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“Should we go to the castle now?” Heath pressed.
His grandmother shook her head, sinking into a chair. “We need to be careful how we go about it. It will be best to wait for the morning.”
Heath could hardly bear to wait another minute, but he knew there was nothing to be done but follow the elderly princess’s lead. None of them slept that night. Heath’s sight flickered occasionally to Merletta from force of habit, his magic connecting with her even while his mind remained too preoccupied to engage with her surroundings. It would be days before she would reach the triple kingdoms, anyway. There was nothing he could do for her now.
The whole family was at the castle at dawn. King Matlock had said Percival would be executed in the morning, and Heath knew they were all terrified of leaving their plea too late. But Princess Jocelyn seemed confident that she didn’t need a great deal of time.
When they reached the king’s public audience hall, Heath could only hope she was right. They burst in just in time to hear King Matlock give the order for Percival to be fetched from the dungeons for sentencing. No onlookers were present yet, but the place would soon be full, Heath knew. Word of such dramatic happenings would spread like wildfire through the castle, and the capital.
He winced at the mental choice of words. He hadn’t washed during the interminable night, and he could still smell the ash on his clothes.
“Matlock.” Heath had expected his grandmother to appeal to the king, but it was his grandfather who spoke. “Matlock, this hastiness isn’t like you.”
“You know I have the deepest respect for you, Uncle Kincaid,” the king said stonily. “But it is not your place to interfere in the exercise of my authority.”
The elderly prince stepped forward, and Heath’s eyes flicked to his grandmother. Still she didn’t move, didn’t open her mouth. The door to the throne room clattered open, footsteps slapping against the stone floor. Heath spared only a brief glance to see that Brody and Bianca had arrived along with their parents, all looking pale and horrified.
“I’m not trying to tell you what you can or can’t do,” Prince Kincaid said placatingly.
Heath felt frustrated at his grandfather’s slow, calm words. But he had to trust that his grandparents knew what they were doing.
“I don’t dispute for a moment your right to execute someone who attempted to assassinate you. No one would dispute that right. I just want to make sure that’s what really happened. As you surely must, as well.”
Suddenly, Heath felt it. At first it was subtle, cast out like an intricate, fragile web. But it wasn’t fragile. It was powerful. As he followed it in fascination, he felt its potency. The magic coming from his grandmother was strong. And it wasn’t like the magic of his generation, targeted and specific, formed to some tangible task. It was all-pervasive, reaching for every corner of the king’s mind.
A quiet gasp from Bianca told him that she’d felt it, too. Every power-wielder present must have. Heath threw her a warning look, and she schooled her expression.
He understood now. His grandmother was willing to use her magic—an incredibly strong power of change, which she’d honed over decades to the point where it was as easy for her to change someone’s mind on just about anything as it was for Percival to throw an overpowered punch. But she was still wise enough to understand the need for caution. She wasn’t gambling everything on Percival’s rescue—she still wanted to preserve the precarious balance between the crown and the power-wielders. And that couldn’t be achieved if it was widely suspected that she’d used magic to supernaturally persuade the king to pardon Percival.
No wonder she’d always been so meticulous about not abusing her power. Sensing its strength and effectiveness, Heath appreciated for the first time the extent of her restraint. She could have controlled them all if she’d chosen. But that had never been her path.
So she hung back now, seeming to anyone without the ability to sense magic like a passive onlooker, while her husband apparently persuaded his nephew. But it was her magic changing the king’s mind.
And it was quickly clear that King Matlock’s mind was being changed. As soon as his aunt had sent her power toward him, he’d begun to visibly waver. The arguments his uncle was making were rational, sensible, measured. To anyone watching—and anyone hearing about it afterward—it would be perfectly credible that he’d been swayed by these words. Of course he should be sure, absolutely sure of Percival’s guilt before executing him.
“I accept the wisdom of your words,” the king said, when Heath’s grandfather stopped speaking. “I will publicly announce the charges this morning, but I will not pronounce the sentence. A more thorough investigation will occur first, so that justice may not only be done, but be seen to be done.”
“Now, as always, Your Majesty, your wisdom makes you a strong king.” Prince Kincaid dipped his head, stepping back to join the rest of the family.
Heath let out a long breath of relief, as his mother wept silently beside him. Percival was spared, at least for now. The following scene was painful, as a chained Percival was led before the gathering crowd and publicly accused of attempting to kill his king. But it was endurable, because there was still a chance to prove that it was all a terrible mistake.
As soon as it was over, Heath struggled through the crowd, making for the crown prince.
“Heath,” his cousin said, looking almost as relieved as Heath felt. “Stars above, that was a near miss. But I knew Father wouldn’t really act without proper investigation. It wouldn’t be just, or wise.”
Heath’s thoughts were a little more sour than the prince’s, but he didn’t blame Lachlan for wanting to believe the best of his father.
“Our investigation just became a lot more urgent,” he said curtly.
Lachlan cast a sharp glance over him. “You’re inclined to think this incident was orchestrated by the same party who attacked Percival and tried to kill you? Did you sense power at the grain house?”
Heath shook his head, frustrated. “No, they must have been gone by the time I arrived,” he said. “But it’s the only logical conclusion.”
“Is it?” Lachlan frowned. “Why would someone who wanted to kill Percival now want to kill my father?”
“Killing your father wasn’t the central aim,” Heath said. “It was framing Percival. It has to be.”
Lachlan ran a hand over his face. “I was going to speak to you about our investigation,” he said. “Before,” he gestured vaguely, “all this.”
