer needs a sampler.”

I look at the dull brand on my hand. The king wants you. That was what Kazimir said earlier. I knew this was coming. Atticus hinted last night. A wild mix of emotions hits me—of fear stirred by long nights and painful memories, of nervousness that, in the end, I will not please him.

What will it be like to be the king’s tributary?

“Is it really such a bad thing?” Kazimir asks. He must sense the swirl of anxiety.