My father clears his throat and adjusts the tie on his robe. He doesn’t look nearly as dignified or threatening in his pajamas, but I wouldn’t make the mistake of telling him so.

He clears his throat. “We have reason to believe that the well is making us mad.”

The words tangle in my brain. The well is healing—magical. It’s the place I go when I need to feel strong.

My mother wrings her hands. “Able is visiting so much more often to help your father lay down the holy fire barrier every night, and it seems like the more he visits the well, the worse it gets. It started very infrequently, but in the last few months, things have—escalated. It seems to be worse at night. It’s fortunate that you’re such a heavy sleeper or you would have noticed sooner.”

Gaven catches my eye and arches a brow, but I am too shaken by the revelation to worry about him taunting me for sneaking out.

The well replenishes our magic. It’s part of the reason that we limit knowledge of the house well. It’s our ancestral secret, in case anything bad happens to the Blood Well.

“But we all go in the well,” I say.

Gaven’s steady gaze is fixed on me. He already knew this. It’s not unusual for him to know things before I do. My father trusts him more than he trusts me, and while it’s not surprising, it does sting.

My father sighs. “Yes, and we know you go more often because of your⁠—”

Defect. He wants to use that word, but my mother has scolded him for using it and now he can’t think of a better word.

My father shifts, his attention sliding to my mother. He wants her to smooth this over because he thinks she holds more sway with me. She shrugs a shoulder like she has nothing to offer, but I think she knows it would fall on deaf ears. It’s been a long time since I cared what she has to say.

“Condition,” my mother suggests.

I know there’s no name for the pain that plagues me, but it still bothers me that no matter how much I do for them, they only see the ways I fall short. As if my own frustration with my body isn’t enough.

They stare at me—waiting for me to speak. After years of being forced to listen to them scheme, it’s satisfying seeing them both at a loss for words. I want to cling to this—the only power I’ve ever had. I want to show them that I’ve inherited their gift for hitting someone where they’re weakest. But I don’t need to say anything. They already know this discovery—the urgency of madness overtaking my brother at the very moment that we face a new external threat—only improves my bargaining power once I get them what they want.

It’s tempting to toy with them, but I’m tired and agitated about leaving tomorrow. I need the quiet of my room to think.

My parents are still looking at me expectantly.

“Are you asking if I’m mad too?” I bite back a startled laugh. “I suppose it’s a distinct possibility. I did just decide to go behind enemy lines by marrying a dangerous man for the second time—after I was promised that my duty had been done.” I shake my head. “Perhaps I am a bit mad. Are you, Father?”

My father grinds his teeth, his face going red with rage. “You know very well that I’m not.”

“Do I?”

I shouldn’t tempt him by pushing, but it’s as if Aidia’s absence has pulled the fire out of me and I can’t let it go like I used to. I spent my childhood thinking that I was the problem—that there was a level of good I could achieve that would satisfy him. I learned to read his shifting moods like changing weather, but no matter how I twisted and turned, no matter how small I made myself, there was no way to avoid his mercurial wrath.

My mother’s voice shakes me from my thoughts. “Have you seen any signs?”

“Signs?”

“Of madness,” she says impatiently.

I shake my head. “No.”

I mentally run through how often I’ve visited the well. I haven’t been much lately because it never really helps anything for my pain during or after an attack. The only thing it does is make me feel more energetic and make my aura brighter and my magic easier to access.

“You can’t think of anything?” my mother presses.

I glance at Gaven, who is still leaning against the wall by the door. “Can you?”

He shakes his head. “All is normal.”

My parents lock eyes.

“Maybe it’s just the attacks for her,” my mother says quietly.

My father nods. “Good, then.”

I look past them to Able, asleep in his bed. “What about Able? If it’s getting worse, shouldn’t he stop going to the well?”

“If he stops going to the well, I cannot defend this city,” my father snaps. “The wall is too big now. We’ve expanded twice during my rule. I can’t power it without him, just like he won’t be able to do it without his heir.”

The gravity of the situation hits me. Every day at sundown, my father and brother pour their power into the specially treated sunstone that lines the top of the city walls. Able takes the northern half of the city, and my father takes the southern half. It takes tremendous concentration and skill to channel enough holy fire to span the entire length of the wall and burn through the night. If either of them goes too mad to wield their magic, there would be nothing left to prevent the Drained from scaling the city walls. The entire population of Lunameade would be defenseless.

Worse, if the well makes us mad and my brother and father are already in its grips, the rest of us are next.

“Was it always like this? The madness?” I ask.

My father shakes his head. “No. It’s recent. No family records make note of it.”

“Would they?” I ask skeptically.

“There are private family notes that only the heir can access. It would be in there,” he says.

I try to trace back our family history to anything that has changed during my father’s rule, but part of the reason the city still stands is that we follow the rule set out by our ancestors, and we don’t deviate. Any changes that have been made in our history have been through the influence of the Divine. Usually, a Harvain-blessed Seer shares a Divine prophecy, but occasionally one of the Divine appears to someone in our family, like in the story about Alistair Carren.

Strict rules are how we have survived remotely in these woods for so long.

“Is that it?” I ask.

My father nods, and I turn to leave wordlessly. Gaven opens the door for me and follows me back to my room.

He makes to go inside, but I stop him. “I hardly think an assassin is in there waiting for me. Go to bed. We have an early morning.”

He frowns but relents, disappearing into his room across the hall.

I wait for his door to click closed before I close and lock mine. Then, I throw myself on the bed, squeezing my eyes closed. There’s a shift in the air, and I sit with a start and spin toward my closet, hand brushing the dagger still strapped to my thigh.

But it’s not a villain standing there in the low firelight. It’s Aidia, looking ghostly pale and exhausted.

“Aidy.” I’m so happy to see her, I almost start crying instantly.

She walks toward me but stops just short of the bed.

My eyes burn as I reach for her, but she steps away and holds up her hands as if to brace against me.

“Don’t. I’m afraid I’m not in hugging shape.”

The relief at seeing her turns to rage. “Your ribs again?”

She smiles half-heartedly. “Just bruised this time. Not broken.”

“I could have Henry fix it. He’s a healer.”

Aidia shakes her head, a hint of fear in her eyes. “Low, I am not letting your broody mountain man waste valuable healing on me when you could need it tomorrow. Your trek to Mountain Haven is dangerous. Now lie down. You should be well-rested for the journey.”

I frown. Just once, I wish she wouldn’t be a big sister. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Officially, you never saw me,” Aidia says.

“And unofficially?” I ask.