Winter’s stomach began to churn.
“Master Gertman tells me that you have not been improving in your lessons,” said Levana, floating around a desk. “In fact, he says that you have not shown any sign of the Lunar gift in nearly a year.”
Winter felt a sting of betrayal, though she knew it wasn’t fair. The tutor was doing his job, and keeping the queen apprised of Winter’s progress was a part of it.
Her tutor could not be blamed for Winter’s choices.
Lowering her gaze, Winter did her best to look embarrassed. “It’s true. I don’t know what happened. I thought things were going well, but then … well, there was that suicide. You remember? The servant who threw herself into the fountain?”
“What of it?”
Winter shrugged sadly. “I tried to stop her once before. I used my gift to bring her away from the throne room ledge and it worked. I thought I’d done so well. But then … after she died, it was as though my gift began to weaken.” She frowned and shook her head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I try. I try so hard. But it’s like … it’s like my gift is broken.”
To her surprise, tears were starting behind her lashes.
Quite the actress she was becoming.
Levana sneered. She did not look even remotely sympathetic. “I had hoped you would progress well and become a useful member of this court, but it seems that you might take after your father after all.” She paused. “You are aware that he was not adept at his gift, either.”
Winter nodded. “Guards never are.”
She had no idea if her mother—her biological mother—had been skilled with her gift. No one ever spoke of her, and she knew better than to ask.
“But we do know, don’t we, that you are not as talentless as your father, because Master Gertman tells me that at one point you showed marvelous promise. In fact, he feels that you were once one of his most outstanding students, and he is as baffled as anyone over your current lack of ability. I wonder if this isn’t all due to some … psychological trauma. Perhaps pertaining to that suicide?”
“Maybe, but I don’t know how to fix it. Maybe I need to see a doctor rather than a tutor.” Winter barely smothered her own smirk. A doctor. What might they prescribe for the girl who was going crazy, who heard monsters clawing at her door nearly every night?
But she would not mention that. She knew what was wrong with her. She knew how to make the visions stop. But she wouldn’t give in to them. She was stronger than the monsters.
“No,” said Levana. “I have another idea, Princess. A bit of added motivation, to assist with your studies.”
She opened a drawer, smiling serenely. Every movement was graceful and precise. The queen moved like a dancer, always. So controlled. So lovely to watch, even now, despite the cruelty that Winter knew lay beneath her beauty.
She waited, expecting a lesson plan or some trivial instructions for practicing her gift.
Instead, the queen produced a knife.
The handle was carved from milky crystal and the blade was obsidian black. Like her stepmother, it was both threatening and exquisite. Winter’s stomach dropped. Her head spun with alarm, but her feet were cemented to the carpet. “Stepmother?”
“You will learn to use your gift, Winter. You will not embarrass me and this crown any more than you already have.” Pacing toward her, Levana held out the knife, handle first.
It took a while, but finally Winter forced herself to take it. Her hand was shaking, but she knew that she took the knife of her own will. She was not being coerced.
Not yet.
She had seen this scene play out dozens of times in the throne room. Criminals being sentenced to self-inflicted death.
“I don’t understand.”
“You are a very pretty child.” Levana’s expression remained poised. Winter’s arm still trembled. “We would not want to ruin that prettiness, now would we?”
Winter swallowed.
“Manipulate me, Winter. Go ahead.”
“What?” she squeaked, certain she’d heard wrong. She’d only practiced on malleable servants in the past. She wasn’t sure she could manipulate her stepmother even if she tried—and she wasn’t going to try. She couldn’t, not after working so hard to free herself of her Lunar instincts.
But what was the queen planning?
Images of her own throat being slit flashed through Winter’s thoughts.
Her heart pounded.
“Prove that you are capable of a simple little manipulation,” said Levana. “That you aren’t a waste of my time and my protection. That you aren’t the mockery of a princess the people of Artemisia believe you are. Just one little tiny manipulation, and … I will let you go.”
Winter looked down at the knife in her hand.
“Or,” Levana continued, her tone sharpening, “if you fail, I will give you a new reason to practice your glamour. I will give you something to hide. Believe me, I know how strong that motivation can be. Do you understand?”
Winter did not understand.
She nodded anyway.