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    â€œAre you nervous?” the queen asked.
    â€œNo,” Aislynn lied. She wanted to ask her father who Adviser Hull had included on his list of suitors, but she knew her dance card would only be revealed after she was Introduced.
    â€œYour Majesties.” Madame Odette joined their small party. She was accompanied by another woman in an identical uniform, whose face was stern and angular. They both bowed to the king and queen. For the second time that evening, a chill darted up Aislynn’s spine.
    â€œMadame Odette,” the queen said, taking the older woman’s hand. “What a pleasure to see you.”
    â€œThe pleasure is all mine,” the headmistress replied, though her tone was devoid of any. “I was hoping for the opportunity to talk with your adviser. Has he arrived?”
    â€œWe haven’t seen him yet. I assume he’s preparing for the many Introductions he’ll be facilitating tonight.” The king gave his daughter a small smile. “Including Aislynn’s, of course.”
    â€œOf course.” But the headmistress seemed doubtful. Aislynn’s stomach turned.
    â€œIs there something we need to be aware of?” the queen asked, glancing at her daughter with concern.
    â€œThere are some . . .” Madame Odette cleared her throat as she turned her cold gaze toward the portraits across the room. “. . . incidents that need to be brought to his attention.” Her gaze swung back to Aislynn, and she smiled unpleasantly. “Adviser . . . Hull, isn’t it?”
    Fear stuck in Aislynn’s throat like an unswallowed piece of bread. She had been so good, so careful, for months now. Was she being punished for her foolishness this afternoon? Would the headmistress delay her Introduction for such a small infraction?
    â€œI’m sure it won’t take me long to find him,” the headmistress continued, running a thin finger along the edge of her wimple. “Your Majesties.” Madame Odette and her silent companion curtsied before disappearing into the crowd.
    â€œAislynn?” her mother’s voice was shrill. Inside her chest, Aislynn’s kettle heart began to shake.
    â€œWhat is she talking about?” her father asked.
    Why had she allowed herself to get angry today, of all days? If the headmistress delayed her Introduction and made her wait for the next ball to be presented, Aislynn had only herself to blame. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the magic now burning hot inside of her.
    â€œI have to . . . I need . . .” Throwing her apologies over her shoulder, she pushed past her parents. “I need some air. I’m sorry.”
    Aislynn darted to the open doors, practically spilling out onto the terrace that wrapped around the side of the ballroom. The wide row of steps that led down into the quiet moonlit garden was deserted, but Aislynn didn’t dare risk being seen, so she crossed the flagstones to where a small bench sat near the top of the steps, hidden behind a rose arbor. She dropped herself onto the cold seat and gathered the skirt of her dress over her knees.
    With a shaking hand, she rolled down one of her stockings, exposing a bare leg. Marking her skin were at least a dozen welts, ugly and pink.
    Placing her hand on her lower thigh, Aislynn gritted her teeth, bracing herself. For a moment, there was nothing but the relief of expelling the magic, like the release of a long-held breath. Then pain slammed into her. It was an agony worse than the tightest corset, worse than the prick of a spindle, and worse than the sting of a hot oven door.
    She could feel her skin pucker and knew that the scar would be as large as a peach pit and just as jagged. Aislynn was ashamed of her inability to control her magic, but at least she had learned how to manage it. Though it burned, there was a sense of relief.
    She waited a minute for the pain to lessen, and when it faded into