Beatrice waited for Anryn in the prince`s room. When he returned from the audience with the King, Beatrice thought that he looked like a different person altogether. He wasn`t the boy she wed in the church who kissed her in the dark and fought a duel for her brother. This prince looked like a ghost. Pale as snow, with glassy eyes that seemed to stare for miles.

　　He would not speak to her. Anryn went into his room and started to strip his bloodstained clothes. He tore the bandages off of his wounds and, naked, climbed into the bed that they`d shared only the night before.

　　"Husband?" Beatrice went to the bed. Something about how still he laid there, staring off at nothing frightened her. "Anryn?"

　　The prince wouldn`t speak to her. Within a quarter of an hour, someone pounded at the door. A valet opened it and armed guards entered.

　　"Prince Anryniel of Mahaut," one called through the door. "By order of His Majesty, King Anathas of Ammar, you are accused of witchcraft. I am ordered to confine you to your apartments until such time as your trial can be arranged."

　　Beatrice stood beside the bed. Anryn stayed where he was, the blood from his wounds seeping over the sheets, and said nothing. The guards posted up outside of his bedroom door. No one spoke to the prince. No one looked at his wife.

　　She realized that she was practically invisible. As a woman, she had no value to anyone in the room but her husband, who was now accused of witchcraft. Sure enough, when she went to leave by the servant`s door, no one even seemed to notice her go.

　　Numb with shock, Beatrice descended the servants steps to her own room. She went to her window and looked out toward the gardens where they`d built the pyre. As the late afternoon wore on into evening, the oil lamps came on, illuminating a crowd of hundreds gathered there.

　　Witches will burn tonight, Beatrice thought. Anryn might even be among them, if Beatrice could not find a way to help.

　　There was only one thing left to try that she could think of. She went to her own rooms and put on her finest veil. For luck, she tucked the nine silver coins from her ruined belt into the pocket of her dress. Then Beatrice went to beg for an audience with the Queen of Ammar.

　　She was led into a room within Queen Eva`s suite that she`d never seen before. Not the sitting room set with cards, teapots, and all the little delicate things that kept the women of Ammar occupied. Instead, Beatrice was taken to a library more magnificent than even Gruffydd`s. The walls were lined with floor to ceiling maps of every country in the known world. Tables and podiums gleamed with metal instruments—compasses, protractors, and even a telescope pointed out of a skylight.

　　Beatrice gaped behind her veil. For a moment, she wondered whether this might be the King of Ammar`s secret library. Then she saw the writing desk in the corner, lined with stacks of paper and dozens of little bottles of wax and ink. A blue wool veil was draped over the back of the chair. Always with a veil, Queen Eva marked her territory.

　　"Daughter," the Queen said as she came into the room.

　　Even here, she kept her own head covered—a dove gray silk drape lending its pallor to the hypocritical hair pinned up underneath it. By main force of will, Beatrice made herself get on her knees to her mother-in-law and swallow all her judgment of the woman. She needed the Queen`s help.

　　"Mother," she said, though the word stuck in her throat. "It`s your son. I don`t know what to do. They said he`s under arrest? He won`t get out of bed&"

　　Beatrice did not know what she expected Queen Eva to do. The woman must have had some source of power in Ammar—something Beatrice herself had been unable to tap, though they sneaked through the same halls and eavesdropped on the same conversations. Beatrice didn`t believe for one moment that the Queen of Ammar would spare it for Beatrice`s sake. Surely she would do it for her only son.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

　　The Queen left Beatrice on her knees for a long moment. Finally, she made some small motion with her hand, permitting her daughter-in-law to rise. Queen Eva went over to her writing desk and sat, arranging the folds of her gown around her legs and smoothing the fold of her gray veil down over her knees.

　　"Poor lamb. Fighting with his father, again," the Queen said. "He`s still so young. Weeping about what he can`t change. Give it time. Anryniel is stronger than he looks. He will recover. His father will forget. It has always been so."

　　"My lady—it`s too much for him," Beatrice said. What she really meant was, It`s too much for me! But her pride would not allow her to say this. She touched the coins in her pocket and prayed for strength. "Please, he needs& he needs someone to help him."

　　"You are his wife now. It must be you," Queen Eva said. "Nurse him through his defeats. Guard his interests. This is marriage."

　　"I don`t know how," Beatrice admitted.

　　The Queen considered her for a long time, the black eyes deep in the craggy face unknowable. "I met Anathas when he was at his lowest. His brother had just died. Gruffydd let him wander into an ambush where he was nearly killed. When we found each other in that dark forest, he was half-mad with grief with a knife sticking out of his ribs. I loved him when he was at his very worst—not even a King at all. That`s why he puts no other person in his kingdom before me, not even himself."

　　Beatrice squeezed the hidden coins. "I`ve given him everything that I can&"

　　"Have you?" The Queen`s head tilted. "Or have you only given him your sins? Your pride, your vanity. You goaded him into that duel without understanding the consequences, and now he suffers."

　　Beatrice lowered her eyes. The Queen was right—damn her! With real sincerity, Beatrice prayed to God for forgiveness. She clutched the silver that had been a symbol of what she thought was womanhood, and prayed God would give her what she needed to cross the threshold. To become a woman who could be a Queen whose husband would give her anything.

　　"I want to be like you," Beatrice admitted. "I want to be worthy of Anryniel, of Ammar."

　　Beneath her veil, Queen Eva sighed. The gray folds ruffled, for a moment blurring her face as the lamplight rippled over the silk. "Very well. Your first lesson: People are who they are when you first meet them. What we know about others unlocks all paths to power in the world—even over life and death. I wear the veil because I don`t want anyone but my husband to have that power over me. Think first of who you know, daughter, and then consider what you know. From there, you may plan your actions."

　　The Queen made a dismissing gesture with her fingers. Beatrice curtseyed, and turned to go. All the way back to her room, she thought about what she knew.

　　Beatrice knew that Queen Eva was vain. Of course a common-born woman who dyed her hair in her old age would feel threatened by a young, pretty bride bedecked in jewelry and boasting a fine upbringing. That was why, when they first met, the Queen took Beatrice`s belt. Queen Eva only helped her now because Beatrice had—for the first time—sincerely flattered her.

　　What else, Beatrice thought. She knew that Anryn was, from the first, uncanny. Switching places with Gruffydd, avoiding assassins at the wedding, the duel& Beatrice thought that it was only the curse that made him seem strange to her. Now, when she thought about it, she placed the pieces of Anryn`s actions together and understood. Her husband had known all along that he was a witch.

　　This is the secret Ciamon kept, Beatrice realized.

　　Now she thought about what she knew about Ciamon. He wasn`t who he pretended to be when they first met. He was a mage, and a spy. Yet, when they first met, he presented himself as a friend.

　　Beatrice`s hands closed around the coins. Queen Eva`s words rang in her ears. What we know about others unlocks all paths to power in the world. Giving the coins to her was no mere gesture of friendship. They were an enchantment. The tool of a mage and a spy. How else had Ciamon found her in the crowd at the wedding? How else could he find her letters from her mother, stashed in a special place with all her dearest treasures?

　　Oh, you absolute prick, Beatrice thought. Her heart hammered in her chest.

　　She lifted the fistful of silver to her mouth. Softly, knowing that she teetered on the edge of witchcraft herself, she spoke to them as mages in fairy tales did. She called Ciamon`s name three times.