by Amy Ewing
“He never said anything.” Agnes felt dazed. “Eneas never told us . . . I don’t understand. Why didn’t he tell me about this?”
“I think maybe he tried to,” Leo said. “When he drove us to the Seaport, remember? He said to be careful around Ambrosine. He said to see things as they are and not as you wish them to be.”
Her father’s words came back to her then, from a day so many weeks ago in Xavier’s study when Agnes had insisted that her mother would have wanted her to know Ambrosine.
The Byrnes are not who you think they are, Xavier had said. They are selfish and greedy. They are arrogant.
“But your grandmother knows you are coming,” Phebe said. “And after Leo’s meeting with Rahel, there will be no doubt she will hear of your arrival. You must get to Ithilia as quickly as you can. Her protection may be the only thing that can save you. If the Triumvirate finds out who you are, I don’t know what they’ll do. Holding the heir of Culinnon hostage certainly seems like an excellent bargaining chip.”
Agnes felt her throat go dry. The heir. She’d never imagined the word applying to her. Nor could she have conceived of the danger that accompanied it. Would these three queens really use her as leverage against her grandmother?
“I wish I had known all this before,” she said. “I wish my mother had been alive to tell me.”
Sera gave her a sympathetic look as Phebe said, “Oh, child, I’m sure your mother would have wanted to be there for you more than anything. Life does not always turn out the way we expect.”
Agnes reached into her pocket, ignoring the letter from Ambrosine and instead drawing out the photograph of Alethea.
“This is the only picture I have of her,” she said quietly. “The only one.”
Phebe took it as if it were more delicate than a moth’s wing. “I had forgotten,” she whispered. “How radiant her spirit was.” She turned it over and read Alethea’s inscription on the back.
Taken by X, March 12. Runcible Cottage, the Edge of the World.
“Do you know what that means?” Agnes asked without much hope.
“I do not,” Phebe said.
“What was she like?” Sera asked, leaning over Agnes’s shoulder to study the photograph. “She looks very brave.”
Agnes translated and Phebe smiled.
“Brave, indeed. She had a wild spirit. And the parties she threw in Ithilia were legendary. She was creative but short tempered, gracious yet stubborn. Very stubborn. Eneas used to say there were mules with more sense than her.” Phebe chuckled softly. “But he loved her all the more for it. And she knew how to cause a commotion. The day it was announced in the Ithilia Star that Alethea Byrne had married a man from Kaolin, you’d have thought the oceans had risen up and swallowed Whitehall. The whole country was in a frenzy.”
Agnes felt tears well in her eyes and blinked them back. Her mother had never seemed quite so real to her as she did in this moment.
“What’s Whitehall?” Leo asked.
“The sacred shrine of Talmanism,” Phebe explained. “An outcrop of land just off the coast of Ithilia, connected by a narrow bridge to the great Palace of Banrissa, from where the Triumvirate rules.”
“And not a place we are wishing to be visiting,” Vada said. “Not if the Triumvirate is seeking to retaliate against Byrnes.”
“No,” Phebe agreed. “I wish Rahel had not seen you, Leo. It would be best to avoid Ithilia altogether.”
“We can’t do that,” Agnes said.
Suddenly, there was a pounding on the door. Everyone at the table froze.
“Open up, in the name of the Triumvirate!” a deep but distinctly female voice called.
“Put your headdress on,” Phebe hissed at Sera, who hurried to cover herself. From upstairs, the baby began to wail. Phebe took a deep breath and walked calmly to answer the door.
“Good evening,” she said. “How may I be of service to the Triumvirate?”
“Good evening, mistress,” another female voice, as smooth as velvet, replied. “We are inquiring after the Byrne who was in your shop earlier today.”
“The one with a raggedy sailor companion and Alethea Byrne’s face,” the first voice growled. Agnes recognized it with a jolt—Rowen, the head of the Aerin’s guard.
“Dorinda.” Vada muttered the name under her breath like a curse.
“What do you want with him?” Phebe asked, but Rowen pushed past her and into the house. When she caught sight of Leo, satisfaction spread across her face.
“The moneylender was right,” Rowen said. “You do look just like her. But Alethea’s children are in Kaolin.”
For a second Agnes thought Leo would try to deny it. “Not this one,” he finally admitted.
Rowen seemed amused. “The prodigal son,” she said. There was a cold pause. “Where is your sister?”
Agnes had never been so grateful to have her father’s face.
“Still in Kaolin,” Leo lied smoothly. “I came here myself, to be married.” He gestured to Sera. “Like mother like son, I suppose.”
“Please excuse my companion,” the second Misarro said, coming up to stand beside Rowen. She was heavier set, with auburn spikes and a golden sun emblazoned across her chest declaring her to serve the Renalt. “The Aerin’s Misarros aren’t known for their manners. I am Eireen Connor, head of Princess Rahel’s guard. The princess has requested your presence on her great ship the Gilded Lily.” Eireen’s eyes roved over the table and the remnants of dinner. “She wishes for you to join her for dessert.” As an afterthought, she added, “You may bring your fiancée if you wish.”
Something in the way she said it made Agnes think this princess would rather Sera not attend.
“That’s very kind of her,” Leo said. “But I’m quite comfortable here, thanks.”
Eireen smiled at him pleasantly. “This is not a request.”
Agnes could see two more Misarros looming just outside the door and wondered how many might have come to carry out Rahel’s wishes.
“Very well,” Leo said. “But my fiancée will remain here.”
Eireen looked relieved by this, but Rowen frowned.
“Take off your headdress,” she commanded Sera. “Let us see what sort of Pelagan would attach herself to such a . . .” She looked Leo up and down. “Half-breed.”
“No,” Leo said, stepping in front of Sera. He seemed to realize his mistake immediately. Rowen pulled a knife from the assortment that were strapped around her waist.
“She will remove the headdress or it will be removed for her,” she said.
“Come now, Rowen, there is no need for threats,” Eireen said. “I’m sure the girl does not mind. All one has to do is ask nicely.” She turned to Sera. “You don’t mind taking that off so we may see what I am certain is a beautiful face, do you, my dear?”
Sera seemed to have sensed that this, too, was not a request, because she stood and placed a hand on Leo’s arm. With careful, deliberate movements, Sera lifted the headdress, her blue hair spilling down her back, her silver skin glowing richly in the light of the candles. Eireen let out a cry of shock but Rowen froze, regarding Sera with a mixture of surprise and disgust.
“What devilry is this?” she hissed. “Have you thought to craft some . . . some replica of Saifa to seize power? What sort of heresy are you Kaolins capable of?”
“She’s not Saifa and she’s not a replica,” Leo said. “She has nothing to do with Pelago or Kaolin.”
“Then would you be so kind as to explain exactly . . . what . . . she is?” Eireen asked, clearly struggling to maintain her composure.
He pressed his lips together. “I can’t tell you that.”
Rowen’s nostrils flared. “You will both come with us.”
“Rowen,” Eireen snapped, but Sera stepped forward, her face oddly serene.
“Tell them we will go with them willingly,” she said to Leo. “Tell them there is no need for knives or violence. We can’t let them have Agnes, Leo. And we don’t want to
put Phebe or Vada in danger either.”
“What is she saying?” Rowen demanded. “What language is that?”
Agnes felt her throat tighten, her stomach lurch. Was she just going to stay here and let the Misarros take them? But if she declared who she was, they’d only take her too.
“We’ll go with you,” Leo said. “No one needs to get hurt.”
“Excellent!” Eireen exclaimed. “The princess will be delighted. And with such an unusual guest as well.” Something raw and hungry flickered in her eyes. “I simply cannot wait to hear her story.”
There was an undercurrent of threat in her words that sent icy shivers up Agnes’s neck. But she felt glued to the bench. Eireen gestured them to the door—neither looked back at Agnes or Vada as they left, though Agnes saw Sera reach out and take Leo’s arm as if to steady herself. Rowen stalked after them and Eireen turned to Phebe.
“A thousand apologies for the interruption, mistress,” she said. “Do enjoy the rest of your evening.”
She left, and Agnes slumped, her heart pounding, her breath coming in gasps. She’d lost them. Her brother and her best friend in one fell swoop.
“They’ll let them go, though, won’t they?” she said. One look at Vada’s and Phebe’s faces told her the answer. She knew it anyway. Once they knew who Leo was, and especially once they’d seen Sera . . .
“No,” Phebe said gently. “I don’t think they will. I don’t think they will harm your brother, but I fear for what will become of your silver friend. If they believe her some Byrne or Kaolin trick . . .” She trailed off. “I should have seen this coming. I should not have had you come here. Rahel is a silly girl prone to infatuation. And used to getting what she wants, when she wants it.”
“So what do we do?” Agnes asked again. But she knew the answer: Ithilia. They must get to Ithilia. It had been calling to her all her life. She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes.
“I know what you are thinking,” Vada said. “But you must be patient. They will be leaving tonight and we will not be able to find a boat to Ithilia until morning.”
“We?” Agnes blinked up at her.
“You think I would be leaving you to make your way alone? I promised I would get you to Ithilia. I swore on my endexen.” She touched the fang hanging at her throat, from the shark her grandmother’s grandmother had hunted and killed, the most precious thing she owned. “Vada Murchadha does not break a promise.”
Agnes flashed her a watery smile. “Tomorrow, then,” she said.
“Tomorrow.” Vada squeezed her shoulder.
“You may not need to wait at all,” Phebe said. Fear and exhaustion were etched across her face, but there was a determination there as well. “When it was four of you, that was too many, but with only two . . . you can sail, can you not?” she asked Vada.
Vada snorted. “I have been sailing since before I could walk.”
Phebe’s mouth set in a thin line. “Good. Because I have a boat.”
6
Leo
LEO WONDERED IF SERA WAS AS TERRIFIED AS HE WAS.
“Tell her to put that headdress back on,” Rowen commanded once they were out of the house. “She’ll cause a riot in the market, whatever she is.”
“She can understand you,” Leo snapped, then cursed himself for letting his fear and irritation get the better of him.
“Really?” Eireen said. “How fascinating.”
Sera quickly hid beneath the strands of beads, her fingers digging into his arm as they walked down the hill back toward the market of Arbaz. He wished he’d just agreed to go with them right away—maybe they wouldn’t have taken Sera. He was certain that Rowen would hand him over to the Triumvirate the moment they landed in Ithilia. At least they hadn’t taken Agnes too. He wondered if he would be as valuable as a hostage, not being the heir to anything.
The main boulevard was bathed in the warm glow of gas lamps; carriages and people alike stopped short to let the Misarros cross. Leo heard small gasps turn to excited mutterings.
“Is that a Byrne?”
“A Byrne in the custody of the Triumvirate!”
“Ambrosine won’t take this lying down.”
The voices seemed to follow them as they entered the portico. Leo’s jaw was clenched so tight he thought his teeth might crack. He’d imagined his face would be a positive attribute once they arrived in Pelago, but it was bringing nothing but trouble.
They arrived at the docks and Eireen led them to a ship that Leo knew at once was the Gilded Lily. Made of smooth white wood, its every detail seemed to have been dipped in gold, right down to the glittering figurehead. A row of Renalt Misarros stood waiting by the gangplank, a line of golden suns. Eireen led them onto the ship, where tiny white lights had been strung over the deck. There was a table set for two with white linen and a candle flickering in the wind. Rahel was seated at it, fixing her hair, but she jumped up at the sight of Leo, then frowned when she noticed Sera.
“My lady, I have brought you—”
“Leo,” he said, interrupting Eireen.
Rahel seemed enchanted. “Leo,” she breathed, her doe-brown eyes growing even wider. Sera gripped his arm tighter.
“We must leave now,” Rowen was growling. “The Aerin will not want to be kept waiting.”
“You are on a Renalt ship, Rowen. You do not give orders here,” Eireen said tartly, but turned away from her and shouted, “We sail at once!”
There was a flurry of activity as the Misarros readied the ship. Rahel looked around, confused. “But I thought we weren’t leaving until tomorrow.”
“Alas, my princess, things have changed. Your new friends are coming with us to Banrissa, isn’t that exciting?” Eireen said.
Rahel’s face lit up with delight. “I get to keep him?”
“Keep him?” Sera said, disgusted.
Rahel gasped. “What was that?” she asked, trying to peer through the beads covering Sera’s face.
“Why don’t you show your guests belowdecks,” Eireen suggested. “I’m sure they would love to see all of your beautiful rooms. And they are most interested to try dessert.”
The princess nodded, eager as a puppy. “Dessert!” she exclaimed, shooting a sulky glance at Sera before leading them to a set of stairs. “I didn’t know you were engaged,” she said to Leo as the ship began to move out into the water. But her petulance faded quickly as she began chattering to Sera. “Did Mistress Phebe make that dress for you? She’s the best there is in Pelago, isn’t she? She’s making one very much like it for me. What was that language you were speaking earlier? Are you from the northern islands? My mother says they speak funny up there. I like your headdress too, it’s awfully ornate. Isn’t it hurting your head, though? They’re heavy. You can take it off now if you’d like.”
Though he couldn’t see her face, Leo could tell Sera was bemused by all the questions. He certainly was. They had entered a hall with golden carpets and gold sconces on the walls and every door had a golden knob. It was all making Leo’s temples throb. Sera pulled off the headdress and Rahel let out a shriek.
“Saifa!” she cried.
Leo was getting very good at explaining that Sera wasn’t Saifa. But it was even easier with Rahel because she seemed to decide after a moment that she did not care who Sera was. Especially not after Leo told her they weren’t actually engaged.
“What did you dye her hair with?” Rahel asked. “She would have caused a scene in the market. Is that why she’s dressed like your bride? That’s a brilliant idea, you are so smart. I heard the Byrnes are smart but also cruel, that’s what Mother says. She says they’re out for power. Ambrosine wanted to marry Hektor to a Triumvirate princess but they all said no, even the Lekke. I was too young, though, when she asked. Wouldn’t it have been grand, a Byrne marrying a Renalt? But Mother didn’t like that much. Which Byrne are you?”
“Alethea’s son,” Leo said. He could hardly keep up with Rahel’s questions and found he was too tired to lie.
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“So you’re Kaolin!” Rahel exclaimed. “How exciting.” She opened a door to a parlor with golden chairs upholstered in pale pink, gleaming mirrors encrusted with pearls, and a gilded table set with a stunning array of desserts.
“What a beautiful room,” Leo said, because he felt that was what was expected of him.
Rahel beamed. “I designed it myself. Wait until you see where I sleep! I’ve got a pink comforter and pink pillows and a golden dresser. Do you like pink?” she said to Sera, then just as quickly turned back to Leo. “Can you make her talk again? Her voice is so pretty.”
“I’m not a windup toy,” Sera said, and Rahel applauded.
“My mother is going to love you!” she said. Leo’s stomach sank. He didn’t want any of the Triumvirate getting their hands on Sera—or worse, finding out that her blood contained magic.
“These desserts look magnificent,” he said, changing the subject. Rahel needed no further encouragement.
“Aren’t they? These are wine-poached apricots, and that’s a chocolate lava cake that’s so gooey it makes you want to scream. What’s your favorite dessert?”
She was looking at Leo like he was the treat. He made himself give a long, slow smile, the kind that always worked best on the tavern girls back home.
“Well,” he said. “I do love a good cobbler. Peach if I can find it. With whipped cream.”
Rahel licked her lips. “I can get you that! My chef makes anything I tell her to. I’ll be right back!”
She slipped out and left Sera and Leo alone.
“What . . .” Sera sank down onto a plush pink chair.
“Yeah,” Leo said. “She’s a lot to take in.”
“What do you think she’ll do with us?”
“It’s not her I’m worried about. It’s her mother, and the other two queens.”
Sera nodded. “She doesn’t seem to care about who I am. But she likes you quite a lot.”
Was Leo imagining the hint of resentment in her voice? He was pretty sure Sera liked girls, given that she had three mothers and came from a city of only women. Why would she care if Rahel thought him handsome?
