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“Marlak,” he roars.
He knew my name, and that I wasn’t the princess, which is something else I don’t understand. But I prefer not to mention this yet, at least until I understand what happened.
Instead, I ask, “You think he would know I’m a substitute?” This is a genuine question, as I truly have no idea how he would have gotten that information.
Master Otavio bangs a hand on the desk. “What you are. You know what I’m talking about.”
A darksoul. Would Marlak know? I decide to tell Otavio the truth. “I didn’t get any indication that he knew that. How would he know?”
“His magic is different, dangerous.” He lowers his voice. “It’s possible that he could sense you. What did he want?”
“He said he approached our carriage by mistake, but he could be lying or tricking us. Maybe he was looking for something—or someone. I truly don’t know.”
He leans forward on his desk. “Astra. Be honest with me. If there’s one thing, one little thing you’re hiding, you could be putting all our lives at risk.”
“Everything happened so fast. Is there any specific detail you’re looking for?”
“I just want to make sure you’re not holding back any information.” He stops glaring. “I’m your friend and protector, and I need you to trust me.”
Until not long ago, these words, with this tone of voice, would have made me cave in and tell every little thing that happened, but Ziven’s secret is not mine, and I’m not going to tell my master the weird thing between me and Marlak. It’s awkward enough that the fae prince has to know about it.
“You can also ask Ziven. I’m puzzled, to be honest. Will the Fae King be informed?”
Otavio snorts. “It’s a complicated diplomatic situation. But you can bet he knows what happens on his land. From our part, all we can do is send him an apology for the unauthorized intrusion. It’s just dreadful.” He stares at me. “Did you see the Shadow Ring?”
There’s no need to lie now, and in fact, the ring that looked as if it held a cloudy sky was quite impressive. “Yes, he was wearing it. Unless it was a replica. I wouldn’t be able to?—”
“I know.” He clenches his fist. “But I don’t see why he would use a fake one.” He sighs, and I know the lecture is about to start.
He goes on and on about how I need to protect myself, how the fae prince could have seen my nature, how all his plans could have been ruined.
I don’t even know what Otavio’s plans are, and the only reason I never ask is because he only mentions them when he’s upset. Behind him, on a shelf, a book catches my eye. There’s nothing on the cover, but I know what’s in it. A Tiurian dictionary, containing the language that must not be spoken.
There’s another Tiurian dictionary in the library, as well as language study guides, but I’m not allowed to go there alone, and people would notice what I’m taking. Andrezza has a lot of resources on that language, but I don’t know how I could consult them without drawing attention. I need to understand what azalee means. It could be important.
“Astra!” His shout startles me. “You aren’t even listening, are you?”
I shake my head and pretend to look embarrassed. “I’m so sorry. I was trying to think, master. See if there was any detail I forgot. Something that could matter. This is not the time, I know. I know your words are important, and I’m truly sorry for what I did.”
I’m not, but it’s better to tell him what he wants to hear and get this over with.
Then I add, “I’ll never do any of that again.”
Except for breaking into his study, because that’s exactly what I’m going to do tonight, to check his dictionary.
He takes a deep breath. “I’ll make sure you’re appointed to smaller, safer assignments, Astra. Please don’t think I don’t notice how hard you work.”
“It’s the bare minimum.” I parrot the words he’s told me so many times, then give him a half smile.
“That is true.” The smile he returns is genuine.
For some reason, that approving smile still hits a part of me starving for approval, starving for his approval, as if all that mattered in the world was his opinion. It’s a childish part of me, hanging on to the two adults in my life as if they were my parents. They aren’t my parents.
The thought is freeing, but it hurts. Waiting to receive crumbs of affection might be pathetic, but expecting nothing, while realistic, is quite bleak.
Perhaps I didn’t disguise my emotions as well as I should, as he adds, “And you’ll achieve great things—if you have the patience. A small lord’s wedding reception is not the greatness you seek, Astra.”
“I don’t seek greatness.” I don’t know why I let that piece of honesty slip.
