The Saint Who Should Have Hated Me

By noon, Aurelia had apparently defeated six assassins, caught a crossbow bolt with her bare hand, saved the Crown Prince from certain death and collapsed romantically into his arms. None of those things had happened.

Well…one of them had happened approximately enough to be irritating.

Aurelia stared at Lucien across the breakfast table. “Collapsed into his arms?”

Lucien lowered the newspaper just enough for his eyes to appear above it. “According to the Capital Chronicle, yes.”

“I did not collapse.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t even fall.”

“I was not there.”

“Then why do you sound disappointed?”

“Because this version has excellent pacing.”

Aurelia reached for the newspaper but Lucien moved it away before she could take it.

“Give me that.”

“No.”

“Lucien.”

“You’re not emotionally prepared.”

“I survived an execution.”

Silence.

Aurelia froze. Lucien froze. Across the table, Theron stopped cutting his breakfast, Mother’s teacup paused halfway to her lips and Father slowly looked up from his correspondence.

*sigh* Wonderful.

Not even two days into her second life and she had nearly announced her own death over breakfast.

“I meant assassination,” Aurelia said.

Lucien stared at her. “What?”

“Yesterday. The attempted assassination.”

“You weren’t assassinated.”

“The bolt nearly hit me.”

“The bolt was aimed at the Crown Prince.”

“I was standing near him.”

“You ran toward it.”

“That is beside the point.”

Lucien slowly folded the newspaper. “Aurelia, are you feeling well?”

“No.”

At least that answer was honest.

Theron made a sound suspiciously close to a laugh. Aurelia looked at him, but he continued eating as though nothing had happened.

Traitor.

Her shoulder still ached beneath her morning dress, not enough to interfere with movement but enough to remind her of every mistake she’d made during training. Theron had noticed, of course. He’d spent the remainder of their session correcting her without mentioning the impossible Fifth Form again, which concerned Aurelia more than an interrogation would have.

Theron wasn’t the type to forget a question. He simply stored them until he decided where to put the knife.

Figuratively.Usually...

Aurelia held out her hand toward Lucien. “The newspaper.”

He sighed and finally surrendered it. Her own name stared back from the front page.

LADY VEYNE SAVES CROWN PRINCE IN SCHOLAR’S SQUARE ATTACK

Beneath it, in considerably more offensive lettering:

A BLOSSOM OF COURAGE BETWEEN THE HEIR AND THE BLACK THORNS?

Aurelia stared at the headline for several seconds, hoping the words might somehow become less ridiculous if given sufficient time.

They did not.

“What,” she asked quietly, “is a blossom of courage?”

Lucien leaned toward her. “I believe you’re the blossom.”

“Why?”

“You’re unmarried.”

“That explains absolutely nothing.”

“It explains everything to people who write society columns.”

Aurelia continued reading. According to three anonymous witnesses, Lady Aurelia Veyne had sensed danger before anyone else and courageously placed herself between the Crown Prince and an assassin’s bolt.

Technically true...

Unfortunately, the article then became creative. One witness claimed Caelan had caught Aurelia around the waist afterward. He had not. Another insisted the Crown Prince had refused to release her hand, also false. A third claimed Aurelia had whispered intimately into his ear before nearly fainting.

She had done neither.

Although she had called him Caelan.In public...Her stomach tightened. That was probably worse.

“Who owns this publication?” she asked.

Father answered without looking up. “Baron Pell.”

“How attached is he to it?”

“Aurelia,” Lucien warned, already smiling.

“A theoretical question.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

Mother took another sip of tea. “Leave Baron Pell’s printing house intact.”

Aurelia looked at her. “I wasn’t going to burn it.”

“No one said burn.”

Theron looked down at his plate while Lucien bit the inside of his cheek.

Aurelia slowly returned her attention to breakfast. Her family was becoming increasingly difficult to intimidate.

That was probably healthy. Probably.

Father folded one of his letters. “You’ll be at Saint Orienne’s this afternoon.”

“No.”

Mother’s gaze shifted toward her.

Aurelia reconsidered immediately. “Why?”

Better.

“The memorial service for Minister Vale.”

Aurelia’s amusement disappeared. “He died last night.”

“Yes.”

“That’s unusually fast.”

“His family requested a private burial tomorrow. The Crown ordered a public remembrance today. His Majesty won’t attend, but representatives of the palace, Treasury Council and several great houses will.”

“Caelan?”

Everyone looked at her.

Again.

Aurelia resisted the urge to hit her head against the table. “His Highness,” she corrected. Lucien looked delighted. Theron looked suspicious. And as per usual, mother suddenly found her tea fascinating.

Father, mercifully, ignored it. “No. The Crown Prince has other matters requiring his attention.”

Good.

Aurelia felt an unreasonable amount of relief. One afternoon without Caelan observing every breath she took sounded almost luxurious.

“House Sorn will attend,” Father added.

Her fingers stopped against her fork.

In the first timeline, House Sorn had arranged Vale’s assassination. At least, that was what Aurelia’s investigation five years later had concluded. If Vale’s death had changed, she wanted to see whether House Sorn’s reaction had changed with it.

“I’ll attend.”

Lucien raised an eyebrow. “You became religious quickly.”

“I can pray and investigate at the same time.”

Silence.

Aurelia looked around the table. “What?”

Father rubbed his forehead. Mother sighed. Theron continued eating.

Lucien grinned. “Nothing, blossom.”

Aurelia kicked him beneath the table. Saint Orienne’s Cathedral had eight doors.

Aurelia noticed immediately.

She stopped at the bottom of the marble steps and counted again just to make sure. The cathedral rose above the eastern quarter of the capital, white stone almost blinding beneath the afternoon sun. Seven golden spires crowned the roof, seven bells hung in its highest tower and seven saints were carved above the entrance.

Yet beneath them stood eight doors.

“My lady?” Mira asked behind her.

Aurelia didn’t answer.

The eighth stood at the far end, narrower than the others. Unlike the remaining seven, no saint had been carved above it. There was no crest or inscription either, nothing that explained why it existed.

People walked through it without looking.

Aurelia had done the same.

She’d attended services at Saint Orienne’s since childhood and had probably crossed those steps hundreds of times. How had she never thought about the number before?

First the eight columns beneath seven statues at the western archive.

Now this.

And when the world forgets us…

“My lady?”

Aurelia blinked and looked at Mira. “It’s nothing.”

It clearly wasn’t, but Mira wisely said nothing.

They climbed the steps.

The whispers started almost immediately.

“That’s her.”

“Lady Veyne.”

“She caught it with her hand.”

“No, I heard it was a shield.”

“There were three assassins.”

“Seven.”

Aurelia kept walking.

Seven?

By tomorrow she would have defeated an army.

A group of young noblewomen fell silent when she passed. One looked at Aurelia with obvious fascination while another openly examined her hands, probably searching for evidence of the legendary barehanded crossbow catch.

Mira moved slightly closer. “Would you like me to glare at them?”

Aurelia looked sideways. “Can you?”

“No.”

“Then why offer?”

“I thought the sentiment might help.”

It did. A little.

Inside, cool air replaced the afternoon heat. Incense and candle wax hung beneath the enormous vaulted ceiling, and the founding of the Septarch Empire stretched across it in painted gold and blue. Seven rulers stood beneath a radiant sky with their crowns raised and hands joined.

Aurelia studied the painting as she walked.

Something bothered her about it.

She couldn’t tell what.

Not yet.

Minister Vale’s portrait stood near the altar surrounded by white flowers and candles. He had been alive yesterday morning. Aurelia had saved him, and for several precious hours she’d genuinely believed she’d done it.

Then someone poisoned him.

The method had changed. The timing had changed. Perhaps even the murderer had changed, but the result remained the same.

That had to mean something.

If the future were truly immutable, why bother changing the weapon? Why change the circumstances at all?

Either something was correcting history…

Or someone was.

Aurelia scanned the congregation.

House Sorn occupied the left side of the cathedral. Duke Sorn himself wasn’t present, but his eldest son was.

Cassian Sorn.

Twenty-two. Dark red hair, narrow eyes and the sort of polite smile that revealed absolutely nothing. In the first timeline, Cassian would eventually become Minister of Internal Affairs, then disappear two weeks before the civil war began.

Aurelia had never found his body.

Interesting.

Cassian noticed her looking and offered a courteous bow. Aurelia returned it, watching his face carefully. No obvious anxiety. No relief. No guilt.

Either he knew nothing or he was extremely good.

Both possibilities annoyed her.

She looked elsewhere. Treasury officials, members of House Mareth, military officers, clergy, three men she would eventually arrest, one she would watch die and a woman who would later testify against House Veyne.

Her chest tightened.

Every room was becoming crowded with ghosts who hadn’t died yet.

“Lady Veyne?”

A soft voice came from behind her.

Aurelia turned and, for perhaps the third time since returning to the past, completely forgot what she had been thinking.

White hair.

Not silver or pale blond. White.

It fell in a loose braid over one shoulder, almost luminous against cream robes embroidered delicately in gold. The girl appeared around Aurelia’s age, perhaps slightly younger, with clear grey-blue eyes and a small sun-shaped pendant resting at her throat.

Aurelia knew her.

Everyone did.

Saint Elowen Arcel.

The Blessed Healer of Orienne.

And the woman who would one day become Crown Prince Caelan’s fiancée.

Aurelia’s body went completely still.

Elowen smiled. “I’m glad I found you.”

That was not what Aurelia expected.

“You were looking for me?”

“Yes.”

Why?

Her mind immediately began arranging possibilities. The Church. Vale. Yesterday’s assassination. Witness. Caelan.

In the first timeline, Aurelia and Elowen had never been enemies, but they had never truly been friends either. By the time Elowen properly entered court, Aurelia had already begun spending more of her life with the Imperial Guard than among the nobility.

Later, Caelan had chosen Elowen.

No.

Aurelia frowned. That memory felt strange.

Had he chosen her? Why couldn’t she remember the engagement clearly?

“Are you all right?” Elowen asked.

“Yes.”

“You look worried.”

“I’m not.”

Elowen considered her for a moment. “All right.”

Aurelia blinked. “You believe me?”

“No.”

The answer came so naturally that Aurelia almost laughed.

Elowen smiled wider.

Interesting. Not naive as you'd expect her to be.

“May I see your shoulder?”

Every alarm inside Aurelia activated.

“No.”

Elowen blinked. Aurelia realized she’d answered far too quickly.

“The palace physician mentioned you were injured yesterday,” Elowen explained.

“Did he?”

“He complained about it for approximately ten minutes.”

“I didn’t meet a palace physician.”

“Yes. That was what he complained about.”

Aurelia stared at her.

Elowen laughed softly. “He said you disappeared before he could examine you.”

“I was busy.”

“He used less charitable words.”

“I imagine.”

Elowen gestured toward a small side chapel. “It’ll only take a moment.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re holding your right shoulder three degrees lower than your left.”

Aurelia stared at her. “You measured that?”

“No.”

“Then why say three degrees?”

“It sounded convincing.”

Aurelia’s mouth opened, then closed.

Elowen smiled.

Aurelia immediately understood why people liked her.

That was inconvenient. Very inconvenient.

Some part of Aurelia had apparently prepared itself to dislike the woman Caelan would eventually marry. That would have been much easier.

Instead Elowen was funny. How irritating.

“Come,” Elowen said.

Aurelia followed, telling herself it was because refusing would attract more attention.

Definitely not because she was curious.

The side chapel was empty. Seven narrow stained-glass windows covered one wall.

Aurelia counted automatically.

Seven.

Good.

She was beginning to develop a problem.

Elowen closed the door behind them. “You can remove your coat.”

Aurelia did.

“May I?”

She hesitated before nodding.

Healing magic itself wasn’t rare, but true healers were. House Arcel’s ancestral oath had produced one of the empire’s strongest restorative Inheritances:

Where suffering enters, let mercy follow.

Arcel healers could take injuries from another body into their own temporarily, allowing the original wound to heal. The greater the injury, the greater the pain transferred.

Elowen’s power was considered miraculous because she could carry more than anyone in generations.

Aurelia knew exactly what that miracle would eventually cost her.

“No,” she said suddenly.

Elowen stopped. “No?”

“You don’t need to heal it.”

“It’s only bruising.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll barely feel it.”

“I said no.”

Her voice came out sharper than intended.

Elowen became quiet.

A memory surfaced before Aurelia could stop it.

Elowen kneeling inside a military tent with trembling hands and blood beneath her fingernails, smiling at wounded soldiers while taking pieces of their suffering into herself.

Again and again.

Until she’d collapsed.

Aurelia had carried her to the physicians personally.

Except that hadn’t happened yet.

Elowen hadn’t met her on that battlefield.

She didn’t know.

Aurelia did.

“I don’t like unnecessary suffering,” Aurelia said finally.

Elowen watched her. “Neither do I.”

“Then don’t hurt yourself over a bruise.”

Something shifted in Elowen’s expression. Surprise. Not because Aurelia had refused her, but because Aurelia had considered the cost.

Elowen looked down at her hands. “People usually ask me to heal things that aren’t injuries.”

Aurelia frowned. “What does that mean?”

“Wrinkles.”

Aurelia stared.

“Once, a countess asked me to fix the shape of her nose.”

“Did you?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“She stopped donating to the cathedral.”

“Give me her name.”

Elowen looked up.

Aurelia realized how that sounded. “For theological reasons.”

Elowen laughed, a real laugh bright enough to echo through the small chapel.

Aurelia found herself smiling.

This was bad. She liked her.

“I can examine your shoulder without healing it,” Elowen offered.

“Fine.”

“Sit.”

Aurelia sat on the edge of a prayer bench. Elowen pressed carefully around her shoulder, testing the joint.

“Here?”

“Fine.”

“And here?”

“Fine.”

Elowen pressed slightly higher. Pain shot through Aurelia’s shoulder, but her expression didn’t change.

Elowen sighed. “You’re terrible at this.”

“At what?”

“Being a patient.”

“I’ve been told.”

“Frequently?”

“Constantly.”

Elowen’s fingers moved toward the joint and suddenly stopped. Aurelia noticed immediately.

“What?”

Elowen didn’t answer.

“Elowen.”

The name came naturally enough. Elowen looked at Aurelia’s shoulder, then her arm, then finally her face.

“Have you injured this shoulder before?”

“Yes.”

Aurelia stopped.

No. Not this shoulder. Not this body.

Elowen’s eyes narrowed. “When?”

“I ride.”

“This isn’t from riding.”

“Training.”

“No.”

Aurelia’s heartbeat changed. “What do you feel?”

Elowen slowly placed two fingers against her skin. A faint golden light appeared beneath them. Aurelia almost pulled away.

“Don’t heal it.”

“I’m not.”

The warmth spread through her shoulder and Elowen flinched, jerking her hand backward.

Aurelia stood immediately. “What happened?”

Elowen stared at her. The warmth had disappeared from her expression, replaced not by fear but confusion.

“Your shoulder is bruised.”

“I know.”

“But beneath it…there shouldn’t be anything there.”

Cold moved through Aurelia’s stomach. “What is there?”

“I don’t know.”

“That isn’t reassuring.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

Elowen touched her again, more carefully this time. Golden light spread beneath her fingertips and her brow furrowed.

Then Aurelia felt something. Not pain exactly. Recognition. Her body remembered an arrow.

Northern campaign. Winter. A bolt had entered behind her shoulder and broken against the edge of her armor. Aurelia remembered Theron cutting it out. She remembered fever. She remembered three weeks without being able to properly lift her sword.

But there was no scar now.

That injury hadn’t happened to this body.

Elowen pulled her hand away.

“You have old damage.”

Aurelia didn’t breathe. “Impossible.”

“I know.”

“How old?”

Elowen looked at her. “Years.”

Silence.

Her body was seventeen.

That wound belonged to a body six years older.

Elowen touched another point near Aurelia’s collarbone, then cautiously moved toward her side. Her expression became increasingly disturbed.

“There are more.”

Aurelia caught her wrist. “Stop.”

Elowen froze.

Aurelia released her immediately. “I’m sorry.”

“No. It’s all right.”

Neither spoke for a moment.

Aurelia put her coat back on, pleased to discover that her fingers remained steady even though nothing else inside her did.

Elowen watched her. “Lady Aurelia.”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

It came out as an order.

Elowen raised an eyebrow.

Aurelia exhaled. “Please.”

“Are you in danger?”

Apparently everyone had decided to ask her that.

“I don’t know.”

That, at least, was honest.

Elowen considered her for several seconds before nodding. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Aurelia looked at her suspiciously. “Just like that?”

“No. I’ll give you three days.”

“What?”

“If you begin coughing blood, collapsing, glowing, hearing divine voices or growing a second head, our agreement ends.”

Aurelia stared. “A second head?”

“I like to establish boundaries.”

Despite everything, Aurelia laughed.

Elowen smiled before her expression softened. “I don’t know what happened to you, Lady Aurelia, but whatever those injuries are…your body remembers being hurt.”

Aurelia’s hand tightened around the edge of her coat.

Elowen continued, almost to herself. “That doesn’t necessarily mean it remembers correctly.”

Aurelia went still. “What?”

Elowen blinked. “I only meant healing can be strange. Sometimes the body holds pain after the injury itself is gone.”

The words were innocent.

Elowen had no idea what she’d just said.

Your body remembers.

That doesn’t necessarily mean it remembers correctly.

The cathedral bells began ringing before Aurelia could answer.

Seven times.

The memorial was beginning.

Neither of them noticed the eighth stained-glass window hidden behind the heavy curtain at the back of the chapel.

The memorial lasted fifty-three minutes.

Aurelia remembered approximately twelve.

She spent most of it thinking about wounds she technically had never received. When the congregation finally rose, she remained seated half a second too long until Mira touched her sleeve.

“My lady?”

Aurelia stood and immediately searched for House Sorn again.

Cassian was speaking with a Treasury official near the western aisle. Calm. No obvious anxiety, no relief. Either he genuinely knew nothing or his ability to hide emotion rivaled Alaric’s.

Aurelia intended to find out.

She had barely taken two steps when a cathedral attendant moved into her path.

“Lady Veyne?”

“Yes?”

“A message.”

He offered her a folded note without a seal.

Aurelia took it. “From whom?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Describe him.”

The attendant blinked. “My lady?”

“The person who gave it to you.”

“Tall, dark coat, palace insignia.”

Caelan.

Probably.

Aurelia unfolded the note.

The assassin was identified. He never worked for House Sorn. Come to the old observatory. Alone.

Aurelia stopped breathing. The old observatory of all places.

Her fingers tightened around the paper.Why there?

That observatory was where-

No. Not yet. Not for nine years.

Mira leaned closer. “My lady?”

Aurelia folded the note. “We’re leaving.”

The old imperial observatory stood behind the northern palace gardens. It had been abandoned for decades even in Aurelia’s first life, after the newer observatory was built closer to the university. This one had been left to gather dust, ivy and increasingly ridiculous stories about dead astronomers.

Aurelia hated it.

Not yet. She would hate it. Nine years from now. That distinction was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain.

The palace guard allowed her through after inspecting the note, which meant Caelan had arranged permission beforehand. Aurelia climbed the spiral staircase alone, recognizing every narrow window and painted constellation along the walls.

Except they weren’t as faded as she remembered.

The observatory had looked very different the night Caelan died.

Burned and broken. Blood everywhere.

Aurelia reached the final door and stopped with her hand against it.

For one terrible moment, memory replaced reality. Caelan’s fingers wrapped around hers. Blood soaking white ceremonial robes. His forehead against hers.

When the Crown opens its eyes, don’t look away.

Aurelia pushed the door open.

Caelan stood beneath the glass dome.

Alive.

No blood. No ruined ceiling. Late afternoon sunlight instead of fire.

For a moment Aurelia couldn’t move.

Caelan looked over. “You came.”

“You told me to.”

“That’s never stopped you from arguing before.”

She closed the door behind herself. “Why here?”

“Privacy.”

“You own a palace.”

“Which is famously excellent for privacy.”

Fair.

A table stood between them covered in documents. Caelan had removed his formal coat and rolled his sleeves to his forearms.

Aurelia noticed.

Then became irritated with herself for noticing.

“Your message.”

She picked up the first page.

Garran Holt. Thirty-four. Former city watchman. Widower. Dismissed two years ago. No known political affiliations.

Aurelia read faster.

Debt. One daughter. Residence in the southern quarter. Previous commendation for saving civilians during a warehouse fire. No criminal history until yesterday.

And no connection to House Sorn.

“He wasn’t an assassin,” Aurelia said.

“Not professionally.”

“He moved like one.”

“Yes.”

“Someone trained him.”

“Perhaps.”

Aurelia turned the page. There were no suspicious payments, no letters from political contacts, no Sorn retainers, nothing. House Sorn didn’t appear once.

“This is incomplete.”

“I thought you’d say that.”

“It has to be.”

“Why?”

She looked up.

Caelan was watching her far too carefully.

“Because men don’t simply wake up and decide to murder Treasury Ministers.”

“No?”

“Not usually.”

“And House Sorn?”

Aurelia’s pulse changed. “What about them?”

“You were watching Cassian Sorn at the cathedral.”

“How do you know that? You weren’t there.”

“I have eyes.”

“You very clearly were not there.”

“I have other people’s eyes.”

Aurelia stared.

Caelan smiled. “Less poetic, admittedly.”

“You had me followed?”

“I prefer observed.”

“That’s the same thing wearing better clothes.”

His smile widened.

There it was again. That easy expression that convinced half the court the Crown Prince was merely charming.

Aurelia knew better. Or she thought she did.

“Why are you investigating Holt?” she asked.

“He tried to shoot me.”

“Fair.”

“And because he said something interesting before he died.”

Aurelia’s head snapped up. “He’s dead?”

“This morning.”

“What happened?”

“Poison.”

Cold spread through her.

Again.

“What poison?”

“We don’t know yet.”

“When?”

“Approximately six.”

Vale at seven twenty-three last night. Holt before sunrise.

Someone was cleaning loose ends.

“What did he say?”

“He woke for less than a minute. The only thing he asked was whether his daughter was safe.”

PROTECT.

Aurelia’s Witness had been right.

“Where is she?”

“Missing.”

There it was.

Not the entire shape, but enough of it.

Someone had used Holt’s daughter as leverage.

“Then find her.”

“I am.”

“No, I mean now.”

Caelan raised an eyebrow. “Lady Aurelia-”

“If she’s alive, whoever used Holt may still need leverage. If she isn’t, they’ll need her body hidden. Either way there will be a trail.”

“You sound remarkably certain.”

“It’s obvious.”

“Is it?”

Aurelia stopped.

Caelan slowly walked around the table. “You knew where Holt would stand yesterday. You knew when Vale would arrive, knew an attack was coming and rearranged an entire street to control a fight that hadn’t happened yet.”

Aurelia said nothing.

“And yet you didn’t know about the crossbow.”

Her stomach tightened.

Caelan stopped in front of her. “You knew enough to predict the attack, but not enough to predict how it would change.”

Danger.

Not a sword or assassin, worse, it was this ridiculous man thinking too quickly.

“I had a bad feeling.”

“No.”

“Intuition.”

“No.”

“Witness.”

“Your Inheritance requires blood.”

Aurelia’s smile disappeared.

Of course he knew.

The Imperial family kept records on every major noble Inheritance.

Caelan leaned slightly closer. “Try again.”

“No.”

Silence hung between them for a second before Caelan laughed.

Not mockingly, if anything, he was delighted.

“You really have changed.”

The words struck harder than expected.

“You keep saying that.”

“Because you keep proving it.”

“What exactly do you remember me being?”

Caelan’s expression softened. “A girl who hated green.”

Aurelia stared.

“Who always ate the honey cakes first and pretended she hadn’t. Who apologized to furniture when she walked into it.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“That sounds fabricated.”

“I witnessed it personally.”

Heat touched Aurelia’s face.

Absolutely unacceptable.

Caelan smiled. “And you never looked at me as though you already knew how I would die.”

Everything inside her stopped. For half a second, the observatory disappeared. Blood across stone. White ceremonial robes turning red. Her sword. Caelan dying against her. Aurelia stepped backward.

His smile vanished immediately. “Aurelia?”

“Don’t.”

Her fingers had started trembling. She curled them into fists.

Control yourself, Caelan noticed. Of course he did.

“What happened here?”

Aurelia looked at him. “What?”

“You’ve been staring at the floor since you arrived.”

She hadn’t realized.

His gaze shifted toward the center of the observatory. The exact place he would die. Aurelia’s stomach turned.

“Nothing.”

“Aurelia.”

“Stop saying my name like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you know me.”

Silence.

She regretted it immediately.

Something changed in his expression. Not anger; that would have been easier. For an instant, he simply looked hurt.

Then the Crown Prince returned.

The easy smile. Relaxed posture. Armor disguised as charm.

“My apologies, Lady Veyne.”

Aurelia hated that even more but couldn't say a thing.

Caelan returned to the table. “There’s something else you should see.”

He handed her another page.

Aurelia read it once, then again.

“No.”

“I had the records checked twice.”

Holt had never received money from House Sorn. There were no meetings with Sorn retainers, no family connection, no known intermediary. Even his debts had been purchased six months ago by a charitable foundation controlled by the Church.

“What is this?”

“We don’t know.”

“House Sorn could have hidden the payments.”

“Yes.”

“They could have used intermediaries.”

“Yes.”

“They could have-”

“Aurelia.”

She stopped.

“You aren’t surprised House Sorn was suspected,” Caelan said. “You’re surprised they appear innocent.”

Damn him.

“Why?”

Aurelia looked down at the report.

Five years after Vale’s death, she’d investigated the assassination personally. The evidence had led to House Sorn. Financial records, witness testimony, a dead intermediary…everything had pointed toward them.

Had it all been false?

Not changed.

False from the beginning.

That realization was somehow worse.

Because if her memories contained conclusions she’d misunderstood, then remembering the future did not mean understanding it.

Aurelia slowly sat down.

She stared at Garran Holt’s name. His blood had screamed PROTECT. His daughter was missing. He’d been poisoned. Vale had been poisoned. House Sorn might have been framed, and Aurelia had spent nine years believing she knew how the empire had fallen.

What if she didn’t?

“What are you thinking?” Caelan asked.

“That I may have been wrong.”

“About?”

Aurelia looked at the documents.

“Everything.”

Her gaze wandered toward the glass dome.

Then stopped.

Metal ribs supported the enormous structure overhead.

Aurelia counted them.

Eight.

She stood.

Caelan followed her gaze. “What?”

“Why are there eight?”

“Eight what?”

“The supports.”

He looked upward. “Because there are eight.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“It is technically an answer.”

Aurelia ignored him.

Seven kingdoms, seven crowns, seven founders, seven bells, seven imperial divisions. Even the empire’s name-Septarch-was built around that number. Everything was seven, and yet the western archive had eight columns, Saint Orienne’s had eight doors, and now the old observatory had eight supports holding its dome.

Once could be architectural coincidence.

Twice was strange.

Three times was a pattern.

Aurelia walked beneath the dome. An astronomical circle had been carved into the stone floor, eight points surrounding a central sun. Seven were labeled with ancient constellations.

The eighth was blank.

No name or a symbol.

Just an empty space deliberately built into the design.

“Aurelia?”

She crouched and ran her fingers across it.

THUMP.

Aurelia jerked upright.

Caelan’s hand immediately went to his sword. “What?”

She stared at the floor. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

Another heartbeat came through the stone.

THUMP.

It wasn’t beneath the observatory.

Far away.

Impossible.

And yet she knew exactly where it came from.

Veyne Manor.

Something beneath her home was calling.

Aurelia gripped the edge of the table as the room blurred. Ruby slowly crept into the outer edge of her golden eyes.

Caelan saw it.

This time she knew he did.

“Aurelia.”

“Don’t.”

“Your eyes.”

“I said don’t.”

The ruby spread farther.

Caelan stared at her, but there was no fear in his expression. If anything, he looked fascinated, which somehow made the situation worse.

“Is that Witness?”

“No.”

A terrible lie.

“Your family’s Inheritance doesn’t do that.”

“I know.”

That silenced him.

The heartbeat came again.

For one instant the observatory vanished.

Aurelia saw stone and darkness. A sealed door beneath the earth, black thorns carved around a silver eye. Eight narrow grooves surrounded it, and behind the stone…

something was breathing.

Then it disappeared.

Aurelia gasped and her knees gave slightly.

Caelan caught her before she fell, one arm wrapping around her waist while the other steadied her injured shoulder.

For once, the gossip columns would have been correct.

Aurelia looked up at him.

Too close.

Much too close.

There was no humor left in his expression.

“What did you see?”

Her eyes slowly returned to gold.

She could hear his heartbeat.

Alive.

Warm.

Nothing like the last time he’d held her in this room.

Her gaze dropped to his chest.

No blood. No sword...Not yet.

Aurelia stepped out of his arms. “My house.”

“What?”

“I need to go home.”

“Aurelia-”

“Now.”

She moved toward the door, but Caelan caught her hand.

Not her wrist.

Her hand.

Aurelia stopped.

“Whatever this is,” he said quietly, “you’re afraid.”

“No.”

“Liar.”

She should have pulled away immediately.

Instead, for one dangerous second, she let him hold her hand.

“I don’t know what’s happening.”

The confession escaped before she could stop it.

Caelan’s expression changed, and Aurelia hated how relieved some part of her felt after finally saying those words aloud.

She withdrew her hand and left.

Caelan remained beneath the dome after the door closed.

His smile disappeared.

He looked toward the place Aurelia had been standing, then upward at the metal ribs supporting the observatory.

Eight.

For the first time in his life, Crown Prince Caelan Aster Edrienne counted them.

Then counted them again.

Because now that Aurelia had asked the question…

eight felt wrong.

Far beneath Veyne Manor, the heartbeat stopped.

Silence returned to the sealed chamber.

Then something moved behind the stone door.

Dust slipped from ancient letters no living Veyne remembered how to read. Seven grooves surrounding the silver eye remained dark.

The eighth began to glow.

And somewhere beyond the door, in a room that had not been opened in eighty-three years, a woman’s voice whispered:

“Aurelia.”