Page 98 of Forged in Flame and Shadow

“It seems, however, our father kept a lot of secrets. You can imagine I was pretty surprised to hear about another child of his, one who happened to be the heir. I’ve been wanting to meet you ever since.”

He smiles again, and I think it feels familiar to me now, like the echo of an image I’ve seen in a mirror.Family. It’s been nonexistent in my life. A fragile concept I’ve watched play out for other people, never me. I grew up only ever able to build my family out of the people who’d have me. Kind, generous people like Tira and Will. But to think there might be someone bonded to me already—someone whose connection to me I didn’t have to earn…

I try to swallow down the painful lump in my throat as Leon’s voice cuts through my thoughts, cold and hard as iron.

“This is all well and good, Sandale. But do you have any actual proof?”

I might not have said it exactly like that, but Leon has a point. Normally, we’d just ask Alastor to confirm Harman’s story, but he’s currently lying unconscious upstairs.

Harman directs his reply to me. “Given everything I’ve heard you’ve been through in the last three months, you’re smart not to take my words at face value. Esther, will you ask Mal to join us?”

The redheaded woman who’s been keeping watch in the corner of the room ducks next door. The part-dryad returns with a little leather case in his hands. I’ve seen one like it in the past.

“Have you had a kin test performed on you before, Princess Morgana?” Harman asks.

“Just Morgana,” I say, automatically. “And yes. At Elmere.”

Harman nods. “I thought so. Then you’ll know what to expect here. Mal, will you do the honors?”

The Hand’s leader rolls up his sleeve and presents the inside of his elbow. The dryad produces a needle from his case and pricks a vein, squeezing a few drops of Harman’s blood into a vial. Then he finds a fresh needle and vial and approaches me.

I wince just a little when he jabs me. He’s definitely not got the same finesse as the dryad at the palace, but then I suppose Mal isn’t technically a healer.

“Dryads have specialties, right?” I say to distract myself from the sting of the vial being pressed against the pin prick. “Their viatic magic tends to have a particular strength. What’s yours?”

“This,” he says with a shrug. “Blood magic. The healers I’ve met don’t like to mess around with it too much, but I find it’s pretty useful.”

“Then how did you give Alastor his fever?” I ask. He’s done drawing blood now; I’m just curious.

“I gave him a blood infection,” he says.

“You gave himsepsis?” Damia hisses, and somewhere around her collar, Barb does the same.

“A mild case!” Mal says, holding up his hand, still clutching the vial of my blood. “Really. Much milder than you see naturally.”

“Mal might not be a healer, but he knows what he’s doing,” Harman says. His words don’t do much to reassure the fae,however. I can still sense Leon’s resentment coming off him in waves. It’s probably only a matter of time before he reaches a tipping point.

Mal mixes the two vials and mutters a jumble of both Agathyrian and the common tongue—definitely not the official spell the palace healer used, but something of his own invention, I guess. I can make out enough that I’m confident he is asking the blood to reveal a family connection.

Then it turns a violent purple, just like at the palace.

A warmth rises up in me as I meet Harman’s gaze. He looks a little overwhelmed too, like there was maybe a niggling doubt there that’s just been swept away.

“I guess that settles it then,” I say quietly.

“I guess so,” Harman replies. “Nice to meet you, sister.”

I look to my friends, trying to balance myself after such a torrent of emotion. Tira gives me a genuine smile, but I can see the strain in her eyes. I’ve gained a brother, when she’s still mourning the one she lost. Then, when I turn to Leon, there’s only that same suspicion written on his face.

“I’ll believe it when Alastor is well again,” he says to me, before glaring at Harman. “Then we’ll see exactly how trustworthy these people are.”

Harman frowns. “What more could you want? I’ve proven my link to Morgana. Where is this hostility coming from? I would’ve thought that Leonidas Claerwyn, the famed scourge of the War of the Laurels, would understand our goals.”

A jolt of surprise runs through me, because until now the rebels had given no indication they knew who Leon was. I thoughtthey’d just assumed the fae were, like Esther had said, my Filusian bodyguards. Maybetheydid, but now I realize Harman probably knew who Leon was from the moment he laid eyes on him.

The sudden reveal of this fact doesn’t help soothe Leon, his face contorting in anger.

“Your goals? And what was your goal when you murdered the crown prince of Filusia and his wife?”

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