"I don't see why we have to return to the scrying room," she said after supper, as Declan kept a determined pace, ten steps ahead of her.

"I left my hat there," he said. A breeze ruffled his dark hair.

"I never took you for a dandy." She raised an eyebrow, doing her best to keep up with him. Her slippers nearly caused her to careen into a potted plant, sliding on the slick floors.

"I'm not." He was terse tonight, his shoulders tensing.

"Then what am I to make of your fixation with this accessory, Prince?" she asked.
"It is dear to my heart," he said. "Make of that what you will."

"I thought you didn't have a heart." In front of her, she saw his coiled muscles tighten as though about to strike. What had she said to irritate him so?

"Have I offended you? Prince Declan?"

"Not at all," he said easily, but his body said otherwise. Declan slowed down to allow her to walk by my side. His fingers closed around her wrist when she reached him: a cuff, a fetter, an anchor.

"Well, here we are."

Her stomach clenched. "I hate this room," Nadia blurted out before she could stop herself. She sounded like a petulant child, and hated it.

"You aren't alone in that," he assured her. It was a confession that stopped her in her tracks, remembering how cold he had seemed that morning. Who was he, really?

"Did the Duke lose at cards?" she said, changing the subject.

"He lost a large sum of money but he agreed to play and in fact asked to join me, knowing I was a card shark, Nadia." Declan opened the door, waving her inside.

"My hat, if you please." Declan strolled into the scrying room like he owned it. She was beginning to realize that was how he behaved everywhere, with everything, not just the palace where he was the prince.

Nadia stopped suddenly, nearly crashing into Declan's back. She clutched his bicep to steady herself, her foot an inch from his heel. He barely glanced at her. But they both fixed their gazes on the woman in the middle of the room. Grey hair, crinkled lines by her green eyes, hunched posture, clad in a dark grey robe. She stared straight back at them. Declan's hat sat on the altar, a dark blot amidst the white.

"You," Declan said, as though he recognized the women from somewhere. But Nadia did, too. "You were in the marketplace on that day in Milona! You insulted me to my face and praised my cousin."

Nadia spot back a laugh at how indignant he sounded. But the mirth was mingled with confusion. She knew the woman too, but how? From where?

"You were in the temple! I saw you as the matron... Who said all those things to me, those mysterious warnings..." 

As she took in both their accusations, the woman picked up Declan's hat and lobbed it at him like a weapon before running toward the back of the room. Two perplexed and shocked to follow, they watched as she parted the gossamer curtains and disappeared.

"She's awfully spry for an old woman," Declan noted as he donned his hat.

"That's all you have to say?" she asked. "A comment on her athletic abilities?"

"Well, I was rather offended by how poorly she treated my hat," he said.

"Who is she?" she said. "Did she follow us here from Milona?"

"I don't know," Declan admitted.

"Admitting defeat?" she said. But her teasing tangled with worried and surprised still from seeing the old woman.

"We ought to confront her," Declan said, striding toward the back of the scrying room.

Just as he reached the sheer drapes, the young Oracle emerged, glancing between the two of them. "What are you doing here? I thought you disliked me and this place with a vengeance."

"The old Crone," Nadia began to say. "Who is she?"

"I don't know who you're talking about," said Marya, a frown pinching her brows. There was something truly hostile in her face, truly hateful. "But get out. I did not invite you to this sacred space or to defile it with your impure motives."

Nadia had been raised in a temple, around priestesses and rituals and the mystic, spiritual aspects of life that could not be explained. But she knew how these things could be corrupted and she knew how to spot someone who was using religion for their own purposes. This crying room? This maiden Oracle and the Crone? They were far from pure of heart no matter how they accuse others of having impure motives.

As she and Declan gladly left the room, she heard him mutter, "We will uncover their secrets, one by one. And we will be the ruin of them."

-

A week passed since the incident in the scrying room. Nadia had lurked outside the room and looked for the crone again to no avail. Meanwhile, Declan had used every resource at his fingertips to try and hunt down the old woman, also with no success.

Strolling through the gardens, Nadia listened to the burbling water of the stream that runs between the trees, shrubs, and sculptures. Twirling her parasol, she tried to relax in the soothing environment, but the pounding sun made that difficult.

She missed the veils and headscarves that she had worn in the temple, but they were a rarity here and she didn't want to stand out. Though that was already difficult one one was constantly spotted in the company of the prince.

Still, she cherished the quiet moment alone and away from the throngs of gossiping courtiers. At noon, the gardens were empty; it was too hot to even stand a moment outdoors. Not to mention that they were still recovering from the prior night's festivities. Taking a deep breath, she stood in the shade of a leafy birch, surveying the area. Miniature boats drifted through the stream, intricately crafted and carrying candles. They had been lit during the week-long celebration of the prince has returned: seven days of drunken revelry and debauchery that made her fear to leave her room.

At last, it was over. She had made it through with her dignity intact - which was fairly easy to do when one barely drank. The wine here did not agree with her.

"Nadia?" she heard, and something in her ribcage tightened.

"Nolan," she said as casually as possible, running her fingers over the birch's creamy bark. Someone had traced a heart into its surface, forever embedded in bold dark lines. "How did you find me? Shouldn't you be preparing for your wedding with Mari?"

"Well, actually, I brought her here so the two of you could reconcile," he said sheepishly, rubbing his nape with a freckled hand. Stepping to the side, sunlight hit his golden epaulettes and matching sword, to reveal that behind him was Mari. She was dressed in a fine gown of linen and muslin and pale green, edged with white lace.

She looks lovely, Nadia thought begrudgingly. Green suited her blond hair and fair skin. Then, a second, less reluctant thought: I miss her.

Nadia folded her arms over the bodice of her dress. She would not speak first.

"Hello, Nadia." For the first time since they had met as children, Mari looked less like her usual bubbly self and more like a dejected puppy. Forlorn. Lost. "Astroia seems to be treating you well. I like your hair."

Out of self-conscious habit, Nadia touched her hair, a few ringlets escaping the straw hat she wore. It had a green feather, reminding her of Declan's hat. "Thank you."

"Can we not be friends, Nadia? I've known you all my life..." In Mari's eyes, she recognized something from her own life: loneliness. Desperation.

She sighed. Too much lay between them for her to pretend that they were home at the temple again. "How did you escape the fire?"

"One of your guards got me out," she said. "Then Nolan's men found me. I went with them."

"They didn't hurt you?" she asked, unsure what she wanted the answer to be. Nadia knew how soldiers could be, how rough, how crude, how cruel. She would never wish that on a girl whom she would have once called her best friend.

"No, at all. Mark and Luke - they would never hurt a fly." Mari shook her head quickly, eyes wide.

"Mark and Luke," Nadia repeated. The two young boy soldiers and best friends, who reminded her of skittish colts. They, too, had lied to her. What had she expected of them? Those two had sworn no loyalty to her, no fealty to anyone but the crown. "How did you even meet him? Nolan, I mean."

Marie blushed, looking down at her hands. "Well, it was on market day..."

As Marie narrated the story for her, Nadia felt as though she were being transported back to Milona. The sights and sounds, quiet stillness of the temple in the early mornings, the bustle of the marketplace. Seawater lapping against the shore, moss creeping over the white stones, meat skewered and spiced and charred on sticks. She missed home with such an intense longing that she felt faint.

Mari had apparently given Nolan a tour of the market, upon which he had immediately been smitten with her. However, the gap in their status had been frowned upon, and his cousin, Declan, would certainly forbid any romance as a distraction at best and highly improper at worst. Still, Nadia found this story implausible, as Declan was far from a stickler for propriety.

"I really wanted to tell you." Mari clutched her hands. Nadia was too shocked to pull away."But you were so close to him... I was scared that we would be found out..."

A sliver of resentment slip into her heart and wedged it apart. She hated her ties to Declan at that moment, the ones that had been forced upon her by circumstance and fate and magic, but more so, you hated that Mari hadn't trusted her enough to keep her secrets. "I understand. I wish you had told me. I really do. I would have kept your secrets."

Mari sniffed. "I suppose that's all I can ask for. Where are you staying? The palace I mean. I'll come to visit you sometime."

Nadia hesitated, as more people began falling into the gardens and Nolan returned.

"Perhaps we will meet again," she said vaguely. Disappointment flashed across Mari's face before she went away with Nolan. Nadia peeled herself off of the tree and disappeared into the garden.