"I don't care. You need to leave." The sticky scent of absinthe was heavy on her breath, and she was unsteady on her feet.

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what I need to know."

"I have nothing to say to you."

Pulling her grimoire out of my satchel, I held it up. "I think you do."

Catherine's eyes bulged as she recognized the book. "Thief!" she shrieked, lunging at me as though to claw my eyes out.

I dodged her drunken swipe at my face easily, but prudence made me retreat a few paces lest she try again. "Here," I said, holding the book out at arm's length. "I'm giving it back."

She s.n.a.t.c.hed it out of my hand and clutched it against her chest. "You're going to get me killed."

"That isn't my plan," I said. "I haven't told anyone about those spells, and I have no intention of doing so. If you help me."

"Is that a threat?"

I didn't answer. I didn't have to her imagination would do my dirty work.

She glared at me for a long time, then the heat left her eyes and her shoulders slumped. "I suppose it doesn't really matter anymore. They know I've consorted with you."

She was talking about the Regency. I wanted to press her for details, but my time was limited and I needed to extract everything she knew about the masked woman. Wary of another attack, I gently took her by the arm and led her to the back table. When I had her seated with the dog on her lap, I took the chair across from her.

"There's a spell in that book for the making of a cream that wipes away age. I know you made it for a woman who at least once appeared to you hooded and wearing a mask, and that you perhaps cast other spells for her as well."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"There is no point in denying it, Catherine. I pulled the memory from your own thoughts."

I braced myself, expecting my admission to elicit another attack, but no anger flowed into her eyes. Only resignation. "I had no choice but to help her."

"Who was she?" I asked.

Catherine shook her head. "I don't know. She always appeared in some sort of disguise, and she took steps to alter her voice so that I couldn't identify her."

I swore silently. "Do know anything about her? Any clues to who she might be?"

"No." The other witch gently stroked her dog's back. "She approached me the first time nearly ten years ago had heard I could make creams and lotions that would wipe the years off a woman's face. She had the money to pay, and there was no harm in it. The spells I was using at the time were harmless combinations of herbs and earth. But they only worked so well. And they most certainly could not stop the pa.s.sage of time."

"So you turned to the dark arts?"

"I had no choice." Her mouth twisted. "She told me that if I did not do what she wanted, she'd arrange for the Regent to discover I was a witch. That she'd see me burn. So I did it." A single tear ran down her face. "It was difficult procuring the... the sacrifices I needed. And difficult disposing of the bodies. I was terrified I'd be caught, and I could feel myself changing. I felt corrupted, as though some insidious substance had got into my veins and was slowly working its way through my body. I can only imagine what they were doing to her mind with the quant.i.ties in which she used them."

"Did she ask you to make any other potions? Perform other spells?" It was a struggle to keep the antic.i.p.ation from my voice.

"Only the creams."

My antic.i.p.ation burned away leaving disappointment in its wake. I'd been so sure there'd be others spells to somehow prolong a.n.u.shka's life. Was my theory entirely wrong? Clearing my throat, I said, "So you stopped. Told her you wouldn't make her potions any longer?"

"I tried." She scrubbed a hand across her red-rimmed eyes. "But she wouldn't hear of it, and I was afraid to cross her. Nor could I go to Marie, because she would never have forgiven me for abusing my position."

"You said before that she knew you were a witch?"

Catherine nodded. "Her son, Aiden, was a sickly child. She approached me and brought me into her household as his nurse at great risk to herself, given the Regent's views on witchcraft. I involved her in my spells to help him, because the bond of blood between parent and child holds an intense amount of power. No one but Marie knew I was a witch until..." She broke off.

"Until?" I leaned forward in antic.i.p.ation.

"Some four years ago, the masked woman left me a note asking for me to meet her. Of course I went, but instead of her usual request, she asked for something different."

"What did she want?"

"A love potion."

I sat up straight in my chair. If this woman was a.n.u.shka, why would she ask for that? The creams and such I understood she couldn't affect herself with magic, so she needed another witch's help. But she was more than capable, and by my reckoning, quite practiced at making love potions herself. "To use on whom?"

"The Regent."

My jaw dropped. The Regent? But that made no sense at all if Marie was allied with a.n.u.shka, why would she allow such a thing?

"I was loath to do it. Marie had never been anything but kind to me and spelling her husband would be the ultimate betrayal, but the woman did not hesitate to remind me how quickly the flames would lick at my toes if it were discovered I was performing black magic." She sucked in a deep breath. "And I knew that if she used the potion her ident.i.ty would be revealed to me and she'd no longer be able to blackmail me so easily. But..." she broke off, hands clawing into fists.

"It didn't work?" I asked.

"Oh, it worked. The Regent fell in love, but not with her." Her shoulders trembled. "He fell in love with me. Me, whom he had never so much as conversed with in all his life. Me." She pointed at her face.

Catherine was by no means an unattractive woman, but she was no great beauty and many years past her prime. Which is not to say an affair couldn't have taken place if the Regent had been charmed by her personality; but if it was as she said and they had never spoken, that seemed unlikely. "What a disaster," I murmured. "How did it happen? Did you make a mistake in the spell?"

"I'd never made an error before, and I've never made one since," she said, eyes flashing. "Certainly not in this. I'd made dozens of similar potions before and countless after."

I wanted to point out that everyone was fallible, but keeping my mouth shut seemed the more prudent course. Besides, I didn't think she had made a mistake I thought she'd been framed. "So what do you think happened?"

"I don't know." She pressed long fingers to her forehead as though the memory pained her. "It was horrible. When I realized what had happened, I tried to flee, but he sent soldiers to bring me back. Professed his love for me in front of countless courtiers, with seemingly no regard for the repercussions. Not only had he fallen for the wrong person, the potion was far more potent than I'd ever intended, and it impacted everything he thought, every action he took.

"Marie, as you would expect, was in a frenzy over it. He cared not for how he was hurting her, and the depression that ensued made her physically ill." Catherine shook her head. "I cast the spell days before the summer solstice, but the spell held the power of one cast at the very moment of the season's transition. I thought it would never end. The effects of these potions normally fade over a matter of days, but it lasted for weeks. Everyone suspected what had been done, but of course, it couldn't be proven. Not that that really mattered women have been burned for less."

"Did Marie out you as a witch?"

"No," she whispered. "Not even then. I told her everything, but how could she possibly forgive me? The spell may have gone awry, but the fact remained that I'd intentionally created a potion for her husband to make him love another woman."

"What happened next?"

"The Regent's son, Aiden, was particularly incensed. There was no doubt in his mind that I was a witch and was the cause of his father's irrational behavior. He hated me for the hurt caused to his mother, and demanded time and time again that I be put to death. And once the potion's effects finally began to fade, the Regent was of the same mind. But Marie pleaded with him to have mercy on me, and he satisfied himself with taking everything I had and evicting me from his household. Marie spoke with me once after my sentencing, and made me swear to stay far away from anyone she was close to. My life would be forfeit if I ever came back."

"Did you ever see the masked woman again?" I asked. a.n.u.shka had obviously wanted Catherine dead, but Marie had interfered. Had she known it was a.n.u.shka who'd requested the love potion? And why would a.n.u.shka do such a thing to her ally? There were so many unknowns.

"Not since the night I delivered it to her."

"And you have no idea who she was? No clues that might narrow down her ident.i.ty?"

Catherine lifted one shoulder, then let it slump. "Not really. She was of average height and build, and she moved easily, so I do not think she was past her middle years. Her clothes were of fine cut and material, and she always met with me in the castle, but never anywhere that would suggest her ident.i.ty."

"Nothing at all?" I pressed. "No mannerisms or tics you recognized from any of the women at court?"

"None. She was very careful to keep her ident.i.ty a secret."

I hesitated. "Was there ever any suggestion that she might be a witch herself?"

Catherine grew still. "Why?"

I stared silently at her until she sighed.

"She gave no such indication."

"But you would have known, yes?" I pressed. "You knew I was."

"Only because you drew on the earth's power right in front of me," Catherine replied. "Which is something she never did. What cause have you to believe she might have the talent? Do you know who she is?" She leaned forward, eyes searching mine.

"If she were a witch, she could have subst.i.tuted her own potion for yours," I said, choosing not to answer her question in its entirety. "What better and more sure way to get rid of you, with no one ever suspecting her. Not even you."

Catherine said nothing, but her cheeks rose to a high color. She had long since ceased petting Souris, but I could see her hands balling into fists where they lay on her lap. Her anger gave me the answer to my question. I could not even imagine how I would feel, having thought for all those long years that I had ruined my own life with a simple mistake, only to discover that it had been orchestrated by another.

"We could find her," I said softly. "You and I, together."

Her eyes flicked to mine. "Revenge?"

I shrugged. "At the very least, you could discover the truth."

"Why would you help me?" she asked, suspicion in her eyes. "What interest have you in this?"

"A very personal one," I said. "Because I believe the witch whose curse I wish to break is the same one who orchestrated your fall from grace." I purposefully refrained from telling her that I suspected her former mistress knew the witch's ident.i.ty.

All the color fled from her cheeks, but before I could garner much more than surprise from her expression, she dropped her head. "Marie warned me to stay away," she said. "I need to think hard about the consequences of doing otherwise before I take any action."

I wanted to demand that she decide now the promise all but forcing the words from my lips, but I clamped them shut. Better for her to come around to the idea herself than for me to try to bully her. She'd be a stronger ally if she acted of her own accord. "Very well," I said, rising to my feet. "If you decide you want to discover the ident.i.ty of the woman who ruined your life, send me word."

Twenty-Six.

Tristan

He had gone too far.

Brushing aside the guards as though they were little more than flies, I flung open the doors to the throne room and then bound them shut behind me with enough magic to ensure we wouldn't be interrupted.

It was disgusting. An abomination.

The heels of my boots thudded against the marble as I strode toward the throne, the lamps flaring up as I pa.s.sed, my power looking for an outlet as it filled the room.

He had to be mad what else could drive him to make such a match?

My father was alone in the room, and he did not bother to look up at my approach, which infuriated me all the more. There was a table spread in front of the throne, laden with enough food to feed two dozen men; but of him, all I could see was the top of his head as he bent over a steaming platter.

"You great gluttonous pig." The words were out before I could even think, the icy coldness of my voice at odds with the fire burning through my veins.

The hand holding a leg of chicken paused in its rise, but still, he did not look up. "Have you no shame?" I hissed. "All your people suffer food rations, and here you sit, shoveling all you can fit and more down your gullet."

His gluttony was not what I was really angry about, but it would serve. I wasn't ready to put words to the real reason, though it hung between us like the stench of a sewer.

My father set the chicken leg down. And then he raised his head.

He looked as weary as I had ever seen him, eyes drooped and shadowed, lines I had never noticed before marring his skin. "Tristan," he said, leaning back on the throne and resting his elbows on the arms. "I have very, very few pleasures in life. I will not begrudge myself this one. Not as long as I am king." He tilted his head slightly to one side. "Unless, of course, that is why you are here?"

Reaching up over his head, he lifted the crown from where it was casually hooked over the back of the throne. "Finally come to take it? Here." He tossed the golden circlet over the table. "Have it."

It landed with a loud clank against the stairs of the dais, bounced once, then rolled across the floor before coming to a stop at my feet. I stared at it, astonishment chasing away my anger and giving me a moment of clarity. A moment was all I needed to realize what had happened.

I looked up. "It's frustrating, isn't it, when your p.a.w.ns don't play by your rules?"

He stared silently back at me, but I needed no confirmation that he understood. I knew now what Lessa had done to provoke his wrath, the knowledge solid in my mind as only the truth was. "This is Lessa's doing. She has her own endgame in mind."

Very slowly, he nodded. "How long have you known?"

"That Anais was dead, or that it was my own sister who had stolen her place?" I didn't wait for an answer. "I knew it wasn't Anais within moments of speaking with her. Lessa is not so fine an actress as she thinks."

"Fine enough to fool the girl's own father."

I laughed, the sound harsh. "Angouleme never bothered to know Anais. He saw her only as he imagined her to be."

"And now she is as he imagined her to be."

I grimaced. "Even so."

"And how did you know it was Lessa?" He sounded genuinely curious, as though this were all a game with no lives at stake.

"There are few with power enough to manage it," I said. "Fewer still who could go so long without their absence noted. And only one capable of this level of duplicity."

His eyes gleamed. "I was curious as to when you would figure out the half-bloods' talent. Did they tell you directly, or did one of them slip up?"