Lyla lay in a small white bed, her face pale. A bandage swathed one temple, where it had landed on Sir Valon’s mail shoulder. He had broken her fall from the third floor balcony. While the wound had rendered her unconscious for several hours, she mostly slept now to regain to her strength, attended by the court physician, a kind, stoop-backed elderly man with wispy white hair.

Peering around the door, Rachelle saw with relief that the physician was not in Lyla’s room. He would not approve of her interrupting his patient’s slumber, and he was one person who Rachelle dared not anger. Who knew what kind of revenge he could exact upon her, should she ever fall ill and need his care! It would be better all around if he were not here to witness. Rachelle closed the door behind her and approached Lyla’s cot. She still slept.

“Wand-girl.” Rachelle spoke loudly. Lyla made no move and Rachelle’s brows creased, annoyed. “Lyla!” she jostled the sleeping girl’s shoulder. “Your Queen is here!”

Lyla heard the voice as if from a long distance. Her eyelids felt heavy and dry; a moan escaped her lips as she rose to consciousness. Opening her eyes, she felt a wave of nausea as the room tilted crazily. Queen Rachelle stood above her.

“Your Grace?” she managed weakly, trying to sit up. Her head throbbed mercilessly under the thick bandage.

“Ah, you’re awake,” the queen sounded gratified. “I require your assistance.”

Lyla instinctively reached for the scepter, never more than an arm’s length away. It was not there. Panic bubbled in her throat, her fingers grasping desperately.

“Looking for this?” Rachelle held up the golden scepter, affecting a curious look. “Funny how the wand which has been broken for six hundred years should suddenly come to life in my absence.” She slanted a look at Lyla. “But then, you always were a little schemer, weren’t you?”

Lyla protested weakly. “Nay, your highness, I’m sorry. I never… the wand just… just happened. I didn’t do anything to control it.”

Rachelle leaned closer. “The castle folk tell me different. Didn’t you talk? Say magical words to it?” She felt a surge of satisfaction as Lyla’s face blanched. She too, remembered.

“Your Grace, I don’t know what I said to it. I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you.”

“You will tell me all you know of this scepter, this I command you!”

The wounded girl gestured feebly. “Honestly, your Grace, I remember so little. I only remember being very frightened, seeing that… that light take over the throne room, and then, something… a force… just took over! The rod was shaking, or maybe I was shaking, and then… the rest just happened.” It sounded weak, even to her ears. “I was merely trying to hold onto the rod, as you commanded, your Grace. I… I think the scepter did this on its own!”

Rachelle frowned. “I think you’re lying. I think you conjured this all up in my absence, to try and take over my throne!”

Lyla gasped, shocked. “Your Grace! You can not think such a thing! I would never in my life even dream of taking your throne, I have no right! I have no power either, you know this. I am just a poor, broken girl, your highness.”

Rachelle mused, her eyes never leaving Lyla. “Yes, maybe you’re right. About you having no power, that is. I doubt you would think of such a clever plan, anyhow.” She paused. “Nevertheless, you shall tell me all, including a reason for why you were on the third story balcony in the first place.” The queen’s eyes narrowed. “I will give you another day, and then I expect you to remember more… something… helpful.”

She flipped her long tresses back over a shoulder and opened the door. “Sleep well, Lyla. I expect you to attend me again, soon.”