“What is it, Lura?” Lunelle’s eyes softened as she stood.
“I wasn’t being nosy, I promise,” Lura started. She folded her knee beneath her as she sank onto the arm of a chair across from Lunelle. “But I saw who dropped the note, and, well, I recognized the insignia on her vest.”
Lunelle’s lips parted, but she held her question.
Lura’s eyes darted across the room toward the door.
“She was a rebel, Princess. A Nova Rebel.”
Lunelle sat back on her bed. She’d heard of the Nova Rebels in whispers during meetings with her mother—they were causing quite the problem down in Ellume, back in the Lunar Court. She would never admit it to the queen, but she had been curious more than once about their mission.
And whether, given the opportunity to hear them out, she might actually agree with a portion of it.
Arcas had mentioned the rebels last night, but Yallara hadn’t seemed convinced their attacker was part of the group. The heat rose along her spine at the very notion of subverting her mother—her court—to take a meeting with them. The thought had simmered in her muscles for years now, but this note—this invitation—forced them to scream to the surface of her skin.
She’d seen the rot within her own court and knew how it spread to the rest.
“A rebel,” she repeated, avoiding Lura’s face.
She whispered, “I know your mother and Ivonne are against them?—”
Lunelle held up a hand. “My mother and I share many similarities, but not all,” she said aloud for perhaps the first time in her entire life. But she felt it then—taking hold somewhere between lung and heart—it would not be the last.
“Howmuchdo you know about the Novas, Lura?”
Lura looked toward the stack of journals on her nightstand, finding the one that contained the note. “Enough.”
“I try not to pit our maidens against one another…” Lunelle drew her knees to her chest, her mind turning over. “So do not feel pressured to answer. But you speak with Ameera often—if there’s any whiff of rebellion in the Lunar Court, surely my sister is involved, no?”
Lura considered this. Of course, maidens talked, but Ameera had always been tight-lipped about Astra’s comings and goings—no matter how much the other maidens begged for even a morsel of the Fire Queen’s antics.
“I can’t be sure,” she said. “I could inquire?”
“No,” Lunelle sighed. “I’ll write to her. Not that she’s any good at keeping up with her correspondence.” She chuckled. “Perhaps I should write to Ameera after all."
Lura shrugged—though Ameera was loyal to her princess, she and Lunelle had developed a kinship in Astra’s absence.
“Be considerate of what you commit to ink, Princess. The Rift is not as safe as it once was.”
Lunelle nodded. “Do not speak of this to anyone else.”
“Of course.”
Lunelle slipped under the warm water in the tub, letting her stiff shoulders soften despite her mind only tangling into a deeper knot. She closed her eyes, resting her neck against the bronze edge, feeling a pull on her mind as she spiraled downward.
She was unable to resist the sweet melody that pulled her further within herself.
Her eyes fluttered open, a busy tavern materializing around her. The scent of thick mead and sweet wine tickled her nostrils as the dimly lit room faded into her consciousness. A few men sat at the table before her, plucking away at plates of something that smelled like home.
“Princess?”
Lunelle spun, face to face with a broad set of shoulders. A warm gaze settled softly over cerulean skin. She jolted, unsure where she was or how she’d arrived there.
Or how in the Nether the man before her could see her.
The sharp start to her heart shoved her back through space and time and plopped her unceremoniously back into the water, surprisingly cold to her after just a few moments.
“Princess?” Lura asked again. “Is everything well?”
