by R. C. Lewis
As we passed lower over the city, people looked up and pointed. They saw the emblem of the Golden Sword on the escort fighters and they cheered.
It was a good thing. They might not have known yet that I’d returned, but they knew something had happened. A full escort wasn’t something they saw every day. There would be gossip and questions everywhere. All I had to do was make sure a few palace servants saw me, and news would spread quickly.
The fighters guided us to the military spaceport at the edge of the city, and Dane landed the shuttle smoothly. A contingent of Golden Sword guards and a single woman—not in uniform—approached right away. Just from the purpose in her walk, the pride in how she carried herself, and the way the guards followed her, I knew she had to be important.
Dane and I got up and went to the hatch. “Remember your role,” I said. “Don’t slip.”
“Same to you, Princess. Come on, Dimwit.”
Dane walked out of the shuttle first, and I followed only when he turned back and nodded. Once out, I faced the assembled group. I recognized the red-and-gold trim on the woman’s sleeve—a senior aide. Not one I remembered, but that didn’t mean anything. My father had no tolerance for mistakes from his aides, so they changed often. She looked me over, one eyebrow slightly raised, but was careful to keep the rest of her face expressionless.
“Please follow me,” she said. “We will take you to the palace.”
No questions or introductions. Another good sign. I’d enjoy them while they lasted.
We followed to an armored transport—Dimwit managed not to lag behind—and formed a convoy to the palace. The sun hovered at the horizon, bathing the city in an orange-red glow.
Seeing the walls, turrets, and towers, the gardens and fountains, caused a pounding in my chest that echoed through my head. It was real. I was back. My father and Olivia were somewhere within those walls, and I would face them within minutes.
You can do it, Essie. Just like Mother.
Mother had faced them both almost every day—her husband and the woman he used as his tool to control the masses. She’d never shown fear. I wouldn’t, either.
The aide led us through the entrance hall and into the confusing maze of corridors I could map in my sleep. Dane kept a step behind me—always behind, but never more than the one step. Dimwit trailed along, its metallic feet clicking against the tile.
As I’d hoped, servants peeked at us from rooms and hallways as we passed. When they were in pairs, I heard faint whispers behind us. I just hoped those whispers spread quickly beyond the palace walls.
I knew the path, winding around behind the throne room to the private chamber where more delicate matters were discussed. My heartbeat doubled as we approached, tripled when the door opened, and quadrupled when we entered.
My father stood behind a desk, leaning against the mantle of a large fireplace. As tall and broad-shouldered as I remembered, but with more gray in his hair and beard. He didn’t look over even when the door closed and locked behind us.
“Is it she?” he asked.
The aide stepped forward. “We need to verify your identity.”
I’d expected this, so I turned my back to her and pulled my sleeve down over my shoulder. She took a small black light from one pocket and a high-dose injector from the other. Dane seemed to move a sniff or two closer, but there was nothing he could do. If the aide declared me an imposter, I’d be dead before the words reached my father’s ears. She ran the black light over the tattoo, and I held very still. A slight gasp escaped her throat.
“It is, Sire.”
“Then you are dismissed, Margaret.”
The aide left. The door closed and locked again. My father finally looked at me. A string of emotions flashed through his eyes—shock, then hunger, fear, and warmth. Only when they settled on the last did he speak.
“Snowflake?”
“Father.”
My voice trembled, but the emotion causing it was nebulous enough to bring him across the room, his arms outstretched.
“Darling, you’re home!”
Every muscle wanted to tense; I wanted to back away, to run, to hit him. I couldn’t do any of it. Instead, I had to step forward. He enfolded me, pulled me close, kissed the top of my head.
Touching me…too close…
Breathe, Essie. Pretend he’s someone else. Anyone else. Everyone you’re doing this for.
I defied every instinct I had and returned his embrace.
A memory crashed in. Father tucking me into bed, telling me stories.
Blazes, where had that come from?
After a torturous eternity, he pulled away, taking my face in his hands so his eyes could more easily devour it. “My little girl. We’ve searched for you, the whole system.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Father. I thought I’d never get home.”
Before we said anything else, a hidden door to one side opened, admitting Olivia to the room, and Father finally released me.
Unlike him, Olivia didn’t appear to have aged a bit in the past eight years. If anything, she looked younger, likely thanks to the revita-tech she always pushed the Garamite doctors in the Royal City to improve. Dark hair pulled back in a sleek, complicated twist; a fitted burgundy gown with a vaguely militaristic cut, its luxurious fabric offset by a chain looped about her waist and the metal latticework of her heeled boots and headpiece; everything meticulously in place. None of the opulence mattered, as my eyes were drawn to her face.
Olivia had as many masks as she had gowns, but her eyes couldn’t hide the truth. Those eyes set the public quailing even as they shed tears of gratitude for her miraculous “healings” as royal theurgist. Those same eyes pierced into me, demanding to know how I dared remain alive.
I couldn’t breathe. Nothing had changed.
“Snow! I didn’t dare believe Margaret was telling the truth. Let’s look at you.” She took my hands, holding them out so she could take me in. “So grown-up. I just can’t—What magic has returned you to us?”
Magic. Right.
“Yes, tell us everything,” Father said. “I must know how you were kept from us so long. The last we knew, one of Olivia’s guards escorted you as planned to the orchid festival.”
Time to weave a tale as intricate as any code I’d ever written. I cast my mind back to that day eight years ago, reaching for a few details to bring truth to the lies.
“It was so confusing. We barely made it into the festival, just enough to see an arrangement of crimson orchids. Then the crowd went mad—I think some people were fighting—and I was separated from the guard. I thought it would be okay; I’d disguised myself like you always told me to. But before I could find him, someone held something to my face, and I blacked out. When I woke, I was on a shuttle bound for Thanda.”
My father didn’t bother to hide his surprise. “Thanda? Who would take you there?”
“A band of Thandans and Garamites who fancied themselves separatists. Once on the planet, infighting over how to ransom me broke out, and I took the chance to escape.”
“The guard who lost you,” Olivia said, her eyes shrewd, “he wasn’t part of the plot?”
I put on my best look of surprise. “No. I never saw him again. He didn’t return here to alert you?”
“No, he did not.”
I shook my head, helpless and confused. “Perhaps he ran, fearing punishment.”
“Darling, if you escaped so early,” Father began, “what kept you from us?”
“My own fear. I couldn’t trust anyone on Thanda, so I didn’t dare tell anyone who I was. I tried hiding among the peasants in the Bands, but then they became dangerous. So I wandered north to the wild territories beyond the mines and found the Umbergild Ascetics. They took me in, and eventually I trusted them, but of course, they couldn’t do anything to help me return home. I’m sorry, Father. I should have been braver and more clever.”
Father hummed thoughtfully at my story. “Little wonder the Midnight Blade we s
ent didn’t find her.”
The Midnight Blade. If Olivia’s guards handled the search, it explained why they’d never found me in Forty-Two. I was certain there’d been no search at all.
Even if there had been a search, my father was right—they couldn’t have found me among the Umbergild Ascetics. It had been sharp of Dane to think of looking for me there, but succeeding would’ve been tricky. For one, the Ascetics were isolationists, forbidding any tech that could communicate beyond their borders, or anything allowing them to travel faster than a man could run. For another, they were notorious liars to outsiders. Thus the trick of our story, holding a sniff of truth. I’d come across the Ascetics just before settling in Forty-Two, and their leader had been friendly with me due to my age. But if either my father or Olivia went to the trouble to send someone out to the Ascetics to verify my story now, Gildon would acknowledge knowing someone of my description, tell them three different stories, and advise them to pick whichever they liked best.
“What happened then?” Father asked.
“This boy, Dane.” He’d been so quiet and unassuming, Father and Olivia had ignored him—standard behavior toward a servant. Even Dimwit kept still in the corner. “He and his sister escaped a terrible life on Garam, crashing their shuttle near the Umbergild settlement. The Ascetics had their beliefs, but I couldn’t leave any possible survivors, so I went and pulled both of them out before a fire reached them. For saving his sister, Dane swore to protect my life to the end of his days. Once I knew he was trustworthy, I told him my identity. He set to work repairing his shuttle to help bring me home.”
“But the craft you arrived in seemed in excellent condition,” Olivia said.
“Dane’s shuttle couldn’t have made the journey here from Thanda’s current position, and I didn’t want to wait anymore—it had been so long already—so we stopped on Garam. I admit, I’d stolen some merinium from a shipment on Thanda. A Garamite named Brand traded us for the better shuttle.”
I checked their eyes. Father was convinced. Even Olivia seemed to find it plausible enough for the moment. When Father smiled, I knew the first obstacle was behind us.
“Young man, you wish to serve my daughter?”
Dane kept his eyes lowered, as subservient as the king could want, the act inscrutable. “Yes, Sire. My only desire is to ensure no harm comes to the princess ever again.”
“Excellent. Her absence has delayed the formation of her personal guard. You shall be the first member of the Silver Dagger.”
“I’m honored, Sire.”
“You alone will protect her until other worthy guards can be found. And this contraption?” he asked, waving toward Dimwit.
At my gesture, it skittered to my side. “One of the Thandan mining drones. It malfunctioned and wandered to Umbergild. Life in the settlement could be boring, so I applied Tutor Benedict’s lessons, tinkering with its programming. It’s become something of a pet.”
Father gave Dimwit a once-over and let out a booming laugh that made my throat close up. “You always did like your odd little toys. I imagine it will bring new life and charm to our halls, just as you will. It calls for celebration—a ball! My queen, the realm must share in our joy, don’t you think?”
“I will set to work immediately,” Olivia said. “The performers and musicians…all will be arranged.”
“You must be tired from your journey. We will begin tomorrow.” He clapped his hands twice, and a servant appeared at yet another hidden door. “Garrick, escort Princess Snow and her personal guard to the suite I ordered prepared. Darling”—one more hug and a kiss to my cheek—“I am so happy you’ve returned.”
I squeezed him back before he let me go. Dane bowed, and we left the room through the secret door. My hands wanted to shake. I told them to wait.
I maintained my composure as Dane, Dimwit, and I followed the footman across to the residential portion of the palace. He was young and eager to please, chattering about how wonderful it was to have me back, how the king and queen must be beyond joy.
They were beyond something, right enough.
“Here we are. Your suite, Your Highness. Plenty of room for your guard as well in the quarters through to the left,” he added, nodding to Dane. “Your belongings are inside. Do you need me to show you around?”
“No, thank you, Garrick,” I replied. “It’s been a while, but I remember every speck of this palace very well.”
“Of course.”
Garrick gestured for me to enter, but Dane shoved past, going in first. Before I could panic that he’d forgotten the careful act we had to follow, I realized he hadn’t. A personal guard wouldn’t let his charge enter a room without first ensuring it was safe. It had been too long since I’d had anyone treat me like that, and the young footman was as startled as I was.
“You’ll have to forgive him,” I said. “He knows I was kidnapped from my own city. Imagines assassins everywhere. He does take his honor oath seriously.”
At that, Garrick relaxed and smiled. “I’m sure Their Majesties will be gratified to know of his devotion to duty.”
Dane returned after a few minutes, his face like stone as he gave me a sharp nod.
“Very good,” Garrick concluded. “If you need anything further, you need only call. Sleep well, Highness.”
I entered the suite with Dane, closing the door behind us. The main room was larger than it had any right to be, traditional and gaudy, very much in my stepmother’s taste. Dimwit found a spot to recharge and went on standby. I noted the two doors that would lead to my quarters and Dane’s, ignoring everything else, and turned to him.
“You checked?”
He nodded, holding up the slate from his pocket. “No monitoring devices.”
Finally, I let go, collapsing against the wall as every muscle rebelled, trembling as violently as I had when I fell through the ice. Dane sat with me and took my hands in his, so warm and steady.
“You did great, Essie. Every bit a princess.”
“You—you saw, didn’t you? How she still wants me dead?”
“It doesn’t matter. She won’t get a chance to hurt you, I swear it.” There was something in his voice, and I raised my eyes to his. They darkened as his jaw set. “I also saw your father…how he doesn’t want you dead. How he wants something else. You’re not to be alone with him under any circumstances—do you understand?”
It hadn’t taken him long to figure that. Did that mean everyone had always known and let it happen anyway?
“Even full-blooded Exiles—Candarans—can’t force anyone to do anything, right?” I asked Dane.
“Yes, Tipping is the closest we come, and that only works when the person we Transition to is already considering something. The rumors that we could do more than that started because some Candarans broke the law and compelled people by threatening to expose their secrets. Why do you ask?”
I shivered again. “Because I always thought I should’ve been able to stop the bastard, but I couldn’t.”
He held my hands tighter. “You should have told me. I never would have gone along with this.”
“All the more reason not to have told you.”
His sigh was the only answer to that. “You’re going to make me regret this ten times over before we’re through, aren’t you, Essie?”
“Maybe. But I’m glad you’re here so I don’t have to be called Snow all the time. The sound of that name…I’ve always hated it.”
“Even when your mother said it?” he prompted gently.
“She didn’t. Not when we were alone. Snow is my father’s vanity. My mother gave me a real name.”
“I told you mine. Will you tell me yours?”
“Elurra.”
Dane squeezed my hands before finally releasing them. “A Candaran name. So it had to be secret, just between the two of you.”
I shook my head. “No, she found a way to make it real, right under my father’s nose.” Twisting to turn my back toward him, I pulled my sleev
e down off my shoulder, revealing the royal mark. “Look carefully at the filigree surrounding the S. Do you see it?”
His fingers suddenly on my skin, lightly tracing around the tattoo, sent a very different shiver through me. I reminded myself to breathe.
“There it is,” he said. “Elurra. Only if you know to look for it. How did she manage?”
I pulled the sleeve back into place. “She drew the design herself. She was an incredible artist, everything simple on the surface, with amazing complexity in the details.”
“There’s just one thing I don’t understand. Why would your mother do it? Why would she agree to put her child through what you endured?”
“I don’t know everything. I was so young when she died. The bad things didn’t start until after she was gone, so I don’t think it was anything she ever imagined. Still, I know why.…She would whisper it in my ear every night. ‘Windsong needs you to give them better than they have.’ It’s what she believed in, making things better for people. A naive idealist, maybe.”
“You miss her.”
Those three words did the impossible, drawing tears to the surface. I would not cry, though. Not in front of Dane. Not in front of anyone.
“She was the only person who cared what happened to me.”
Dane didn’t say anything at first, just wrapped his arms around me. It was nothing like the holds I broke in training. Still strong, but the strength was more than physical. I leaned into his heat, like the sun I’d missed all those years on Thanda.
“She’s not the only one, Essie,” he whispered in my ear. “Not anymore.”
NIGHTMARES INTERRUPTED my sleep nearly every hour. Always knives. Kip holding the knife, concluding I wasn’t worth keeping alive after all. Tobias with a knife to my throat, slashing it before Dane could take the shot. Moray with a knife. Father and Olivia. Through my heart, in the back, it didn’t matter—always enough to kill me.