“I didn’t know,” Aria said softly.
She’d read her great-grandmother’s branding law, but theofficial documentation covered only the age of testing and subsequent branding after a failed test. The policy for how to handle a Caster discovered outside of testing must have been documented during her grandmother’s reign, though Aria hadn’t yet found it.
Baron rubbed his witch’s mark with his thumb, following the curves of the misshapenS.
Aria stared at the warped skin, imagining him as a little boy, imagining how much it must have hurt.
“Were you scared?” she whispered.
He cast her a rueful half smile, lowering his hand. “Obviously.”
Her cheeks burned.Asking insensitive questions. Mark.But before she could apologize, he pressed on.
“Ironically, the day I gained my mark was also the day I gained my name. The man wielding the iron tried to console my father—not about his child being in pain, but about losing his heir. A Caster couldn’t sit at court, after all. Among some other choice words, my father told the man Iwouldbe baron, and that’s exactly what he called me from that day forward.”
With a soft smile, Aria said, “I think I would have liked your father.”
Baron hunched forward at that, bracing his elbows on his knees, staring down at his loosely knit fingers.
“It doesn’t matter now,” he said. “None of it matters. He’s gone.” He clenched his fists. “At least he doesn’t have to see he was wrong.”
In the silence, Aria’s quill trembled, then dipped.
Mark.
She didn’t know what it was for. There were no words for what she felt, but shehadto have made a mistake somewhere, because only that could explain the sharp twist inside, the pinched pressure that made it hard to breathe.
Maybe it wasn’thermistake, but she was tangled in it.Her great-grandmother had written a hurtful law. Rather than correcting the policies, her grandmother had expanded them. Her father had been the iron voice that solidified the doubt cast on Baron all those years ago:A Caster cannot sit at court.
Aria had todosomething. Something to mend it.Something.
Because it wasn’t right.
Gently, she rested her hand on Baron’s back, between his shoulder blades, and began rubbing circles with her fingers. She felt his muscles shift, but he didn’t sit up or pull away. He looked up at her, a question in his bright eyes.
“I intend to abolish the branding law,” she said. It wouldn’t fix everything, but it was a place to start.
He frowned, as if he didn’t quite believe it.
“I ...” All at once, she found herself admitting things she shouldn’t. “Truthfully, I met with Widow Morton once, and we discussed changes to the laws regarding Casters. She was not impressed with my offers, I’m afraid, but still, I—”
“Do you mean it?” Baron asked.
She met his piercing eyes. There was a vulnerability in his expression. He held his lips slightly parted, as if he considered speaking more but couldn’t find the words.
“Yes,” Aria said.
She didn’t know whether to give that a mark or not. If she did, it wouldn’t be for lying.
Baron had come to the castle so sure of how he felt. Betrayed. Used. Resigned to a world that did not intend to give him anything he hoped for but still dangled the chance before withdrawing it.
Then Aria came barreling in—quite literally—to confuse it all again.
She moved her hand down his back a few inches, still massaging, and brushed his spine in such a way that he gave an involuntary shiver, forcing him to sit up at last. She pulled her hand away. That was for the best. Otherwise, he might have stayed like that forever, enjoying comfort from a girl he’d come to care about but wasn’t sure he could trust.
If what she said about the branding law was true ...
With their closeness in height, he could not avoid her eyes, deep brown and earnest. Touched with a tired red. Even if she meant itnow, circumstances could change. There was an entire Upper Court advising the king, all of whom would surely be eager to explain to the princess why freeing Casters in any way would only damage the kingdom.
