by Natalie Mae
Jet collapses onto the golden couch, an arm draped over his eyes. “And the meeting with my father was useless. He only halfway apologized for how things are now, before asking if I’d train the entire army to use swords. You know, in case Wyrim’s technology advances so much that all our magic becomes useless.” He sighs. “I love him, but sometimes it really is like talking to a tome. All knowledge and logic, no heart.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, perching on a nearby stool. My mind still spins over a hundred things outside of this room.
Jet drops his arm to peer at me. “How was your day?”
In answer, I hand him one end of the schedule and roll the rest down his body like a blanket. Past his waist, past his knees, over his sandals. He watches the far end drop sadly over the arm of the couch, where it unfurls another meter.
“That . . . is a lot,” he says.
I nod solemnly. “I don’t even know what it says.”
Jet sits up, makes space for me on the couch, and begins to read.
* * *
To my relief, I discover the schedule covers two weeks and is only half filled with classes and duties. The other half shows maps of everything in the palace, and thus tomorrow’s packed agenda only draws quiet tears to my eyes and does not result in the full-out weeping I was expecting.
As to handling Kasta, we can’t move forward without Marcus, so Jet and I reluctantly say goodnight. After he shows me how to free the hidden dagger from the bedside table, just in case.
And then I am alone in this giant, house-sized room.
It’s odd to think this will be the first time I’ve ever slept alone. Fara and I shared a room in Atera, separated by bags of grain, and if I wasn’t there, I was at Hen’s, buried in pillows on her floor. Even during the Crossing, I was always fixed to someone’s side. I’m realizing now just how comforting it was to have someone else there, even if asleep. The quiet presses over me like a weight, like the silence of a tomb.
No wonder the royals are always canoodling in places they shouldn’t, when this is the alternative.
But I’m proving that I belong here, that I can rule as well as Kasta, and that definitely starts with being able to sleep alone in a luxurious suite. I check the golden lock on the balcony doors—twice—and ensure the guards are still outside my room, and lastly try to convince Jade to sleep beside me, but she literally tells me she’s too busy and darts off into one of my seven side rooms.
It’s fine, I assure myself, as I lie on my back in the dark. I have a dagger, the room is secured, Kasta isn’t going to sneak in and eat me. I don’t need to think about every travelers’ story I’ve ever heard in which people are left alone and then possessed by ghosts or hauled away into burning portals. I focus on the little carved cities in the ceiling instead, above which tiny inlaid stars now sparkle.
I’m just starting to doze when a corner of the mattress sinks.
I snap awake, ready for war. But it’s only Jade, spots like drops of ink on her golden sides, her face shadowed by the canopy. I sigh in relief and beckon her closer, glad that she might finally lie down with me. She starts over, and I lay back on the pillows, trying to calm my racing pulse.
She climbs onto my stomach, claws biting through my nightgown.
“Jade,” I cough. “You’re already too heavy for—”
She sits, her head tilting unnaturally quickly. Her thoughts are empty.
Her eyes are Kasta’s vivid blue.
“Oh my gods,” I breathe. How did he get past the protection wards? I lunge for the hidden dagger, but Kasta Shifts like a storm, his weight pinning me in place, his unruly hair curling like briars. His shoulders block out the windows and I grip the bedframe and twist free, hit my knees on the floor and sprint for the doors—Kasta streaks past me like a shadow. I slam into his chest. He catches my neck with one hand, his other digging into my arm.
I squirm and shove against him, but it’s like fighting a wall.
“I heard you have plans for me,” he whispers, his lips brushing my cheek. I growl and try to kick him, but something’s wrong; I can’t move my legs. “What a coincidence. I have plans for you, too.”
My blood lurches as he kisses my neck, his teeth grazing the soft place beneath my jaw—then his mouth opens wide, and he tears into my throat.
* * *
My scream ricochets from the ceiling.
The guards burst in, metal-feathered armor flashing, one holding aloft a knife of ice and the other a crackling ball of lightning. I kick free of the sheets and jerk against the headboard, gripping my neck where I swear I still feel the needle-fine pressure of teeth.
But the skin is whole. Early dawn glows at the edges of the curtains and over the tops of the furniture, silver and new.
I was asleep.
“Dōmmel?” asks the guard with the ice, his gaze darting to the corners of the room.
“Sorry.” I drop my hand, still trembling. “It was just a nightmare. I’m all right.”
They hesitate, the Stormshrike absorbing the lightning she made back into her hands. One last glance around the room and they touch their fingertips to their foreheads, back out, and close the doors.
From under the nearby couch, Jade pokes her head out.
Loud? she thinks. Quiet now?
I let out a shaky breath, hating that even though I know she can’t be Kasta since I can hear her thoughts, a jolt still runs through me at seeing her. I rub the nerves out of my arms, and beckon her over.
“Yes,” I say. “Quiet now. I’m sorry.”
She trots over, tail high, watching me like she doesn’t quite trust me not to scream again. But finally she leans into my hand. My palm tingles, remembering how she looked when she changed.
Because nightmare or not, this is yet another possibility Jet and I need to be wary of. Unlike in my dream, the wards in my room should actually alert the guards even if Kasta tries to enter as an animal, but the rest of the palace is not so protected. Not that I think Kasta would risk attacking me in any form with so many soldiers around, but he wouldn’t need to to be dangerous. He could just be there, listening. A bird, a mouse . . . a cat.
The perfect eavesdropper. And I wouldn’t even notice, unless I happened to see an animal there and started thinking about how odd it was that its thoughts were silent—
My hand stills on Jade’s back, and I look down.
The perfect eavesdropper. But that works both ways. Because as a Whisperer, I can tell which animals aren’t animals. And Kasta isn’t the only one who can use them as spies.
I smile and lift Jade onto the bed. “Hey. Can you do something for me?”
* * *
I’m feeling so good about this plan with Jade that I actually drift back to sleep. Jade is now in charge of watching Kasta’s balcony, and especially the birds in the garden, which she’s very excited about. She’ll tell me if any animals behave strangely, or if the birds suddenly scatter, indicating something unnatural is nearby. But most importantly, she’ll tell me if Kasta leaves. I can’t imagine he wants to be caught eating someone in the palace. The balcony is the easiest place he could slip out without the guards knowing he’s gone, and then I could follow. And as long as Jade stays within the warded boundaries of my balcony—which I stressed she must—she’ll be safe from Kasta impersonating her to become my nightmare.
She understood enough about the word Shifter to take that seriously, even so young.
I wake again to a knock at the door. Not much time has passed, I don’t think—dawn glows brighter at the edges of the curtains, but the light is just turning golden. I sit up, still groggy, and very certain nothing on my schedule was supposed to happen until eight marks. But it occurs to me it could be breakfast, and I will never keep breakfast waiting. I pull a silken dressing robe off the back of a velvet chair and wrap it around me.
“Come in,” I say.
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Jet steps inside, looking refreshed and more himself in a tunic of royal blue—and startles when he sees me. “Wow, rough night?”
I touch my hair, which does indeed feel as though it’s aspiring to become a sculpture. “Not one of my best,” I admit.
“Sorry.” He shuts the door. “That just kind of came out of me—how are you doing this morning?”
I slump into the armchair. “I mean, until we’ve stopped Kasta, the answer is probably always going to be completely stressed.” I tip my head against the backrest. “You don’t have breakfast, do you?”
“Ah.” Jet winces. “No. But I have good news!”
I sit up. “Good news?”
“And . . . also bad news. Which one would you like to hear first?”
Of course there’s bad news. Hen is always warning me the royals can’t go a day without something blowing up, but I really hoped that was an exaggeration. “Good news, please.”
Jet turns a bronze statue of Klog, the falcon companion of the goddess of war, to face him on the dresser. “The good news is that my father is clearly taking your position seriously, because he’s summoned both of us to an impromptu meeting with all ten of his advisors.”
Nerves flash through me. “That’s the good news? That I get to speak in front of ten advisors and the king without any warning?”
“It’s a show of faith. The Mestrah wouldn’t invite you at all if he intended you to become an advisor.”
I exhale, acknowledging this is true, even if I still don’t like it. “And . . . the bad news?”
“The bad news is that he’ll also be assigning you and Kasta your first test.”
I sigh, shaking my fingers through my tangled hair. “Great. One more thing to add to the schedule.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“When is the meeting?”
Jet gives me the same pained look as when I asked what time he was supposed to meet the priests for the coronation.
I drop my hands. “It’s right now, isn’t it.”
“It’s right now.”
Without even a break for breakfast. I don’t understand these people. This will be changing when I’m Mestrah, because I am just petty enough to make that kind of thing into a law. No meetings before food. I shove up from the chair, momentarily derailed from what is supposed to be a dramatic show of my displeasure because I need to get dressed, but I initially can’t remember where the closet is. Finally I remember it’s past the miniature glass boat displays and behind the harp, which is a ridiculous set of directions for something now that I think about it, and I march irritably over and burst through the jade curtain—and my blood shifts.
This is the first time I’ve been in here since the Royal Materialist laid a sleeping gown and robe for me on the bed last night. How foolish of me to have assumed it would simply be a bigger version of a normal closet, with a few extra shelves and a chest.
This is a market square without vendors. Redwood shelves tower to the considerable ceiling, stacked with gowns of every fabric, color, and adornment—more clothes than I could wear in a lifetime. A crystal table in the middle displays jeweled beetles and necklaces of stamped coins, crowns of fresh lilies and tiny gods’ charms, and mirrors cover the far wall, reflecting my shocked expression and making it difficult to see where the room ends. A brass bell gleams near the door, its delicate ringer shaped like a gazelle’s horned head.
“Is everything all right?” Jet asks, because that’s how long I’ve been standing here.
“Sure,” I say, moving inside. The choices make me dizzy, but a shelf layered with golden joles seems as good a place to start as any, and I finger through silk threaded with crystals and satin that shifts like liquid under my fingers. One with red river reeds embroidered along its edges catches my eye, and I pull it free, shake it out—its creases vanish the moment it unfurls—and it falls into two pieces, one of which is either a belt or a cape.
“If it’s any comfort,” Jet calls, “I might be able to help with your test. Me and your advisors, I mean. We may be able to research something while you’re with your tutors, for example.”
“Thanks.” I decide the bigger of the two pieces is the dress, wrap it carefully around me, and pull the second piece around my waist. The whole ensemble seems unusual when I consider it in the mirror, but honestly, most royal outfits look this way to me. The thin fabric warms against my skin like wool.
I emerge from the closet, still fussing with a knot at my shoulder.
“Oh,” Jet says.
He does not say this with reverence or in the way you might want someone you are interested in saying this, like, Oh, that looks very good on you. This is the oh of someone on the brink of questioning his life choices.
“What?” I say.
Jet chuckles and pushes up from the couch. “That is sun silk, and unless you’re planning to pass out from heatstroke before the meeting ends, you may want a different dress. Also, that’s definitely not a belt.”
I lift the side of the not-belt. “This is supposed to get warmer? Why is this even an option?”
“Here. Can I help you pick something out, so you don’t get attacked by the cactus spire?”
I freeze. “There are things in here that attack?”
He correctly interprets my horror as a yes, please, gods, help me, and I wait graciously for him to enter the closet before I follow with far more skepticism. I’ve seen Hen work with plenty of unusual fabrics, but none of them ever turned on her. Imminent danger must come at a price only royalty can afford.
Jet browses the shelves and points out a folded gown of buttery emerald, its neckline embroidered with pearlescent spines. “For the record, that is cactus spire. It won’t actually jump at you, but it likes to attach itself to its wearer in a very literal sense. Bonus points if you wear the spine bracelets and crown, which often need to be medically removed at the end of the day.”
I give the stack of green joles a wide berth. “Again, at the risk of stating the obvious: Why is this an option?”
“Well, when you want to intimidate other countries, the right fabric inspires all kinds of fear as to the level of pain you can personally endure. It’s all chest puffing, really. Here.” He pulls free a square of shining silver. “Try star satin. It’s woven with the cool of night, and has yet to try and strangle someone like the snakeskins.”
I note the green-and-yellow snakeskins are also something to avoid before accepting this new jole, though my heart pinches in taking it. As if I didn’t have enough to learn already, here’s something so silly and simple the Mestrah didn’t even think of putting it on my schedule, and yet I could have come out impaled by cactus spines if Jet hadn’t warned me.
The feeling that it’s too much, that I can’t possibly do everything being asked of me, fills my throat like smoke. I swallow it back and force myself to focus on right now, one step at a time. The gown spills down from my fingers. In the light of the torches it shifts from white to black, like the sands on a starry night.
“I’ll be right outside.” Jet tips his head to the bell with the gazelle ringer. “We can also call the Royal Materialist, if you want help dressing.”
“No, let me try again.”
He slips out, and I pull the sun silk carefully off, feeling awkward with him being so close, feeling stranger that I don’t know where we stand now. Do people still like people who assured them they belonged on a throne, then, however indirectly, took it from them, as well as their room and their closet? I know he’s most upset with Kasta, but when that’s settled, it will just be me with his crown. Me reminding him from now until the end of time of what he almost was.
I slide the star satin on, knotting it at my hip, at my shoulders. The cape doesn’t feel like it sits right, but hopefully Jet knows how to fix it. “All right,” I say. “Better?”
Jet slips back i
n through the curtain—and this time, there is no judgmental oh.
“Much,” he says, his gaze flickering down the gown. “But this one goes over one shoulder, not two. Can I fix it?”
I nod, turning as he undoes one of the knots, his fingers like feathers on my skin. In the mirrors, I look years older than the last time I stood in a royal gown, with handmaidens painting the sacrifice’s symbols on my arms. Jet fixes the portion that makes the cape, where tiny glass beads form constellations: the leopard symbol of Tyda, goddess of patience; the antlers of her wife Talqo, goddess of healing. Wings for Rie, god of death. A housecat for Rachella, goddess of love. A scorpion, a rattlesnake, a balancing scale: Oka, Valen, Sabil. Aquila’s scientific tools and Apos’s chaotic swords.
Numet’s spiraling sun shines on my chest like blood.
Jet secures the knot at my shoulder with a pin shaped like a water crane and hesitates, his fingers warm on my collarbone.
I finally look across at him. “Are you sure you’re all right with . . . all of this?”
A flash of anger sparks through my skin, and I pull back without thinking. Jet looks at his hands, then helplessly at me. “Sorry, did I hurt you?”
I pull my arms around my elbows. “No, it’s . . . my new magic. I can feel strong emotions now, especially through touch.” I wince. “You’re not all right with this, are you?”
He presses a hand over his forehead, and sighs. “Gods, I . . . sorry. It’s not you. It’s my father, and Kasta. It’s a lot of change at once, especially since my father’s been after me for years to rule . . .” His hands drop. “I’ll adjust. But please believe it’s not you I’m angry with. Never you.”
His smile is encouraging, real, but he keeps his distance while I brush the knots from my hair.
And when he hands me a little tray of white glass lilies to put in the curls, he’s careful not to touch me.
VIII
BY the time we enter the royal hallway, I decide I’m over-worrying with Jet. He needs time to process what’s happened as much as I do, and it’s unrealistic to expect things to go back to normal so fast, whatever normal is, when there’s so much else to worry about. He still walks comfortably next to me; he still smiles if I look over. Just because he doesn’t want to touch me anymore doesn’t mean he’s regretting helping me or contemplating running away again.