I pictured the castle. Safety. Healers. Help.
The snowgum’s large body slammed into me, nearly tearing me from the prince as the reek of its burned flesh singed my nose. But I didn’t let go of the prince. I kept my eyes squeezed shut as I imagined the castle again. Murl. Safety.
The realm suddenly flashed out of existence, and then we were torn through mist and shadows, air and wind.
The next thing I knew, the prince and I were crashing onto the ground at the castle’s outer courtyard. Guards were only feet away.
Their shocked faces beheld me as my mind began to spin. The last thing I remembered was collapsing to the ground with the prince at my side.
A warm hand held mine. It was soft, smooth, and thin. Fingers brushed over my skin, back and forth, and I frowned when I detected the scent of roses, then the feel of smooth cream rolling across my palm. Someone was putting lotion that smelled of flowers on my hand?
My eyes fluttered open.
I blinked, then blinked again. Surely, I was dreaming, or dead and dreaming if dreams were possible for the deceased, because Queen Lissandra sat at my side in the Exorbiant Chamber. A beautiful scarf covered her head. The rich blue silk reminded me of the shawls I’d often worn back home to hide my hair.
She smiled faintly and picked up my other hand before slathering it with the rose-scented lotion. “I figured you would wake soon.”
She moved with sure purpose over my palms, coating my fingers. Her warm hands felt soft and comforting. The way my mother’s hands had once felt.
This couldn’t be happening. The last memory I had was of Isalee, the field, the prince, the snowgum—
“Where’s Prince Norivun?” Alarm skated through me as I snapped out of her gentle touch.
“In the healer’s infirmary. It’s thanks to you that he’s alive.”
A heartbeat passed before that reassurance hit me. I sagged back against the bed, only then realizing that my heart was pounding, and a tender ache seared my ribs. I’d thought for certain he was dead. That the snowgum—
But wait, how did we get back?
“The guards tell me that you mistphased him here,” she added in her serene tone.
I smoothed my confused expression as a blurry memory of slamming into the ground by the castle’s outer wall filled my mind. Frowning, I sat up more. “There must be a mistake. I don’t know how to mistphase.”
“Perhaps you don’t consciously, but your magic did.”
I swallowed, realizing my mouth felt dry. As though sensing it, the queen lifted a cup from the table near my bed and held it out to me. “It contains a tonic that will help soothe aches and pains.”
I glanced down at myself. “Am I injured?”
“You bear no cuts or abrasions, but a large bruise has formed on your chest and back. I expect you’ll be tender for several days unless you drink this.” She nodded toward the glass, her voice soft.
Bringing the cup to my lips, I sniffed. I scented nothing. I took a drink, and a burst of bubbles coated my tongue, then the hint of fruit. Tilting my head back, I finished the entire glass in three gulps.
“Murl said you would be thirsty.”
I frowned. “He did?”
She nodded. “You’ve been asleep nearly a day.”
My eyes popped. “I have been?”
“You’ve been sleeping since you returned, most likely because you completely drained your magic and needed to replenish it.”
“But my training—” I was supposed to have met Matron Olsander. She’d been expecting me. And then Sir Featherton had planned to stop by to finish explaining the Trial.
The queen returned to slathering lotion on me, unperturbed. “King Novakin has excused you from your Trial duties until tomorrow, unless you choose to return earlier.” Her lips pressed together, and a flash of what almost looked like anger scoured her face before her expression smoothed, making me wonder if I’d imagined that intense moment of rage.
“And Prince Norivun, how is he?”
“Awake and flaming mad.” She smiled, as though not the least bit surprised at her son’s behavior. “He’s insisted that he be discharged from the infirmary and brought to see you, but Murl won’t let him leave. The cut on his belly went too deep, and he’s likely to tear open the healing Murl has done if he leaves too soon.”
“But he’ll heal completely?” I held my breath.
“He will. By tonight, Murl believes his healing affinity will have soaked in enough for Norivun to only bear a thin scar.”
I sagged against the covers once more, relieved yet still confused about why the queen was at my bedside. I didn’t know how to politely ask, so I settled with, “Are Daiseeum and my sister preoccupied with something, Your Majesty?”
The queen’s eyebrows lifted. “I’m unsure. Shall I ring for them?”
“No, it’s okay. I just wondered why—” My cheeks burned. Mother Below, I never was taught how to properly address royalty.
A knowing smile curved her lips. “You’re wondering why I’m here.”
“I’m sorry.” I twisted my fingers together, the lotion making them slippery.
“Don’t be.” Her gaze drifted to my hair. Black locks fell around my shoulders.
She pulled the scarf from her hair, and I swallowed a gasp when the female staring back at me suddenly looked uncannily similar to my own image. It took me a second to realize that she wasn’t wearing her customary illusion spell. She must have removed it before she donned her scarf.
Raven-dark hair fell in a waterfall down her back. Her hair was as straight as an arrow, long and thick. And it was the exact shade as mine.
“I wanted to acquaint myself more with the female who bears hair like mine and to also see who my son has become so invested in.”
My earlier blush returned with a vengeance. “Do you know why our hair looks like this, Your Majesty?” I asked, desperate to keep our conversation away from the prince.
She capped the lotion and set it on my bedside table. “I do not, and I’ve spent a fair amount of time trying to discover an answer.”
“Oh.” Any hope I’d once had of explaining my strange genetics vanished. If the queen of the Solis continent was unable to secure an explanation, the Mother only knew that I would never be able to. “Do you know anyone else who looks like us, my queen?”
She shook her head. “There have been Solis in the past with hair the shade of night—I’ve found that much in my studies, but other than a fluke of genetics, I’ve found no reason to explain it. Every other Solis who’s had it had no family history of ebony hair, and it’s a rare trait. I’ve met no others like us in my lifetime. You’re the first.”
“Truly?”
She nodded.