Something was wrong.
Ryne stared at the letter. In the dim light of Penny's bedroom, he could just make out the slanted words.
Ryne, it read.
I've gone to Summerhill for a while. Please don't come after me, and don't tell anyone where I am. I need to be alone with my thoughts right now.
Love,
Camille
He'd spent the last two days studying it, but Ryne couldn't make sense of it. The handwriting was rushed. Sloppy. As if she'd been in a great hurry. But that made no sense, Ryne thought, crumpling the letter. Why had she left for Summerhill so quickly? And why had she bolted from the woods?
Camille had done the same thing from the tavern, Ryne recalled, almost four weeks ago. Something was wrong.
"Tell me where she went," Brigid said.
Ryne looked up. His mother was watching him with dark eyes, her chin propped up on one hand. The other one cradled Penny's limp fingers.
"She's asked to be left alone," he said.
"Did she say why?" Ryne shook his head, and the oddest look passed over his mother's face. It was almost like relief. "She doesn't know about Penny, darling. She would want to be here for this."
Ryne swallowed. He'd had the same thought.
Not that there was much they could do; June had been in to examine Penny, and the healer had explained that there was nothing to do but wait. Penny would survive the overdose, June said, but there was no telling what the long-term effects would be.
"It's a waiting game, I'm afraid," June had told them. "We'll only know the extent of the damage once Her Highness wakes up."
Still.
His mother was right; Camille would want to be here. In fact, Ryne had been intent on fetching her himself until Isaac pointed out that he was in no shape to ride. And Isaac couldn't leave while there was a murderer roaming around the castle.
"Please." Brigid shifted. "I'm worried for her, darling. To leave in such a hurry..." Her auburn hair glinted, a twin flame to Penny. "I don't say this enough, but I love you children. I would burn down the world for you. To see you upset breaks my heart."
Ryne sighed. "She's at Summerhill."
Surprise flickered across her face. "Our summer residence?"
"Is there another Summerhill?"
Brigid ignored this. "I'll fetch her at once." She rose. "If all goes well, I'll have her back in time for First Frost." She squeezed Penny's hand. Once. Twice. "Keep an eye on your sister, Ryne."
"She's not going anywhere."
"Well," Brigid sighed. "If there's anything predictable about Penny, it's that she's always unpredictable."
It was, Camille thought, rather tiresome being bound to a bedpost — but it was even more tiresome when you ran out of books.
She'd read most of the library at Summerhill by now. Pirate adventures. Bodice-ripping romances. What her servant thought of the whole thing, Camille didn't know, but the girl bound her without complaint every morning, untying one hand at mealtimes so Camille could eat her toast or boiled eggs.
Camille lost track of the days. Dawn broke over the barren garden outside the window, bathing the sky in fire, and then faded to blue. Some days, the sky turned the same iridescent pearl grey as Isaac's eyes. She liked those days because it gave her something to focus on. Something outside of the pain.
And the pain was all-consuming.
Liquid fire ate at her bones. She felt like someone had thrust metal tongs under her ribcage, cracking it open more every day. Her necklace was a constant ache at her throat, the burn mark visible when it moved.
Still, Camille didn't leave.
Today, Camille distracted herself with a story. A memory, of the first time that she spoke to Isaac. She'd spent her first few weeks at Stillwater Castle drifting around the corridors like a ghost. None of the other children would associate with her. Camille heard what they whispered behind her back. Princess of Soot. Dirt-Blood. The Ash Princess.
All of them except for Isaac.
Camille noticed him when he was training. Looked out for him at meals. Ryne was the prince, but Isaac had the sort of magnetic smile that made you want to look at him first. She thought that smile could burn down the world if he let it.
One day, Camille followed Isaac down to the river, watching as he unfurled a picnic blanket. Then, he laid out a veritable feast: fresh bread, cheese, fruit, nuts... She hid in a bush, watching as a goose made a grab for a hunk of bread. Isaac shooed at the bird, muttering under his breath. Unsurprisingly, the goose ignored him.
"I know you're there," Isaac had called. "You might as well come out."
Camille had startled. But Isaac had just watched her patiently as she stepped out of the bush, her cheeks flaming. He didn't look angry that she was spying on him, though. Only amused.
"Do you always mutter about geese?" she'd asked.
"No," Isaac had said, with great dignity. "Sometimes I mutter about boiled eggs, or a new sword. I mutter about a great manner of things, come to think of it." He patted the blanket. "Do you want to join me?"
Camille had thought him the strangest boy, but in retrospect, he'd brought enough food for two people. Even then, Isaac had been so charming. So—
"Well, well," a voice said. "That's some rather impressive knot work. You ought to give your servant a raise."
Camille's head snapped up.
Brigid stood in the doorway. Her white dress was rumpled from travelling, her red hair caught up in a black silk hat. She stripped off her gloves. Camille scrambled backwards, and then winced as the rope cut into her skin.
The queen's lips curved. "Oh, dear. You've gotten yourself into a bit of a bind, haven't you, darling? No pun intended."
Camille's eyes darted to the door. Maybe if she shouted for her servant — got her to knock out Brigid and untie her—
"Don't bother." Brigid sunk into a chair. "She's dead."
Her heart stopped. "I—what?"
"Dead," Brigid repeated. "I had my guard kill her. I would have done it myself, but blood is so hard to get out of a white dress." She crossed her ankles. "You really thought I would let her go unpunished for shielding you?"
Camille's hands shook. "You're a tyrant."
"I'm a queen," Brigid corrected her. "Although I suppose necessity dictates that I'm both. They go hand-in-hand." She frowned. "You've disappointed me, Camille."
"I won't do it. You can't make me."
She didn't need to clarify what she meant. Brigid rubbed the blue ring on her hand, and Camille's necklace gave a sharp tug in response.
"I've come to you with a proposition, my dove. Something that would make you all-powerful. If you agree to my terms, then I'll let you go free of that necklace forever. You'll never be shackled again."
Camille was silent. Brigid's mouth curved up.
"Well? Don't you want to know what it is?"
Pain pricked at her chest. "Not particularly."
"I want you to wed my son."
Camille stared at her. Sharp ringing started in her ears, and she couldn't look away from that smile. That horrible, smug little smile.
"Ryne?"
"Well, I just have the one," Brigid said. "Otherwise, I might let you choose."
"You've gone mad." Camille's stomach rolled. "He's my brother. My brother. You can't make me do it."
Even as Camille said the words, she wondered if they were strictly true. Her necklace was whining at her throat now, tugging her forward. Brigid rubbed her ring.
"That's true," Brigid mused. "Using this ring drains my energy, and making you play the part of a happy wife would be far too taxing. Even for me." She smiled. "But I have other ways of convincing you."
Cold sweat broke out along her neck. "Like what?"
"What if I gave you a boon?" Brigid's smile was the flash of a knife. "What if I promised to return Highcliff to Isaac Webb?"
"You can't do that. It's not in your power to give."
"It is, in fact." Brigid drew out a scroll from her pocket. "With Elsie Marks dead, the Webb family were desperate for funds. Edward now owes me the equivalent of his estate. A loan that I've promised not to call in until he has the money, but I can change that." Brigid tossed the scroll — the deed, Camille realized with a jolt — toward her. "I can demand the money now, seize control of the estate, and pass it on to Isaac."
Camille didn't touch the paper. "How do I know this is real?"
"Why would I lie?"
"Edward would never sell Highcliff."
"He had no choice." Brigid's dark eyes shone. "Unlike you."
Camille licked her lips. It sounded good. Well, except for marrying Ryne, but she could get past that; they could find some way to have the marriage annulled. But all that glittered, Camille thought, wasn't gold — and she knew better than to trust Brigid. This was another one of the queen's enticing games, covered in gilded lies and half-truths.
Camille had read a story once about a silly maiden that purchased a glistening castle filled with rot; that night, when the maiden went to sleep, the castle collapsed and killed her. Making deals with Brigid was the same. She'd learned that the hard way.
"No," she said.
Brigid's face was impassive. "No?"
"No. I don't agree to your terms."
Their eyes met. Brigid stood, brushing invisible dust from her skirt.
"Just as well," Brigid said. "It will amuse me to see you break Isaac Webb's heart. So stoic, isn't he?" She snapped her fingers, and a guard entered. "Untie her, Robert, and make it quick. We have a ball to get to."