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mumbled. “They’re making a collar. For Matias.”
    Aaric looked surprised. “This is Sen Altare, Adaryn. They wouldn’t do anything like that here . . .” He trailed off, watching me. “You’re serious?” he exclaimed. He motioned me down the hall. “Why don’t you go lie down? I’ll talk to Mr. Archer. There must be some sort of misunderstanding.”
    I let Aaric steer me down the hall, moving mechanically, my mind racing. I’d just remembered what Sirius said earlier. Rover. He’d called me a rover and planned to collar Matias, another magic user. Left unchecked, Sen Altare was looking to be as bad as Ruis.
    My jaw clenched with determination. If I had anything to do with it, I wasn’t going to let this city get that far.

13
Bran
     
    B ran lengthened his stride, walking down one of the halls in the palace, when he noticed a familiar curvy figure walking ahead of him.
    “Grace!” Bran called.
    The young woman slowed, looking over her shoulder. She smiled when she saw him. “Hello, Bran,” she said amiably. “I haven’t seen you since, well . . .”
    “Since we took down Matias,” Bran finished, and the blonde woman nodded.
    “He was a pompous, conceited windbag,” she sniffed, and Bran grinned. Adaryn had used that term to describe Grace.
    “I wanted to congratulate you on the strategic plan you came up with for defeating him,” Bran continued. “They should give you a medal and make you a war general back in Ruis.”
    Grace laughed with delight, putting a hand to her mouth. “I would make a smashing general, wouldn’t I? Mother would be horrified, of course, but I think my father would be rather proud.” She put her hands on her hips, and stuck her chin out at a jaunty angle, posing, earning a laugh from Bran.
    “Sen Altare better be careful,” he joked. “Incur the wrath of the northern city and they just might send you down here to divide and conquer.”
    Grace gave a rather unladylike snort. “My loyalties are divided,” she said. “My home city on one side, my aunt and the Scholar’s Guild on the other. I could never go to war against either.”
    “Are your loyalties divided elsewhere, as well?” he asked solemnly, and Grace turned a lovely shade of pink.
    “Of course not.” She kept her eyes forward. “Well, not unless it benefited me in some way.”
    Bran had no idea what she meant by that, and was bemused to see her cheeks go from pink to scarlet. She muttered something about men that he couldn’t quite catch. She looked quite flustered, so Bran thought it might be a good time to change the subject to one he’d wanted to discuss with her for some time.
    “So what was your backup plan in the event the Fire Dust didn’t work and Matias dragged you and Adaryn to his harem?”
    Grace glanced up at him out of the corner of her eye, clearly amused. “Does it matter?”
    “Yes, it does.” Bran looked down at her.
    Grace smirked, but after noticing the serious look on his face, her expression grew thoughtful, regarding him. She fished her hand down the low neckline of her dress—Bran coughed, averting his gaze—and procured a small, slim vial. It was filled with what looked like water.
    “See this?” She held it up to the light. Now that Bran examined it more closely, it looked slightly cloudy.
    “It’s Sleep Drought,” she said, “and is odorless and tasteless. It was created to help those who have trouble sleeping. One drop is enough to make one drowsy. Drink the entire bottle, and you will sleep three days straight, if it doesn’t kill you.”
    “And you were going to give this to Matias?”
    Grace smiled. “No, I was going to give it to Adaryn.”
    “Grace,” Bran growled.
    The pretty woman rolled her eyes at him. “Of course I was going to give it to Matias. You didn’t think I was planning on becoming a permanent fixture of his harem, do you?”
    Bran eyed her suspiciously. “You don’t have feelings for him?”
    She stared at him, her eyes wide. “I