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prayed for him, and for our own fields, hoping his fires would never spread that far.
    Without effort, I found the path home and had only started down it, when my brother Edward came racing by, nearly knocking me over.
    “What are you about for?” he demanded as he ran by, not bothering to stop.
    I could have asked the same of him, though I guessed it easily enough. He and his wife had built a little hovel of a home on the eastern corner of Papa’s land, and Eddie often came over when their flour barrel or some other commodity ran short. I imagined he hurried through the night now because his bride of six months had demanded something of him and expected it delivered quickly. The way she had Eddie wrapped around her finger disgusted me.
    When I’d spoken of it to Papa, he said there were things about men I did not yet understand, and that I should never underestimate the power of womanhood. Perhaps he was right. And right about magic, too. Whatever power Vetrie, my sister-in-law, used was fierce.
    Eddie continued to run, and I kept up easily, though I felt bone weary. It often seemed as if the ground moved beneath my feet with little effort on my part— yet another trait to make Mother turn over in her grave. I held the swinging lantern out in front and jogged over the uneven earth.
    “Father wanted tea, and Samuel took the last of our leaves,” I said in answer to Eddie’s question. Thievery runs in the family , I might have added.
    “Is he there?” Eddie demanded.
    “Samuel?” I felt my breath coming in gasps. We were running uphill, and fast though I was, it took two of my strides to match my brother’s one. The smoke seemed to be thickening, and I began to worry our neighbor’s fire had gotten out of control.
    “Aye. He’s with father?” Eddie asked, his tone uncharacteristically concerned.
    I shook my head. “No. Only Papa is at home, and he’s aslee—” The word died in my throat as we crested the hill and the bright orange glow of fire filled the night. Our humble home was engulfed in flames.
    “Papa!” I surged ahead, hurdling the broken pasture fence before Eddie. Twenty paces from the house, I set the lantern on the ground and ran forward, arm held to my face, trying to shield it from the intense heat rolling toward us in waves.
    “No.” Eddie grasped my free arm and hauled me back. “It’s too late. There’s nothing to be done,” he shouted above the roar of the flames. “I spied it all the way from our place. It’s been burning a while.”
    “Papa—” I cried, straining against my brother’s hold. No answering call came. Eddie kept hold of my arm, and we ran around the perimeter of the house, as close as we dared get, shouting for Papa and receiving no answer. By the time we’d come around front again, angry flames reached skyward through the roof. Eddie pulled me farther away as the second floor crashed onto the first.
    “Papa,” I cried hoarsely, desperate to hear his reply. None came.
    A crushing weight pressed against my chest. The fire was my fault. I was the one who had built it up before leaving. It was I who’d left it unattended.
    I fell to the ground, a heap of skirts and sorrow as my wailing began.

Hale, Prince of Baldwinidad, uncorked a third bottle of wine, tipped it to his lips and drank deeply, setting the bottle aside only when more trickled down the sides of his mouth than entered. Wiping the back of his hand across his face, he stared at the woman sitting at the other end of the long table, his lip curling in a sneer as he followed her steady, focused gaze.
    “Three months more, Mother, and your disillusionment will be over. Whatever will you do then?” Hale leaned back in his chair, his feet resting casually upon the table where, inside the glass in which it was encased, a bleeding heart— the last of eighteen— reached near full bloom on the vine.
    “I will rejoice that I no longer have to suffer your ill company.” Queen Nadamaris swept her hand