“Sleep well?” I asked. I kissed him on the cheek, stole his cup and drained it.
“Wicked princeling,” he grumbled, smiling. He refilled his cup and poured another for me.
I sat down at the dressing table, accepted the cup and assessed myself in the mirror. My curly black hair was in desperate need of a trim. The bags under my eyes were like smudges of blue-black ink, and after my time in Ilor, my freckles stood out more than ever against my tanned skin. I didn’t look like much of a prince at all. I picked up two crowns—one a plain gold circlet, the other white gold and studded with chunks of raw diamonds and citrine. It was a slightly smaller version of the Crown of Alskad that the queen would wear.
“Which one?” I asked.
Swinton considered, his lips pursed and his face comically serious. He set one after the other on my head, then switched them back and forth until I swatted at his hand.
“Both,” he said. “One on top of the other.”
“Be serious!”
He rolled his eyes. “Wear the Circlet of Alskad. It’s expected, and you can hardly afford to be anything less than overpoweringly formal. You should wear as many jewels as you can. Dress like you’re begging a pickpocket to stumble across your path and rob you blind.”
I made a face. He wasn’t wrong, but I didn’t think I’d ever be comfortable with calling that much attention to myself, especially when I had so much to hide. “Why are you dressed like a guard, by the way?”
“Runa’s idea. I’ll be able to ride beside your carriage and entertain you with my witty commentary on the idiocy of your nobility.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him, pressing myself into the hard lines of his muscular form. There was a knock at the door, and I broke away from Swinton just as Gunnar strode into the room, followed by my three servants, each carrying a jewel chest.
“Your Highness. Master Swinton,” Gunnar said.
A blush exploded up my chest and neck, blooming over my face. I cleared my throat. “You’ve trained your people well, Gunnar. They’re more, erhm, efficient every morning.”
Gunnar’s face remained impassive, though from the twinkle in his eyes, I was sure he’d caught the barb in my words.
“I’d not realized you’d joined the guard, Master Swinton,” Gunnar said.
Swinton tugged on his sleeves and brushed the front of the jacket. “A present from Runa. An up close ticket to the show, you know?”
Gunnar merely raised an eyebrow and opened one of the chests, displaying a glittering array of jewels.
A half hour later, I was dripping with wealth and stuffing a flaky salmonberry pastry into my mouth as quickly as I could while being bundled into the open-top birchwood-and-gold royal carriage. Queen Runa appeared a moment later. She was a far cry from the grandmotherly figure who’d sat laughing by my fire the night before. This Runa was larger than life, intimidating and regal. The Crown of Alskad glittered on her forehead, and she sported a white fox cloak over a steel-gray silk suit.
A servant settled a bearskin rug over her lap and another over mine. I surreptitiously brushed the crumbs off my jacket and waited for her to speak as she studied me, one eyebrow raised.
“Your circlet is crooked.”
I put a hand to it, but she waved me away and leaned across the carriage to adjust it herself.
“You know what we’re to do today?”
“Smile? Wave?” I shrugged. “Is there much else to it?”
“You must learn to take this more seriously, especially with what we face,” she admonished. “The people mustn’t think that you’re just another stuffed-up, lazy nobleman. The fact that you’re my grandson may not be public knowledge, but Alskad must see you as my heir.”
I nodded, not sure how I could possibly demonstrate to people who’d see me for only a moment that I had their best interests at heart. Suddenly I was horribly embarrassed by the quantity of jewels I wore. I unfastened one gaudy necklace and stuffed it deep into my jacket pocket, blushing, and started on the other jewels around my neck and wrists. I was suddenly very glad I’d not let Swinton pierce my ears.
Runa reached across the carriage just as it started to roll and cupped my cheek.
“You’re a wonderful young man, Bo. All you need to do is let them see your heart.”
Our carriage rolled out onto the snowy street outside the palace just as I stuffed the last of the jewels into my pocket. All that was left was the cuff on my wrist and the circlet around my head, the two undeniable symbols of my status as heir to the throne. The procession stretched out before us: royal guards and cavalry surrounding our carriage and those of the nobility who joined the procession, and the Shriven, in stark, formal black, ringing the carriage of the Suzerain. My eyes flicked away from their coal-black carriage, not yet ready to prepare myself to face them today.
People lined the road, waving and smiling in the dim orangey glow of the midmorning sunrise. It was nearly ten o’clock in the morning, and the sun had just begun to peek over the horizon. It would be dark long before we saw the palace again.
Swinton rode up beside the carriage on a large bay gelding and saluted the queen with a wink. Despite the crisp uniform and the effort he’d made to tame his tawny waves into a passable braid, no one who looked twice at him would believe Swinton was actually a member of the guard. His posture was too relaxed. He looked at ease with himself and his surroundings in a way that no guard could manage.
He was lovely. Maybe later, in the confusion and busyness of the celebration, we could sneak away for a few moments alone...
Something sharp prodded me in the thigh.
“Stop daydreaming about your sweetheart and look sharp. We’re nearly to the first pavilion.”
The carriage rolled to a stop, and liveried servants hurried to place the ostentatious gilded step stool and open the carriage door. I followed Queen Runa out of the carriage and down a rope-lined walkway, glancing back to see Swinton joining ranks with the guards who trailed behind us at a respectful distance. I took a deep breath and steeled myself for the first event of the day.
The crowds surged forward against the barrier, calling Runa’s name and, to my great surprise, my own. They tossed flowers over the heads of the royal guards, who stood at intervals along the path. Following Runa’s example, I stopped every few feet to shake hands with the people, to coo over babies and to press hard candies into the hands of children.
When we reached the pavilion, a hush ran through the crowd and silence fell over the park like a blanket of snow. The Suzerain stood on the edge of the pavilion, surrounded by the Shriven, beatific looks on their nearly identical faces as they inclined their heads to the queen and me.
Runa stepped forward. “It is my very great honor to share my birthday with the people of Alskad, and with my great-nephew and heir, the Crown Prince Ambrose.”
A blush crept up my neck, and I fought the urge to look away from the crowd as Runa continued.
“Believe me when I tell you that Prince Ambrose will be a leader that you will be proud to follow. A leader who will uphold and honor the traditions of our great empire, while looking to the future and the good of his people.”
A ripple ran through the audience, and whispers grew like waves. Someone in the back of the park shouted something, and a moment later, guards swarmed in that direction. Queen Runa’s face remained impassive as the guards hauled several people out of the park. Swinton stood just in front of me at the bottom of the pavilion’s stairs, his spine ramrod-straight, and I could almost feel the electric energy of his attention on the crowd.
“Now, though it is customary to receive gifts on one’s birthday, I much prefer being the one to give gifts. So today, I ask the people of Alskad to indulge me and share in the extraordinary talents of the palace bakers.”
Behind us, the walls of a large white tent were rolled up, and
the scents of buttery, yeasted pastries, cloud buns rich with bacon jam and brown sugar cakes spiced with candied ginger wafted into the icy air. Long tables inside the tent were piled high with boxes, each tied with a bright red ribbon. Samovars held tea and spiced cider, and servants in crisp white aprons stood ready to distribute the boxes of treats and cups of warm drinks.
The crowd cheered as they formed lines outside the tent. Queen Runa celebrated her birthday this way every year, and the people knew the routine well at this point. I followed Runa into the tent and took up my position beside a table. We’d hand out the first few boxes before moving on to do the exact same thing at the next pavilion.
I was relieved to be away from the Suzerain and their guard for a moment. They always hung back on these occasions—present, but allowing the queen to hold the people’s attention.
People filed into the tent one by one. Swinton prowled around the room, all languid watchfulness, like a predatory cat. I pasted a smile onto my face and handed the first box to a little girl with a giant pouf of hair tamed only by a pair of colorfully striped earmuffs tied under her chin.
“I like your earmuffs,” I said. “How old are you?”
The girl pursed her lips and looked up at her mother standing behind her. The woman squeezed her daughter’s shoulder and said, “Go on, tell His Highness how old you are.”
Still clutching the box in one hand, the girl held up four fingers. I grinned at her and handed a box to her mother.
“Well,” I said. “You have excellent taste. I hope you enjoy the queen’s birthday.”
The girl and her mother filed past me toward the samovars, and I spoke to the next few people in line behind them, distributing boxes and doing my best to be the picture of a kind and caring future monarch. My eyes darted over to Swinton as I handed a box to an elderly woman in a bright knit cap. He leaned against a tent pole, a paper cup steaming in his hand as he laughed with one of the guards. The man could make friends with anyone.
“You don’t look like one of the singleborn.”
I jerked my head up, surprised, and the sharp tang of tafia hit me like a brick to the face. I struggled to find my placid smile and erase the shock from my face. The man standing in front of me wore a ratty wool coat the color of bile and scuffed, cracked leather boots. His salt-and-pepper hair hung in oily hanks around his ears, and his deep brown eyes were unfocused with drink.
“You just look like a boy playing at being a prince. The whole city’s talking, you know,” he slurred. “The whole city’s talking about how the princeling is back from Ilor. You know who isn’t talking, though? My wife. For the first time in her goddess-damned life, my Ina’s keeping her mouth shut.”
I looked frantically around the room, smile plastered to my face, searching for someone to help me. I caught Swinton’s eye and jerked my head as I took the man by the elbow and steered him toward the back of the tent. A servant stepped smoothly into my place at the table.
“Where’re we going?” the man slurred. “I needa talk to you about my Ina and my Vi. I needa talk to you.”
Swinton crossed the room to whisper in Runa’s ear, and with a grace I could never hope to achieve, she extracted herself and followed Swinton through the crowd as I yanked the man through the back flap of the tent.
“I would be ever so pleased to speak with you as well, sir.” I gave him a tight smile. A carriage pulled around the corner and rolled to a stop just down the path. Though most of the people who’d come to the pavilion were in the tent already, stragglers ranged over the snow-dusted grounds. Anything we said here would surely be heard.
“It’s just that the day is busy,” I added, trying to stay calm. “I can’t possibly ask you to wait in the cold. I’m going to send you back to the palace with my most trusted confidante. You’ll be fed and given a place to rest, and I’ll make time to speak to you this evening. How does that sound?”
The man grunted as Runa bustled up to us. “Who is this?”
“You know what they’re sayin’ about your princeling, Majesty?” The man gave an extravagant bow and toppled over onto his knees. Swinton hauled him back up by the elbow. “They’re sayin’ as he aren’t really singleborn at all. They’re sayin’ he got him a twin hidden away in Ilor.”
My heart rate sped up to a gallop. The blood drained from Runa’s face. She gestured for us to follow her, then turned on a heel and stalked toward our carriage. We scrambled to keep up, Swinton and I propping up the drunkard between us.
“Take him to the palace, Swinton,” I said, pleading in my voice. “I’ll get there as soon as I can. Just keep him out of sight until then. Please?”
Swinton’s jaw tightened. “Bo—”
“Please. This is the worst time for secrets to start spilling from the woodwork.”
The driver hopped down from his seat and came around to hand Runa, her mouth a thin, angry line, into the royal carriage.
“Fine.” Swinton wrapped an arm around the man’s waist and held him steady. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Thank you.” I gave Swinton’s hand a surreptitious squeeze and stepped up onto the carriage’s first step.
“You look just like her, you know, princeling. You look just like my Vi.”
The carriage shifted as Runa stood bolt upright and I jumped back down, terror and fury warring within me at the thought of someone overhearing. If the man was right, and rumors that I was a twin really were circulating the city, the council might see fit to contest the queen’s decision to name me heir. I took a step toward Swinton, glancing around for anyone who might be within earshot.
And then my heart stopped, along with time and my breath. My fury melted away, leaving only fear in its place as a line of palace guards, their uniforms the color of moss and black fur collars gleaming in the stark light of the morning, raised their rifles in our direction.
A shot cracked through the air. I froze, but Swinton sprang into action. He shoved the drunkard past me and into the carriage. I watched in horror as the guards reloaded their weapons. Why would the people sworn to protect the queen and me raise their weapons against us? It didn’t make any sense.
Someone screamed, and I turned to find Runa slumped in her seat, hands clutching her throat, looking at me with wild eyes. The drunkard huddled on the seat across from her, head buried in his hands and rocking back and forth.
For the longest moment, I waited, terrified, for the sear of a bullet to wrench my soul from my body. My thoughts flashed to Vi, halfway across the world and unwittingly in mortal danger. Then another thunderclap of shots shattered the ice that had held me in place.
In that moment, I made a choice. I could collapse, or I could fight. I swung myself into the carriage, ripping the silk stock from my collar, and knelt on the floor in front of Runa. Swinton leaped over me and into the driver’s seat. I pressed the fabric to Runa’s neck as Swinton spurred the horses into a reckless gallop, careening through the streets of Penby as shots and screams echoed off the buildings around us.
I watched my grandmother’s life-force seep between my fingertips, staining my fingers red with her blood. Tears cascaded down my cheeks as she took her last, shuddering breath. Then her eyes went blank, and she began her journey to the afterlife in the halls of the gods.
CHAPTER NINE
Vi
“I seem to spend a great deal of time convincing people that I am capable of making my own decisions. I don’t know what I’ve done to seem so incompetent, but I know my worth, and I’m determined to prove it.”
—from Vi to Bo
I followed Aphra up a path and into a large clearing. A number of ramshackle bungalows were perched on stilts around the edge, and the clustered stumps of freshly hewn trees declared the settlement’s very recent construction. Dogs lounged beneath the bungalows while chickens and peacocks pecked at the loamy earth. A large garden, newly tilled and surro
unded by a tall, spiked fence, took up nearly a third of the clearing. A girl knelt by a firepit, slowly turning a spitted goat over the embers.
As I took in my surroundings, I began to notice how few people were in the camp. A ragtag group of maybe ten gangly teenagers was draped over the railings of one of the bungalows, and a cluster of six or so swung their legs between the slats of another building’s porch. Their eyes followed me, curious, as they picked at plates of food. A pair of Samirian twins, olive-skinned and covered in lean muscle, raked at the embers of the fire, skewering blistered root vegetables from the ashes and depositing them onto a long platter.
“Is this everyone?” I whispered to Aphra, suddenly afraid that the so-called rebellion I’d sought out was nothing more than a few kids no older than Curlin and me.
She threw back her head and laughed, a raucous belly laugh that turned the heads of everyone in the clearing. Still chuckling, Aphra looped her arm through mine and led me farther up the path to a pavilion, bright with torchlight and fizzling with activity. A series of long tables and benches were set in lines beneath the roof, and people swarmed around them. I spotted Mal, Quill and Curlin seated at a table in one corner, their faces grim and intensely focused as they spoke to two women I didn’t recognize.
There were stacks of bowls and plates on every table, a bizarre collection of crude wooden pieces and fine china in mismatched patterns. A young man walked past us, carrying a basket of bread that perfumed the air with its heavenly, yeasty scent. My stomach growled, and I realized that it had been hours since I’d eaten. Just then, someone let out a loud whoop and, fast as you know it, I was wrapped in a ferocious embrace. When I was finally released, I found myself face-to-face with Myrna, her face alight with excitement. Behind her, Hepsy stood with her arms crossed over her chest, glaring.
“You sneak!” Myrna cried. “Rayleane’s knees! How’d you find us? We thought you’d been snatched up by those awful Shriven thugs after the fire.”
I cringed, thinking of Curlin just a few yards away.
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