The palace was noisy with voices and footsteps, but underneath it all there was always that hush of fear whenever Anthea walked by. She pulled her cloak close around her body. It was dark blue with white fur at the edges. Her chin was high, daring anyone to look her in the eye. The torches on the stone walls hissed as they burned. Servants bent low when she passed. None of it could calm the storm rising inside her chest.

Mara was gone.

Not gone as in dead. If Mara had died, Anthea would have ...