My shoulders fell a little. How could we—
“It isn’t safe for any of you.” His gaze darted to Aleksa repeatedly. “And you—are you who I think you are?” She sighed and shrugged, and Sennor rubbed a hand over his face. “None of you should go. There are strange things happening—people who get too close, who work with Janiis and his advisors, they do not come back the same. You are all too valuable—”
“We must go,” I said firmly. “We will go. Will you help us, or not?” I stared at his knees. Silently begging.
Sennor rubbed his jaw. “By tonight?”
My eyes shot to his, but he was still staring at Aleksa. “As soon as possible.”
He sighed, a great puff of air. “I will help. Let’s see what we can do before Janiis’s party starts at dusk.”
* * *
The clothes Sennor lent Ren didn’t fit very well. Aleksa had braided my hair around my head and tucked it under a cap, and the paste Inga had used to thicken my eyebrows itched. But not as bad, I imagined, as the fake beard Aleksa now wore.
Ren had laughed for five minutes straight when Sennor brought out the cunningly devised contraption. But Sennor had been insistent that Aleksa wear the beard—she was most likely to be recognized in the palace by everyone she’d been running from.
My shoulders hunched at the thought of how ridiculous I looked in trousers, short boots, and the eyebrows. But Ren was the one all eyes would be on.
Sennor also couldn’t lend a horse. He claimed he only paid for use of one when traveling on the Plateau. He offered a chair conveyance that servants carried on their shoulders—a tradition picked up from the Continent—but Ren had flatly refused.
For now, we traveled alone, but we’d meet a caravan of servants at the palace’s walkway so that we couldn’t be easily traced back to Sennor’s.
We shuffled over the stonework, pressing against the wall as Riigans passed by with worried looks. “Be inside before nightfall,” some whispered to us.
The closer we came to the palace, the more my collar itched. Would someone see through our patched-up efforts to get in? Ren’s voice echoed in my mind, how one scream from me would have my father giving them anything they wanted.
Ren was the king, I reminded myself. He’d been invited. They’d let us in.
But would they let us out?
And if they did, would we be the same? Sennor’s and Aleksa’s warnings of people changing stayed at the front of my mind. We’d have to be careful.
We trudged along, Sennor’s man ahead acting as guard, Ren behind him, Aleksa and me trailing in our disguises.
“We won’t have much time,” Aleksa murmured just loud enough for Ren and me to hear. “I’ll get to the kitchens, see who can be trusted, find a way into the dungeon.”
“I’m more worried about the way out of the dungeon,” Ren muttered.
“You stay low,” she said to me. “Keep your head down, and roll your shoulders forward. You need to look like a servant.”
I wasn’t sure how to roll my shoulders forward with this bag, but I tried. If there was one thing I was good at, it was being invisible.
“And you,” she said to Ren. “Janiis is all about flair. Swallow your doubt and act like a king.”
I wasn’t sure how anyone could mistake him for anything except a king, but his head jerked in an approximation of a nod.
We passed homes and shops nestled between the rocks jutting from the cliffs. Narrow stairs led us up and then down so many times I’d lost all sense of direction. Then we turned a corner onto a wide street, the first wide, straight road I’d seen in the city. Beyond that, the waters of the Many Seas stretched out before us.
The road was on top of a wall built of gray stone, bright torches lighting the way. On the right, a straight drop to a sandy beach. Rows and rows of military tents marched down the sand—neat lines, small fires nestled between them.
“What is this?” Ren muttered.
Aleksa hissed, “These are new.”
Was her brother there? Would she stay with us, or go after him? I adjusted the bag on my shoulders. “I thought you said it was almost storm season.” Aleksa nodded. “Won’t all these tents be washed away?”
Ren cursed under his breath. “I’m guessing these soldiers won’t be camped here much longer.”
The sun was setting into the ocean, throwing orange and pink and purple across the sky, a dark line of clouds blowing in. On the left, the city rose up into the cliffs.
From here we could see three huge, jagged lines carved into the rock from the top to the bottom. “What’s that?” Ren asked.
As we watched, a huge platform was inched straight up by a set of pulleys and ropes that appeared tiny from where we stood, but had to be huge to hoist such a load.
“That,” Aleksa said, “is what Janiis has been building with his forced labor.”
Something about the scene was familiar, though I couldn’t place— “My father had a drawing of this when he left.” I closed my eyes and tried to remember. “Janiis had petitioned my father for land on the Plateau to construct the top of the pulley so that goods could be shipped faster and more cost-effectively.”
Aleksa looked from the tents to the three platforms—not one, like my father had thought. “I don’t think they are going to use those platforms to lift grain.”
Ren rubbed the back of his neck. “So Janiis is planning to invade Turia after his wedding—a full-scale attack.”
“One Turia isn’t prepared for,” I whispered. Even if we sent a message right now—and it wasn’t held at the border—there wouldn’t be time to get troops into position.
Ahead of us, the Riigan palace rose, separate from the city’s chaos and colors, a gray edifice jutting up into the sky, tall, spindly spires making it appear taller than it really was. All the windows were lit, tiny squares of yellow against the cold stone.
Servants seemed to melt out of the alleys, congregating around us. Some even raised hastily made blue and silver banners.
Rows of guards lined the wall close to the palace. “Ready?” I asked.
Ren sucked in a shaky breath. “Ready or not.”
“Here we come.” Aleksa had fire in her eyes, a fire I hadn’t seen since she’d been with her sister. We’d get in the palace, then we’d get my father out. And find some way to send word to Enzo that Riiga was coming for them.
Brownlok
Everyone in this kingdom was entirely too trusting, Brownlok decided. Two months ago, he’d taken the Turian king’s palace by force, and now? Now he was sitting in an inn eating the best soup he’d had in over a hundred years.
But his hand shook as he dipped a spoon into the aromatic broth.
Koranth wanted the Black Library. But Brownlok needed it.
Ever since Graymere had used the forbidden magic to tie their life forces together so they could survive in the Ice Deserts until their release, food had become nothing more than a habit—nothing tasted better or worse, or really had much flavor at all.
He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed eating. Tasting. Experiencing moments, rather than passing through them.
His chest tightened until he bowed his head and clenched his eyes shut in pain. The spasms had been happening more frequently as time passed after Graymere’s death. And Brownlok had a sinking suspicion his eternities were about to claim him.
“My parents are just outside.” A little girl’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “I ran ahead, but they’ll be along shortly. I’ll just sit over there and get started. They’re always complaining that I take too long when I eat anyway, and we’ve still a long journey ahead.”
The girl spoke in circles around the kitchen boy serving dinner, who looked out the window, then shrugged as the little girl, her dark hair bouncing in tight curls, bobbed over to the table next to Brownlok’s.<
br />
He forgot all about the pain in his chest, even the flavorful soup, when she sat. His magic, which had been draining away no matter how much he rested, bubbled up inside him again—not much, but more than he’d felt in weeks.
The kitchen boy brought a bowl to the table, and the girl slurped up the soup as fast as she could.
Brownlok smirked. Her parents weren’t coming for her. But she was too well-dressed to be a street urchin. He tilted his head and studied her until she looked up and locked eyes with him. He’d seen her before—a portrait in a palace. A full grin bloomed.
“You’ll burn your tongue if you don’t wait,” he said in a low voice. No one in the inn noticed them—the man in brown and the girl bouncing in her seat.
She shrugged and continued to slurp, a wary eye on the kitchen door. Brownlok reached into his cloak, pulled a few coins from his purse, and set them on her table. He chuckled at the fierce glare she sent him.
“Don’t take offense, miss,” he said. “You need the coin, so take it.”
“Why are you helping me?” she asked between slurps.
A feeling that Brownlok hadn’t encountered in recent memory—and his memory was long, indeed—crept into him. He swallowed, but the feeling didn’t leave. “You remind me of my little sister,” he said, the words slipping out.
She tilted her head, her curls dangerously close to dipping into the soup. “Where is she?”
Brownlok’s smile slipped off his face. “She died long ago.”
“Oh,” the girl said. “I’m sorry.”
“Can I help you get home?” he asked, fully aware how far from home she was.
The girl shook her head and leaned closer, her curls dragging through her bowl this time. “I’m going on a treasure hunt,” she whispered. “No one thinks I can do it, but I’ll show them.” She sat back and nodded once, then tucked into her soup again.
Brownlok held in another laugh. He hadn’t laughed in at least two hundred years. And he hadn’t felt this strong in months. He studied her, the girl who once had eluded his search, and now sat across from him, free as a bird.
“Are you a friend of King Atháren?” he ventured to ask.
The girl went perfectly still. Then nodded slowly.
Brownlok leaned away, like her response didn’t matter. “I saw him a few days ago. I could take you to him, if you like. He’d be sure to help you in your adventure. And maybe he’d send your family a note so they don’t worry. Families do that, you know.”
Another pang hit him with enough force to take his breath away. Longing. Regret. Feelings he hadn’t touched in centuries.
Feelings he didn’t want to touch.
The girl pursed her lips and studied her now-empty bowl. Then she stood, came to him, and put out her tiny hand to shake. Brownlok’s enveloped hers, and she shook with a hard grip. “Okay, let’s find Ren,” she said, and marched out of the inn.
Another laugh slipped out, though the farther she walked away from him, the wider the cracks in his magic stretched.
This tiny girl changed him somehow. Fixed whatever had broken when Graymere died. She waited by his horse, one foot tapping impatiently. He lifted her on, then climbed on behind her, turning south.
He hadn’t killed the Hálendian boy because he thought an heir of Kais might be useful in their search for the library. Taking the girl south—going against Redalia’s orders—was a risk, but this girl would be more useful than searching blindly for something he’d never find. Useful in more than one way.
Graymere had never let him have an artifact, and Brownlok paid the price for that now. But with this girl, he could change that.
“I’m Erron,” he said, unsure why he’d started using a name he hadn’t heard in centuries. It had been what his mother had called him. What his little sister had called him. Memories he preferred to keep distant.
“Nice to meet you,” the girl said as she leaned forward, gripping the saddle tight and craning her neck to see everything she could as the horse walked down the road of the small village. “I’m Mari.”
Ren
I understood now why Turia had never dealt with the inaccessibility of their southern agitators. With the sea on our right and the cliffs on the left, we were boxed in. Walking along the top of a wall that didn’t have nearly enough exits, a crowd of servants around us carrying trunks that didn’t belong to me.
The Medallion hummed a constant warning against my chest. Pulley mechanisms, troops lining the beach. A rescue attempt in the heart of Janiis’s palace. And I couldn’t get Sennor’s mention of the odd happenings from my mind.
It reminded me of the strange reports we’d gotten from North Watch.
For now, I stayed in the center of the entourage Sennor had lent me. Eventually, I’d move to the front. Draw attention away from Chiara and Aleksa. If I could go in and get Marko on my own, I would.
My kingdom could survive without me. But the entire world might break if something happened to Chiara.
I still couldn’t believe how Chiara had convinced Sennor to help us without using a single bribe or trade. She’d simply asked him to do the right thing—expected him to—and he had. She held more power than she realized.
A long line waited to enter the palace, inching forward as the sun sank to the horizon. We waited behind a family, a couple and their son and daughter, all arrayed in shimmering linens and shivering in the wind.
When we’d almost reached the palace, I moved closer to the front of our group and fiddled with the cuffs of my coat. It was longer than the traditional Hálendian coat, but had two lines of buttons marching down the front just like back home. I’d kept my trousers tucked into my tall boots. A blend of Turia and Hálendi, with a twist uniquely Riigan.
I’d shaved at Sennor’s, and now ran my fingers through my hair, making sure the white was exposed. It was time to act like a king, as Aleksa had ordered.
The mother from the group ahead glanced back and caught sight of me. I winked, stifling a smile at how Chiara had threatened me if I winked at her.
The woman whispered to her husband, and then, slowly but surely, each person in line eventually snuck a peek at us.
“Well, we’ve been noticed,” I murmured, but no one replied. I was alone here, at the front. As intended, but the weight I’d almost forgotten as I moved anonymously through Turia returned. The weight of a kingdom. The weight of two kingdoms, at the moment. Maybe three.
And then it was our turn at the gate.
“Name?” a woman in leather with a feathered helmet asked.
I cleared my throat. “Atháren, King of Hálendi,” I said just loud enough to spark another bout of whispers. They spread like an avalanche through the courtyard and into the palace. I grinned like I hadn’t a care in the world. “I’m a little later than expected, but I do believe King Janiis will allow me entrance.”
Her jaw dropped. She took in the array of servants behind me. “If…you could come to this side door, Your Majesty, we can arrange your rooms, and—”
“No, thank you,” I said. Pretend this is fine. “I’ve been starved for company too long.” I pushed past her and through the ornate doors. I paused, giving time for my entourage to pile in behind me even as the guard protested.
Hundreds of pairs of eyes swiveled toward us. The sharp scent of too many perfumes, attempting—and failing—to mask the metallic tang of fish in the air, assaulted my nose.
Apparently Riigans didn’t believe in foyers, because we had entered directly into a huge ballroom.
With all my servants.
Glaciers.
Well, we’d wanted a big entrance. We’d gotten one.
I pressed my hand to my shoulder and bowed, coming up with a wide grin and targeting the closest mothers and daughters. “I heard there was a party tonight not to be missed.” I didn’t speak loudly, but
my words carried through the entire ballroom.
Guests turned to whisper among themselves, the prospect of a young, unmarried king in their presence clearly too much to take in silently.
The grand ceiling arched overhead—an impressive feat—its painted mosaic tiles in swirling patterns reflecting the light from the sconces along the walls. Chiara, Aleksa, and Sennor’s people shuffled along one side of the ornate room. They’d gotten me safely into the palace; now it was up to Aleksa to figure out a way into the dungeon. And back out.
The Medallion warmed until it scorched my skin. I scanned the room again, tracking Chiara’s progress along the wall. She stared at the dais as if seeing a nightmare come to life.
I followed her gaze and froze. The woman seated next to Janiis rested one hand on his arm. Her deep blue-green dress draped her frame perfectly. Her sharp nails tapped against the throne’s arm. Red hair curled and waved around her shoulders down to her waist.
The woman from my dream.
The one who’d killed my father.
A mage.
She stared back at me—through me. All the blood drained from her face until it was gray.
The Medallion went cold. Ice-cold.
My teeth ground together with the effort it took not to draw my sword on the dance floor.
“Your Majesty!” a high voice cried from my right.
I dragged my gaze away from the mage, faces swirling around me until one came into focus as she pushed her way to my side. She curtsied low, then latched onto my arm with a smile meant to entice, but all I could see was my sword in Janiis’s bride.
“I’m so glad you decided to come,” the girl said. She seemed familiar. My brow furrowed, and she laughed and hit my arm. “I have so many people to introduce you to.”
“I…” My mind struggled to come up with a response, anything, but my eyes were drawn back to the dais. The woman still watched me. Her color had returned—cheeks flushed, eyes bright. Staring. Her plump red lips tilted up in a smile that raised shivers on my neck. Not the good kind. Janiis glared at her, then me.
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