by Natalie Mae
And helpfully accompanies me to my cabin, I suppose to see if I intend to check on Kasta myself.
I do not.
Instead I spend a paranoid minute going through my gilded room, checking my things in case Kasta’s been through them, triple-checking the lock on the door.
And when I finally collapse on my bed to sleep, it’s with the feeling that the only progress I’ve made is backward.
* * *
“I am . . . pleased with this,” the Mestrah says the next evening, looking surprised at his own choice of words. Having just returned, Kasta and I stand before him in the throne room at the base of the dais. The queen sits beside her husband, an elegant vision wrapped in layers of pink satin. She looks much happier than she did watching Jet walk down this aisle, but her green eyes are still guarded. I wonder if she thinks losing Sakira was worth gaining her son as Mestrah. I wonder how things might change, if I could tell her Sakira is alive.
“You considered her counsel?” the Mestrah asks Kasta, who nods. The king looks to me. “And you summoned aid for him, when you had a chance to let Odelig go free?”
I nod. The Mestrah sits back, both hands on his knees. Fresh Strength spells paint his arms, but even this small movement seems to wind him.
“Never in ten thousand years,” he says, “would I have guessed this outcome. You approached this thoughtfully, met the goal I had set for you, and returned without having sacrificed more than you needed. But more than that, you worked together.” His brow rises. “You did well, dōmmella. I am beginning to see why the gods have paired you.”
We bow quickly and thank him, Kasta nearly choking on his words, but my heart hardens, rejecting that last statement. By unspoken agreement, Kasta and I neglected to mention the arguments that led up to capturing Odelig, and that both of us could have died if it weren’t for quick reflexes and a lucky burst of Influence. It doesn’t mean those arguments didn’t happen, and it doesn’t mean things will improve. We’re not meant for this. And when I expose Kasta for what he is, the Mestrah will see that, too.
“Now,” the Mestrah says, coughing once. A serving boy offers him his tonic, and the king takes a drink before continuing. “As you realized from the attack on your boat, Wyrim has no plans to wait idle while we sort things out. They continue to use mercenaries to avoid a full declaration of war, but we are very near to tracing the Atera attack to their queen. And when we do, and especially if we’ve still no answer to forsvine . . . we will need help.
“I have invited our strongest allies to the capital next week, from Greka, Nadessa, Amian, and Pe, for a celebratory banquet to honor your upcoming coronation and introduce you to their rulers. While this, to the public eye, will seem no more than a party, it will be up to you to impress the delegations. Our alliances with Pe and Amian, especially, are slipping. I will be counting on you—both of you—to show them not only that you are the strongest leaders to take Orkena’s throne, but also that we are still a force to be reckoned with. You must prove to them that keeping alliances with us is far preferred to the uncertainty of siding with Wyrim.”
I worry my fingers over the crane pin at my shoulder, looking away when the Mestrah turns to me. There’s no way to tell, of course, if we’ll be strong leaders or if we can stand against Wyrim, but the implication is clear. We must pretend, if we hope to win help for the war.
“Zahru,” the king says.
I look up. “Mestrah.”
“You need to realize that you, especially, will be under scrutiny. The rulers of these countries know your humble origins. I’ve delayed the party as long as I dared to give you time, but you’ll need to prove not only Orkena’s value, but your own.”
I clench my teeth. Of course I will.
“You have one week,” the Mestrah says, sinking tiredly into his throne. “I will see you tomorrow morning for another lesson.”
* * *
After a relieved reunion with Fara, Mora, and Hen, and a promise from each of them that they’ll do whatever they can to help me prepare for the party, I return to my room, exhaustedly resolved that I need to formulate a new plan for finding Kasta’s pelts. Really, I just want to sleep, or call on my friends to play cards and crystals, or just relax in the pool before the chaos of everything starts up again tomorrow, but we’re officially one week down.
Only three left until the coronation. And I have nothing more than a Wraith’s comment on Kasta’s impressive strength to show for it.
Jade chases my cape as I pace, and I finally pick her up, stroking her spotted side while she recounts all the exciting birds she saw while I was gone. I remind her she’ll need to start looking for quiet ones again, starting tonight. She nips my finger and springs off.
And someone knocks on the door.
“Oh my gods,” I say, whirling toward them. “I’ve been back for five minutes!”
But this is my life now. So all I can do is storm theatrically over, fling the doors open—and nearly run into a tower of orange calla lilies.
“What on— Jet!”
His smiling face pokes around the bouquet, which is actually a potted plant. Seriously, he’s holding a painted ceramic base.
“I thought you might need some cheering up, after being trapped with a tyrant for five days.” He shifts one arm, under which a wrapped parcel crinkles. “I also have lemon cookies.”
I swing the door open wide. “Yup, come in.”
I realize this makes me sound like a person who will admit anyone into my bedroom if they’re carrying cookies, and I have to admit this is probably correct. At the least, I would always answer the door for the promise of baked goods. Maybe not if Kasta was the one holding them . . . maybe even if he was. If only he knew how easily food would win me over.
Except seeing Jet only reminds me that I know his sister is alive, and that he’d be very relieved to know that. And thus begins a new moral crisis.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I say as a tantalizing whiff of sage and leather follows Jet in. “I couldn’t find anything on Kasta on the trip, so we need to talk about that, but also there’s something else I should probably tell you—”
He turns, and I lose my train of thought. This is not just Jet showing up with flowers and cookies. This is Jet in a tunic nearly as fine as the one he had for his coronation, a fitted deep blue with silver gods’ symbols sewn into the trim and silver armbands that draw the light to his muscles. He’s also shorn sharp patterns into the sides of his hair, and his dark brown skin shines, fresh with that tantalizing oil.
I don’t know what it means that my first thought is that I don’t have time for this.
His smile turns devilish. “Maybe all that can wait?” He unwraps the parcel, tossing the string to Jade. “I thought, you’ve been working nonstop, you’ve just returned from a stressful hunt with my literally accursed brother . . . maybe you’d like to take a night off?”
He offers me a cookie, which is really the most unfair thing about this.
“Um . . .” I take it. “That really does sound amazing.”
“Here’s my plan for the night.” He frames the starlit window with his hands. “A walk through the gardens. There’s a pond with Firelily pads in the middle, so you can even burn something if you’re feeling stressed. Then up past the kitchens for more snacks, then we pick up Hen, Melia, Marcus and his fiancé, and anyone else you want to invite, and have a pool party.” He gestures to the archway on the west side, where I’d imagined all of us doing just that, not five minutes ago.
I look down at the cookie, thinking of the secret I need to tell him, of the help I could get with Kasta and the debut party if I don’t.
“Oh . . . no, no, no,” Jet says, lightly pushing my hand, and cookie, closer to my mouth. “Tears are not the reaction I was going for. It’s all right; if you’d rather just talk strategy for this week, we can do that, too.”
�
�No, it’s fine,” I say, blinking my eyes clear. “This was really thoughtful of you, and I really, really want to go, but I’m under a lot of stress right now, and I—”
I bite my lip. I have something to tell you is what I should say. It’s not like I’m worried about what Sakira will do if I tell Jet, because I think I can swear him to secrecy and Sakira will eventually forgive me.
I’m worried about me. About the help I’ll lose if he goes to her, instead of what Jet will gain.
What is wrong with me?
“All right.” Jet lifts off my gold-feathered crown, which I hadn’t realized until now had been digging into my scalp. “Just breathe for a minute. Easy in, easy out.”
He rubs my arms, his hands warm and strong, his concern a soft comfort sinking through my shoulders. I breathe in with him—one, two—and breathe out—three, four. I’m fine, I have a lot to do, but I’ve survived a week. And I absolutely have to tell him this secret, because if our situations were reversed, and I thought Hen was dead and he found her alive, I know he’d have already told me.
“Your sister’s alive,” I say before I can change my mind.
For a beat, Jet’s hands go still. Then joy sparks between us, and the most glorious, disbelieving grin brightens his face. “You’re serious? They found her? Why didn’t I know?”
“Well, because—”
“Zahru!” He spins me, lifting me off the ground and laughing, so full of light and happiness that I immediately ache for him when he lets go. “You’re amazing. Is she recovering? Is that why no one else knows yet?”
“She’s fine,” I assure him. “And so is Alette, actually. Ashra found them and brought them to safety. They’re doing really well.” My smile slips. “But they’re not here. They don’t want to come home.”
His grin falls. “What? Why?”
“They’re hiding away in a town up north. Sakira changed her name. No one there knows who she is, and Alette’s helping her keep it that way.” I nibble on the cookie, though I don’t really taste it. “She’s different, and she told me I’d regret it if I spilled her secret. So please don’t tell anyone else? But I thought you should know.”
He’s quiet a moment. “But my father . . . and Alette’s mothers. And I may not care for the queen, but she’s been lighting candles every night for Sakira. I can’t tell them?”
“I—” There’s no way I can deny grieving parents this knowledge. I may as well just accept now that Sakira is going to come for me in the night. “I mean . . . I guess?”
“No, no, that’s all right; I’ll pose that question to Sakira myself. I’m just grateful you told me.” He exhales, running a hand over his short hair, and I hate the pang of regret I feel at the confirmation that he’s going to visit her and not be here for me. “I need to get her a new listening scroll. And new spells, and ink for her brush. Where are they living? Do you think they’ll need anything else? Food? A carriage?”
“I don’t know,” I say, dropping the rest of the cookie on an end table. “Sakira bought an estate. She looked pretty well-off.”
“Definitely some gold, then, too. I know what she brought with her for the Crossing, and if she bought a house, she can’t have much left.” He’s a bundle of energy, moving, strategizing. I can only take comfort in knowing that if it was me who needed help, he’d be just as ready.
He catches me looking and grimaces. “I’m sorry. If there’s anything you need me for tonight, I’m happy to get the other advisors and discuss, but then I have to see her. I’ll respect it if she wants to stay, but she often appears like she’s doing better than she is. I need to make sure she’s truly all right.”
“I understand,” I say, forcing a smile. “And you don’t have to wait around. I can work with the rest of the team on next steps.” I pause, remembering what we discussed as a team last time. “Did you happen to get access to Kasta’s room?”
“Oh! Yes, I was just about to get to that.” He pulls two strings of leather from his tunic pocket, each threaded with square stones. “My mother tracked down the Enchanter who designed the protection wards for the royal suites, and he made us these. They’ll mask your presence for a quarter of an hour, so be out before then, or the Wraithguard will be in to investigate. Marcus can recharge them if you need to go in more than once.”
“All right,” I say, accepting the necklaces. “This only makes me feel slightly panicked about how easily Kasta could make the same request.”
“Not anymore.” Jet smirks. “We paid the Enchanter a pretty sum of your gold to look for a job outside of the country.”
I blink. “My gold?”
“Well, it’s certainly not mine anymore. The Enchanter won’t be back, anyway. He wants nothing to do with a feud between you and Kasta.”
“Huh.” Though it’s more for the strange realization that I’m rich. I’m a person who has gold. It hasn’t even occurred to me until now that I could buy things.
“Anyway.” Jet arranges the flowers beside the couch. “You’ll want to go between two and four marks in the afternoon. Kasta trains with the army then, and that’s the only time I can guarantee he’ll be out. And don’t go alone. You notice there are two of those.”
I scoff, though that’s exactly what I was just thinking. “Why would I go alone?”
“Because you don’t want to put anyone else in danger, and you’d like to set his room on fire?”
“I wouldn’t set his room on fire. It’s right next to mine.” But a weird feeling starts through me at this, because I imagine myself doing just that, lifting a torch over Kasta’s desk, his books. The forsvine samples, with all his careful notes and calculations.
Except I can’t imagine lowering the flame.
Which is not right at all.
Jet points a finger in my face. “See? You’re thinking about it. Don’t. You’ll get your chance for revenge, but only if we do this carefully.”
I look down at the necklaces. “Right. Revenge.”
“Write me if you need anything. I’ll have my listening scroll.” He strides for the door and pauses on the threshold, looking as out of reach as a star. “I’ll be back before your debut party. Maybe we can try tonight’s plans again then?”
“Sure,” I say, leaning sadly against the dresser.
And he’s gone.
I rub my hand along my brow, burying the resentment for Jet’s absence and the stress of the upcoming party and Kasta’s strange agreeability under the promise in my palm.
Tomorrow, at least, I will solve one of these.
I lift the rune necklaces and look out at Kasta’s balcony.
XVIII
I don’t wait for Kasta the next morning before going to the gardens for our Influence lesson, which earns me another side eye from the Mestrah when I arrive alone. At least this time I don’t knock any servants unconscious. This time I stay far away from changing any minds and focus only on emotions, and my magic springs to my fingers like a horse under saddle, sharpened by the practice I got during the trip. It only takes me a few minutes to start naming feelings from a distance, and I get the time down to seconds toward the end of the lesson. The Mestrah is so pleased with this he actually smiles, but it’s made even better by Kasta guessing wrong on his volunteers the entire hour. His Influence hasn’t progressed at all. The Mestrah explains it may take moons to master, and that my progress is likely due to Influence’s similarity to Whispering, and I hold my tongue about how difficult it must be for Shifters to learn two completely different magics at once.
I don’t need the barb, anyway. I’m the one who gets an approving shoulder pat.
My schooling lessons do not go as well. My tutors, now with the debut party to prepare for, pack my brain with the names of foreign rulers, cities, current trade agreements, customs, laws, and various diplomatic strategies. By the time Hen arrives to teach history, my head is soup. I try
to focus on the Mestrah portraits she lays out, on who conquered the northern tribes first and united them, but my mind keeps sliding to the rune necklaces in my pocket, my gaze to the curtained windows beyond which Kasta’s balcony waits. It’s nearing three marks. Now would be the perfect time to go.
And despite Jet’s warnings, I’m not sure I see the point in taking someone with me. I could leave one rune necklace here, search alone, and if I don’t find anything, return immediately with the second necklace—giving me twice the time before I have to get them recharged by Marcus.
And if Kasta happens to come in . . .
I find, oddly, that I’m less afraid of what he would do to me than of what he might do to my expendable friends.
I’ve just decided I’ll ask Hen for a break when a scroll thwacks my knuckles.
“Ouch!” I say, snatching my hands off the desk. “What was that for?”
“For keeping another secret from me,” Hen says, her eyes narrowing.
“What?” I laugh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m trying to study, here. Though I really do need a break soon. I don’t even remember the name of the Mestrah you were just talking about.”
Hen taps the scroll against her hand, dust motes sparkling around her raven hair like a hundred new suspicions. She rolls the blank parchment out on the desk. “Fine. I will grant you this break, but we end the lesson with a little writing practice.”
She scrawls a word onto the parchment, then spins it around so I can read it. The ease of this is enough to spark my own suspicions, but I decide to just go with it.
“L-i-a . . .” I copy each letter and shoot her a glare when I get to the last one. “Wait. That spells liar.”
“Yes, it does, you liar of liars. You said you’d never keep a secret from me again!”
