Brayton felt the knot in his stomach tighten. Marie looked serene, holding Anton’s hands as they exchanged vows.

Mine, the voice in his mind echoed. She’s supposed to be mine. But instead she was marrying Anton. Golden, perfect, careless Anton. He’d be careless with her too, in the end, like his father and his women, like he’d been with everyone else in his life.

Brayton wandered the courtyards and fountains, then into the city, but there was no respite from the sickenly sweet joy.

“Did you see her?” Two young girls he found himself sitting next to in a tavern were talking. “She looked so beautiful.”

“I was too busy looking at the prince,” the other one sighed, “he’s so in love with her, you can see it so plainly.” He stood up and stalked back out to the streets and back to the University and flopped on his cot and slept.

He awoke with a start and was someplace else entirely, a dark marble hall that mirrored the great hall in the palace, but rather than the intricate carved throne, a simple black one sat at one end.

And on the throne was a woman, she was ghostly pale with very light blonde hair, and dressed in whispy black.

“Lady Amina,” Brayton knelt to her. “Have I died?” He’d certainly wanted to. She laughed.

“Of course not,” she said, “but I did want to look at you.” He looked up at her. “You desire revenge?” He swallowed.

“Yes,” he said, meeting the goddess’s eyes.

“It will be yours,” she said softly. “The union of the Tumona line with Dovetail’s is of great pleasure to my siblings. I must have balance with them, your line will provide it.”

“Mine?” Brayton asked. She nodded. “I don’t understand.”

“In time you will,” she said, “do you pledge yourself to me?” She offered her hand.

“Yes, My Lady Amina,” he kissed it. “I am yours.”

He walked into the room where she was waiting.

“You came,” he said, Marie looked at him, her eyes alight with fury.

“I was summoned,” she said. He swallowed. “What is it you want from me?” He stepped closer. She drew back.

“Marie,” he said, “come with me, I can keep you safe.”

“Why should I trust a word you say?” She hissed. “You who banished my husband and threatened my child?”

“Because I love you,” he whispered. She laughed then, not a pleasant laugh but harsh and mocking. “I do Marie, it’s always been you.” She smirked.

“It was one night, ten years ago,” she said, “I didn’t even enjoy it.” He narrowed his eyes. He’d dreamt so many times of that night in Brightcoast, in Marie’s bed, her in his arms. She’d loved him back, he’d known it for sure. “Besides, I thought I was nothing but a deceiving witch, who seduced and corrupted your beloved cousin?”

“Marie,” he sighed.

“Or wait, I’m the innocent jilted wife, small and insignificant, as he pursues his true love, the Countess of Pantona?” She crossed her arms. “Which is it, Brayton? Am I scheming and ambitious or small and wounded?”

“They’ll kill you,” he said, “but I can stop that.” She scoffed. “And Annalise, she could,” he couldn’t even frame the lie. Marie knew, her daughter had to die.

“Do not speak of my daughter again,” she said. “Certainly don’t use her name, how dare you?” He stepped close to her. “I don’t know how you sold your lies, Brayton, but do you truly think I would believe you?” She turned and stalked out of the room.

Two days later he received word that the queen had disappeared from her rooms, and no one knew who she was. He seethed.

It was one night ten years ago. Her voice was haunting him now. And even more. I didn’t even enjoy it.

“She’s a child,” he objected. Amina stared him down.

“I chose her,” The Goddess shrugged. “You surrendered to my will, Brayton Dovetail.” He scowled. “Marina Sanpierre is to birth my sword as Marie bore my sister’s.” Brayton awoke with a start and walked to his window and looked out onto the courtyard. Marina Sanpierre was all of seven years old, and she made a flower bloom.

The gods played tricks. He’d loved one woman in his life, and she was dead, and by the time of her death she’d despised him.

Marie’s face danced in his mind constantly. The look of horror when he’d offered to shelter her and Annalise as Dovetail rose in flames. Her face draining of blood and life as his knife left her gut in the fields of Pantona.

But the girl was powerful, that had never been in doubt. And Amina had chosen her.

“May I help you with something, My Lord?” He was startled by Marina’s appearance in the drawing room. When had she become beautiful? “You sent for me?”

How old was she now? Thirteen or fourteen? The letters she wrote to Tristan Dugarry certainly revealed she was closer to womanhood than he’d realized. Her depth of feeling for the boy would be heartening if it weren’t so inconvenient.

And the resemblance between her and Marie, always present had become overwhelming.

“I did,” he said, “The Sisters tell me your work is going well.” She nodded and kept her eyes down.

“I am very grateful for your interest in my education, My Lord,” she said softly. He stood up and walked over to her. “I’m afraid I’m not progressing well enough to merit it.”

“I’m sure that isn’t so,” he said, lifting her chin. She looked up at him. “Your power is extraordinary, and it needs to be nurtured. Be patient.” He felt his own reserve of patience dwindle.

No, he couldn’t claim Marina Sanpierre until he knew Annalise’s fate. Or at least until he could legally take the throne, which wasn’t for another two years.

“Was there anything else you needed?” She asked, her voice trembling. He smiled.

“No,” he said gently, “I will see you this evening.” She curtsied and walked out.

He sat in the small cell beneath the palace that had been his, when Annalise walked in. He looked at her. He’d heard some of the older guards talking about the young princess, discussing her similarities to her mother.

Idiots. Annalise was nothing like his Marie. She was Anton’s daughter, through and through, brash and arrogant and careless and far too sure of herself. But these visits of hers smelled like something different, something tempered and patient and deeply civilized.

That wasn’t Marie either. That was Caleb Pantona.

“When did you know?” She asked him that day. He raised his eyebrows.

“Know what?” He asked. She frowned.

“That you were chosen,” she said. He smirked.

“On your parents’ wedding day,” he said. Her eyes went dark. Anton again. “Amina asked if I wanted revenge. I did.” She swallowed. “You’re a lost cause to her, of course but I imagine you’d take her up too at this point.”

“I don’t want revenge,” she said sharply, “I want justice.” He laughed.

“No you don’t,” he said, “oh, Caleb tamed you well enough, Cousin, to pass for others, but you’re still Dovetail, still Anessa’s heir. She was a conqueror, heedless and greedy. We lead with our blood, our hearts, we don’t get to be satisfied.” She swallowed, looking afraid. “Your mother never quite understood that.” She turned on her heel and stomped away. “Until next time, Princess.” He called after her with a laugh.

The palace was mostly empty, as Annalise had taken the court to Brightcoast, a practice he’d put a stop to almost immediately.

It was one night ten years ago, Marie’s voice had echoed for the past sixteen. No, there was no need to go to Brightcoast ever again.

“Eat something.” He looked up. He hadn’t seen Sebastian Anselm in maybe twenty years. The Mastero shoved a plate through a small door.

“No appetite,” Brayton said. “What do you care?”

“Annalise wants you to live for reasons surpassing my understanding,” Anselm shrugged.

“Because she’s fighting her nature,” Brayton said. “You know it.” Anselm frowned.

“I never agreed with your assessment of your family’s nature, my Prince,” Anselm said. Brayton looked at him.

“I’m not a Prince, Sebastian,” Brayton said softly.

“Your father’s pride robbed you of the title,” Anselm said. “Though Howard should have fought for you.” Brayton was surprised. “A great many of us failed you. I have a many regrets and your treatment as a boy is among the worst.” Brayton frowned. “It doesn’t change anything of course, but still.”

“So you think she should have killed me,” Brayton leaned back. Anselm nodded. “Why do you think she refrained?”

“Caleb Pantona advised it, and she can’t argue with him now, your fault,” Anselm shrugged, “and she’s always been contrary, the easiest way to get her to do what you like is to tell he not to do it.” Brayton stared baldly at him. “So perhaps that is your legacy to her.”

“She’s Anton’s,” Brayton frowned.

“Not entirely,” Anselm said. “She’s more thoughtful, more open to advice, that’s Marie. And the Pantonas have left their mark, she won’t ever be a distant or ceremonial ruler, her hands will be dirty, she’ll know her people and that was always their way.”

“She would come to see me,” Brayton said, “and just ask questions.” Anselm smiled.

“This unsettled you,” he laughed, “because it’s your way.” Brayton nodded. “You don’t like thinking of her as your kin, she was the obstacle for so long.” Anselm sighed. “Meanwhile, she is treating you as a person, remarkable, difference that.” The old man went to leave but paused. “Marina Sanpierre is remarkable.” Brayton smirked.

“She is,” Brayton said.

“In spite of you,” Anselm said. He turned and left. They didn’t see, without him Marina Sanpierre would have spent her life analyzing sea weed in Brightcoast like her mother had. He had seen her honed and made extraordinary.

He eventually fell asleep.

“You know,” he startled at Amina’s laconic voice, “it isn’t so much that you failed, but how spectacularly you did so.” She was walking, drawing her hands along the bars of the cell. “Not only is the girl even more firmly entrenched in my sister’s light, Annalise Dovetail will likely breed with that lesser son of her island and my brother chose the bitch pup from the merchant twins.” Brayton stared in disbelief at the goddess.

“You managed a visitation to scold me?” He asked. She sighed and flicked a hand and opened the door.

“Fail again and it is the end,” she said. He stumbled out the door. Not a dream at all, then.

He knew he had to work his way south, despite feeling as though he should run very far away.

It was agony, this fall. Pain and fire shooting through him worse than the forced starvation of the last blessings.

And the visions.

Marie, more content in a barn fleeing for her life basking in Anton’s smiles than she’d been in a palace beside him.

Marina, sleeping soundly and peacefully in Tristan Dugarry’s arms.

Marie whispering that she loved Annalise as a baby and would protect her from everything hunting them.

Marina on her knees before Damian Lestoff.

Marie, swallowing and gasping Anton’s name with her last breath.

Marina pleasuring the witch girl.

It was enough to split his mind. Though when it was settled he knew he needed to leave. Getting out of Cammadan had proved tricky, the only train he could follow into passed through Pantona, a massive risk, but that idiot innkeeper, (also featured in a few visions, also with Marina, damn him) had let him pass without thinking. He’d made his way to Rastan and began working as a healer, it was something.

She’d walked in the room and he’d felt it warm up. Raniere had practically run to her. Of course, what man wouldn’t? She’d been a beautiful girl, but womanhood had made her stunning. She was furiously ignoring Lestoff, and given the way the little merchant bitch had attached to him, he shouldn’t be surprised. Carolina Dugarry was either dimmer or more vindictive than he’d anticipated. Repaying her husband’s clear betrayal by taking his lover’s former paramour into her bed was either insane of brilliant. Or possibly both.

“I don’t see what all the fuss is about,” Princess Rila said. Brayton smirked at her. He’d sampled the princess’s favors himself. Rila was an amusing diversion. “She’s lovely but that’s surely not a reason for the world to turn upside down, or for my brother to make a fool of himself.”

“To the Cammadie she’s a reminder of Queen Marie,” he explained. Rila frowned. “Who they adored.”

“Mm,” Rila nodded. “More so than their current queen?” He scowled. “You’ve told me you don’t approve of her Braga, no need to pretend now.” He laughed.

“I have obviously never seen her,” he shrugged, “but she was raised as little more than a farmer’s bastard. For all it’s sung of in glory these days Pantona is mostly wheat fields and provincial villages.”

“And Brightcoast?” She asked. He inhaled sharply.

“Two moldering seaside ruins and a fish market,” he said. She giggled. “Shall I come see you tonight?” She shrugged.

“If you like,” she said. “I think you should rescue my brother now.” He grinned and walked over.

He didn’t know what to expect, but Marina’s impertinence and Dugarry’s threat were both shocking. He couldn’t get past Marina as a pliable young girl, barely able to meet his eyes without blushing and Tristan Dugarry as a sullen youth, silent and brooding. The man and woman before him were confident, furious, and obviously deeply cautious.

The sword could fall any day. He knew that.

Marina lay sleeping in the bed he’d laid her in after she fainted. Shadow travel was difficult, and she was already disturbed. He’d lost control in the ice garden, he couldn’t do that again. He wanted her, badly, but he couldn’t rush her.

“Shall I call the goddess,” a shadow guard came. He glared at it.

“Not yet,” he said, “when Lady Marina is carrying the child, we will call her.” It bowed and swept out. The guards upset Marina, they always had. He’d have to keep them away from her. But when she woke he lost his temper again.

He’d seen her brought up meek, soft, submissive, respectful. But five years had broken that. She was willful now, and angry. He shouldn’t have told her about her correspondence with Dugarry. He pulled the book he’d enchanted to track their letters and opened to one.

Dear Tristan,

Lord Brayton observed my lessons today. I had planned to weave a shroud for your mother, as it’s been three years, but instead I was taught how to blend a potion that causes sleep. If your sister is still struggling when you return to Dovetail perhaps she can use it? I gave it to Papa and it helped him.

When are you coming back? Mercy is a fine companion but I miss you. Are you moving to Dorin? Countess Olivia said you might be, that nothing was decided. I hope you don’t. He’s started looking at me a way that gives me shivers. But when you’re here it doesn’t feel so terrible. Please come back soon.

Yours,

Marina

He looked at that one often. The first time she signed Yours, the first time he’d realized her tender feelings for the boy weren’t sisterly, or friendly.

The first time he’d decided that he wouldn’t lose her to another golden, careless, boy. And now he had her. He smiled. Yes, she was his, she always had been.