Three figures stepped forward to greet them. The first was a tall, dark-skinned man in robes of white and gold, whom Rielle assumed to be the Grand Magister of the House of Light. The second was a guard in attractive but simple garb, with light-brown skin and soft brown eyes. The guard scanned the Celdarian escort for a moment before stepping aside to reveal their third greeter—a girl no older than perhaps thirteen. Her skin was a pale, warm brown, and her hair, elaborately pinned within a ruby-scattered golden net, was white as fresh snow.
Rielle knew her at once. The newly chosen queen, Obritsa Nevemskaya. According to Audric, the girl was something of an aberration. Kirvaya had not had a human queen in centuries. Typically, a young firebrand girl was chosen from the temples erected throughout the country in honor of Saint Marzana—holy schools that groomed girls who had the potential to someday be appointed queen. Audric assumed the selection of Obritsa had been a strategic choice on the part of Kirvaya’s Magisterial Council. What with unrest brewing throughout the kingdom, and small bands of human slaves rebelling left and right, it was wise to appoint a human as queen—especially one who so uncannily resembled Saint Marzana herself.
Audric bowed before the girl, and the rest of their escort followed suit.
But the queen waved them all back to their feet.
“Please, rise,” she said, hurrying toward Rielle. Evyline and Ivaine stepped forward to halt her passage.
Rielle barely managed to hide her smile at the expression on Obritsa’s face. She doubted this girl queen was used to anything blocking her way.
“Let her pass,” commanded Rielle, and when they obeyed, Obritsa approached with a broad smile and clasped Rielle’s hands in hers.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited to meet another person in my entire life,” the girl said breathlessly, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. Some of the tension drained from Rielle’s body. This aberrant queen was merely a child, excitable and guileless, and would clearly need little urging to do whatever Rielle requested of her—even if said request involved handing over Marzana’s casting.
Rielle bowed once more and pressed her lips to Obritsa’s hand. The girl grinned, her eyes wide and bright.
“It is an honor to meet you, Your Majesty,” Rielle said and then looked sheepishly down at her dust-covered skirts. “I apologize for immediately asking a favor of you, but might we be shown to our rooms? I confess, I feel rather small and shabby in the presence of your loveliness.”
“Oh, nonsense!” Obritsa gestured dismissively at her glittering gown. “These fussy old-lady clothes pale in comparison to your beauty, Lady Rielle. Come! You must all rest before tonight’s feast. You poor, weary dears. Such a long journey you’ve had.” She clucked her tongue like a fussing mother—or rather, like a child pretending at mothering. Rielle barely swallowed her smile when she noticed the disgruntled expressions the queen’s magisters wore. Surely this was not the dignified greeting they had been hoping for.
But Obritsa glided on, ignoring them completely. Still grasping Rielle’s hand, as if they were old friends rushing off to gossip, she chattered away, carelessly careening between topics of discussion—features of the palace architecture, the health and happiness of Queen Genoveve, how excited the palace servants were to meet the Sun Queen. For they had all, of course, heard the stories about the trials and that terrible tidal wave that had nearly flattened Styrdalleen. Had Rielle really stopped the wave with her own two hands? This hand, the very one Obritsa was holding right now?
Rielle glanced over her shoulder at Audric and raised an eyebrow. He smiled behind his hand, his face lit with amusement.
Ludivine, however, was not so entertained. Be wary of her. She’s hiding something.
But the sensation of Ludivine’s thoughts felt uncertain, faltering, as if she herself wasn’t sure of the validity of her own warning.
Rielle put it quickly out of mind. It was a delight to be so fawned over, after the long weeks on the road. If she was to worry about Queen Obritsa, she would do so eventually, but only after she had enjoyed a bath.
• • •
That night, they dined in the palace’s largest hall—a grand, lavish space with high, arched rafters, walls rich with tapestries, and what must have been thousands of candles.
They hung from iron chandeliers bolted to the ceilings and in gilded brackets affixed to the walls. Fiery bouquets flickered cheerfully along each long, polished table. Every piece of furniture and span of wall had been decorated in shades of scarlet, gold, and white—a blending of Saint Marzana’s colors with Saint Katell’s. The overall effect was one of such brilliance that Rielle soon felt a headache pulsing behind her eyes, and wished passionately for bed and the safe cocoon of Audric’s arms.
But bed she would not have for some time, for the entire hall of feathered courtiers and wide-eyed servants was watching her, waiting.
The current fashion in the capital apparently centered around a firebird aesthetic, in honor of Saint Marzana’s godsbeast. Feathers dyed violet, ruby, bright tangerine, and glittering gold hung from jackets and sashes. They had been woven into braids and gathered into fans.
The sight of them, dazzling and bold amid a room lined with fire, reminded Rielle uncomfortably of her final trial, and how she had transformed the flames trapping Tal into harmless feathers. Many times since that day, she had attempted to perform another such transformation—pens into knives, forks into flowers. But all she had managed was to send the targeted objects bursting into flames or shatter them into pieces too tiny to repair.
And now, with Ludivine’s blightblade scar a constant smarting tug on Rielle’s senses, the need for her to master this deeper power seemed more urgent by the day. Surely the two ideas were linked—transforming fire to feathers and restoring ruined flesh to its former self.
Akim Yeravet, Grand Magister of the House of Light, cleared his throat. He stood before the table a few paces away, his expression one of barely contained eagerness.
“Lady Rielle?” he prompted quietly. “Are you quite well? Shall I instruct the musicians to begin another dance, and we can proceed in a few moments, after you’ve had a drink of water?”
Rielle blinked, clearing her muddled thoughts. She, Audric, Ludivine, and the Magisterial Council—as well as Queen Obritsa and her ever-present silent guard—sat on a raised dais at the head of the room, before a table heavy with the dregs of their supper.
Beneath the table, Audric found Rielle’s hand. His thumb smoothed a gentle circle against her wrist.
Right now, Audric is wishing you both could retire to your rooms, Ludivine said quietly. He is also thinking how proud he is of you, and how tired he is. How desperately he loves you, and how beautiful you look in the light of all these candles. And how, after spending a few hours loving you, he would very much like to visit the Zheminask archives and ask the librarians for permission to view Marzana’s journals. Ludivine paused, then said slyly, I did not intrude upon his thoughts enough to know the specifics of how he should like to love you, but the general sentiment, I think, is one that would leave you quite satisfied. figures stepped forward to greet them. The first was a tall, dark-skinned man in robes of white and gold, whom Rielle assumed to be the Grand Magister of the House of Light. The second was a guard in attractive but simple garb, with light-brown skin and soft brown eyes. The guard scanned the Celdarian escort for a moment before stepping aside to reveal their third greeter—a girl no older than perhaps thirteen. Her skin was a pale, warm brown, and her hair, elaborately pinned within a ruby-scattered golden net, was white as fresh snow.
Rielle knew her at once. The newly chosen queen, Obritsa Nevemskaya. According to Audric, the girl was something of an aberration. Kirvaya had not had a human queen in centuries. Typically, a young firebrand girl was chosen from the temples erected throughout the country in honor of Saint Marzana—holy schools that groomed girls who had the potential to someday be appointed queen. Audric assumed the selection of Obritsa had been a strategic choice on the part of Kirvaya’s Magisterial Council. What with unrest brewing throughout the kingdom, and small bands of human slaves rebelling left and right, it was wise to appoint a human as queen—especially one who so uncannily resembled Saint Marzana herself.
Audric bowed before the girl, and the rest of their escort followed suit.
But the queen waved them all back to their feet.
“Please, rise,” she said, hurrying toward Rielle. Evyline and Ivaine stepped forward to halt her passage.
Rielle barely managed to hide her smile at the expression on Obritsa’s face. She doubted this girl queen was used to anything blocking her way.
“Let her pass,” commanded Rielle, and when they obeyed, Obritsa approached with a broad smile and clasped Rielle’s hands in hers.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited to meet another person in my entire life,” the girl said breathlessly, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. Some of the tension drained from Rielle’s body. This aberrant queen was merely a child, excitable and guileless, and would clearly need little urging to do whatever Rielle requested of her—even if said request involved handing over Marzana’s casting.
Rielle bowed once more and pressed her lips to Obritsa’s hand. The girl grinned, her eyes wide and bright.
“It is an honor to meet you, Your Majesty,” Rielle said and then looked sheepishly down at her dust-covered skirts. “I apologize for immediately asking a favor of you, but might we be shown to our rooms? I confess, I feel rather small and shabby in the presence of your loveliness.”
“Oh, nonsense!” Obritsa gestured dismissively at her glittering gown. “These fussy old-lady clothes pale in comparison to your beauty, Lady Rielle. Come! You must all rest before tonight’s feast. You poor, weary dears. Such a long journey you’ve had.” She clucked her tongue like a fussing mother—or rather, like a child pretending at mothering. Rielle barely swallowed her smile when she noticed the disgruntled expressions the queen’s magisters wore. Surely this was not the dignified greeting they had been hoping for.
But Obritsa glided on, ignoring them completely. Still grasping Rielle’s hand, as if they were old friends rushing off to gossip, she chattered away, carelessly careening between topics of discussion—features of the palace architecture, the health and happiness of Queen Genoveve, how excited the palace servants were to meet the Sun Queen. For they had all, of course, heard the stories about the trials and that terrible tidal wave that had nearly flattened Styrdalleen. Had Rielle really stopped the wave with her own two hands? This hand, the very one Obritsa was holding right now?
Rielle glanced over her shoulder at Audric and raised an eyebrow. He smiled behind his hand, his face lit with amusement.
Ludivine, however, was not so entertained. Be wary of her. She’s hiding something.
But the sensation of Ludivine’s thoughts felt uncertain, faltering, as if she herself wasn’t sure of the validity of her own warning.
Rielle put it quickly out of mind. It was a delight to be so fawned over, after the long weeks on the road. If she was to worry about Queen Obritsa, she would do so eventually, but only after she had enjoyed a bath.
• • •
That night, they dined in the palace’s largest hall—a grand, lavish space with high, arched rafters, walls rich with tapestries, and what must have been thousands of candles.
They hung from iron chandeliers bolted to the ceilings and in gilded brackets affixed to the walls. Fiery bouquets flickered cheerfully along each long, polished table. Every piece of furniture and span of wall had been decorated in shades of scarlet, gold, and white—a blending of Saint Marzana’s colors with Saint Katell’s. The overall effect was one of such brilliance that Rielle soon felt a headache pulsing behind her eyes, and wished passionately for bed and the safe cocoon of Audric’s arms.
But bed she would not have for some time, for the entire hall of feathered courtiers and wide-eyed servants was watching her, waiting.
The current fashion in the capital apparently centered around a firebird aesthetic, in honor of Saint Marzana’s godsbeast. Feathers dyed violet, ruby, bright tangerine, and glittering gold hung from jackets and sashes. They had been woven into braids and gathered into fans.
The sight of them, dazzling and bold amid a room lined with fire, reminded Rielle uncomfortably of her final trial, and how she had transformed the flames trapping Tal into harmless feathers. Many times since that day, she had attempted to perform another such transformation—pens into knives, forks into flowers. But all she had managed was to send the targeted objects bursting into flames or shatter them into pieces too tiny to repair.
And now, with Ludivine’s blightblade scar a constant smarting tug on Rielle’s senses, the need for her to master this deeper power seemed more urgent by the day. Surely the two ideas were linked—transforming fire to feathers and restoring ruined flesh to its former self.
Akim Yeravet, Grand Magister of the House of Light, cleared his throat. He stood before the table a few paces away, his expression one of barely contained eagerness.
“Lady Rielle?” he prompted quietly. “Are you quite well? Shall I instruct the musicians to begin another dance, and we can proceed in a few moments, after you’ve had a drink of water?”
Rielle blinked, clearing her muddled thoughts. She, Audric, Ludivine, and the Magisterial Council—as well as Queen Obritsa and her ever-present silent guard—sat on a raised dais at the head of the room, before a table heavy with the dregs of their supper.
Beneath the table, Audric found Rielle’s hand. His thumb smoothed a gentle circle against her wrist.
Right now, Audric is wishing you both could retire to your rooms, Ludivine said quietly. He is also thinking how proud he is of you, and how tired he is. How desperately he loves you, and how beautiful you look in the light of all these candles. And how, after spending a few hours loving you, he would very much like to visit the Zheminask archives and ask the librarians for permission to view Marzana’s journals. Ludivine paused, then said slyly, I did not intrude upon his thoughts enough to know the specifics of how he should like to love you, but the general sentiment, I think, is one that would leave you quite satisfied.