“Enver must know about the tree in the spring.…How did it even get there? Is it possible someone else planted it?” Teophine asks.
Torch frowns. “What tree?”
One concise explanation later, Sulian is shaking his head.“Enver took the only key into the spring from Queen Gaelle.”
“He also originated the claim that the spring was poisoned,” Ruvon adds. “We assumed he did it to turn public opinion against the People’s Dagger and exert greater control over the spring, but perhaps it was to keep anyone from finding the tree.”
“He looked me in the eye and said that poisoning the spring might have been my father’s last act.” Eugene doesn’t intend the words to sound as strangled as they come out. “He lied to our faces that he was testing the water every day. Whether or not he planted the tree, he’s hiding it now.”
Ruvon reaches for the sketchbook. “May I?” Rapunzel pushes it to him. He turns the pages back to the cloud apple tree, lips pursing. “There’s another paradox, one you spotted yourself, young lady. Verette’s unusual hair suggests she’s been more deeply affected by the starlight, yet…she continues to age, albeit at a reduced rate, whereas Enver seems to have almost entirely stopped. And he seemingly has a level of control over this tree that Verette does not. Is it possible he’s not merely availing himself of the starlight-imbued water…he’s been consuming a star-touched apple every three years?”
Cressien leans in, rubbing his chin. “When our queen fell ill eighteen years ago, the flower itself was distilled to a tisane strong enough to heal her, and its magic passed on to Princess Rapunzel. But the witch Gothel had to regularly reverse her aging with the power of the sundrop flower. Its effects were never permanent.”
“We’ve been very secretive about Astera’s stardrop, butour scholars did theorize about the sundrop in Kourenne,” Teophine chimes in. “The starlight water isn’t strong enough, for example, to save someone mortally wounded, or terminally ill, unlike the sundrop flower. One theory is that the magic is in the Kourenne soil itself, and the flower drew the sunlight into a more powerful concentration in its blossom.”
Eugene’s chair creaks as he folds his arms. “You said Enver stopped the Fountain Festival a few yearsbeforethe massacre. Maybe he planted the tree then, hoping the apples would be stronger than just the water, and was trying to buy time for it to bear fruit.”
An aching pause smothers the room.
“These two made it into the spring, Verette,” Torch rasps. “If they can do it again, we can destroy the tree, take the apple ourselves, and keep it from Enver until he yields the throne.”
Verette fails to hide her flinch, and starts gathering empty mugs instead. “It’s an option. I’ll think about it. If you’re back, that means Leona’s ready, right?”
“All set in your normal rendezvous point.” Torch’s voice has become carefully neutral, which tells Eugene exactly whom the well-trodden debate has been with.
“Then we need to get going.” Verette deposits the mugs in a sink and heads for her cloak. “Fitzherbert, Rapunzel, Minister Cressien, we’re going to meet Leona, who will ferry us out to the pleasure barge. We’ll need to keep quiet once again until we reach her, but it’s a short walk.”
Eugene barely has time to push back from the table beforeVerette is hustling them out. The walk to meet Leona is just as swift and silent.
They reach a shallow little cove where only one skiff waits, half in the water, half on a thin strip of black sand. Solena—no, Leona—stands beside it, face tight and alight all at once. It eases when Eugene steps out of the mists.
“Eugene,” she croaks.
He strides over, wraps her in a hug, and mumbles, “Why on earth do they keep using clove hitches?”
“Don’t have time for sentiment,” Leona says gruffly, but doesn’t pull away for a long moment and swipes obstinately at her eyes after she does. “The barge should be rounding the west cliffs right about now. Verette, help me with the boat.”
They pile into the skiff, Cressien looking none too pleased and more than a little seasick as they push off. Leona makes Eugene help her row and puts Rapunzel in charge of keeping the boat’s lantern dry as they drift out of the cove.
The pleasure barge drifts around the mouth of the cove a few minutes later, its lanterns glowing like clusters of stars. Eugene and Leona row the skiff right up beside it, and crew members quickly help them all climb aboard—all save Leona.
“We’ll talk soon, Eugene,” Leona promises. Then she hooks the lantern on her walking stick, balances it on the skiff’s sides, and pushes off, back toward the cove.
“Rapunzel, let’s go get your double so you can change back.” Verette hurries off, Rapunzel trotting after her, slightly bemused.
“Is it me,” Eugene says to the air, “or does she not seem all that eager to depose her father?”
Cressien is already heading for the side of the barge; Eugene thinks it’s the nausea, not disdain, making him terse. “She may not have much of a choice. But speaking of choices…you put yourself at enormous risk today.”
“That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?” Eugene can hear the bitter note in his voice.
Now itisdisdain making Cressien terse. “Explain yourself.”
“I mean, you’re a minister, and Rapunzel is theprincess—”
“That’s very interesting,” Cressien seethes unconvincingly as he anchors himself by the railing, “but I want to know whyyou, as a member of our delegation, believe your purpose here is to be expendable.”
Eugene’s breath gutters. It’s one thing to brood on the admission, another to say it out loud. “I—I’m just being realistic,” he manages. “You said it yourself: The ink’s still wet on my pardon. I nearly hanged in the palace courtyard. The nobility are never going to like me, even if I try.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m a commoner and a thief, and apparently my parents tried to overthrow a monarchy. That’s not exactly husband material for a princess. I just figured it was only a matter of time before I was asked to…move along.”
