My heart heaves disgust, the same draining sensation as when my magic is used. Like I’m not human, not important, just some toy to be played with at the behest of stronger things.
I may not be Cordellan, but I can manipulate a situation too.
“It would seem that Cordell needs Winter as much as Winter needs Cordell,” I tell Noam.
I’ll play along, you arrogant pig. I’ll pretend to be an obedient little queen until I can crush you.
But with what? I thought I’d have more time to arrange a way to break Cordell’s hold over us. I thought we’d at least have a Winterian army, even a small gathering of fighters. But even if everything works perfectly—I get the keys before them and find information from the Order about controlling my magic—I have no way of forcing Cordell out of Winter.
Or do I?
Because Noam smiles as soon as I finish talking.
“You’re quite right, Lady Queen. Cordell does still have need of Winter, and will until all payment has been issued. Speaking of—do we not have a celebration to prepare?”
I level a gaze at Sir, whose face rests in the emotionlessness he wears so well. He could be terrified or curious orany number of things, and I’d never know.
What I do know is that he didn’t help me at all. Either because he thought I could handle it on my own, or because he’s too shocked to intercede, I can’t tell.
“I will ready for the ceremony while you and the Cordellans make the necessary travel arrangements,” I tell him, eyes on him in a way I hope he understands.
Keep them here. Distract them.
Sir straightens. “Of course. King Noam, if you please,” he says, waving Noam to sit.
I exhale in relief and spin for the door before Noam can say anything else, before Theron can catch me and try to mend the tears in our relationship. I have travel arrangements of my own to make, ones involving our only other hope: our mines.
Yakim and Ventralli don’t know that we’ve found the magic chasm—and if Noam has his way, which he most likely will, they won’t find out until he can open it. Which means they still want Winter’s mines to search on their own—and maybe Summer will be willing to offer support in exchange for payment, even if they have their own access to the Klaryns. While we search their kingdoms for the keys, I could forge an alliance based on a clearly defined trade, not this open-ended, deadly game that Noam plays.
I have no control over whether or not I find the keys before Cordell, or if the keys are foundat all, or if I’ll getanswers on how to fix my magic—but even if the search turns up fruitless, at least Winter will come through this withsomething.
I will not return from this trip without a way to keep my kingdom safe.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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Meira
THE CORDELLAN SOLDIERSwho escorted us to the palace barely flinch when I dart out of the room. Only two people care, and their presence adds cool reassurance to my racing mind.
Conall says nothing, simply falls in behind me when I turn right, deeper into the palace. Garrigan closes in after him, just as silent, his face strained and questioning where Conall’s is stiff and determined. They both probably wonder what happened, but for once, their station stops them from asking.
I gather my skirt into my fists and keep walking, my back straight. I’m the queen, and I’m behaving exactly as a queen would—orchestrating political maneuvers.
Luckily the Jannuari Palace enhances my illusion of being queen more strongly than anything else. The wholeplace feels regal—if I focus on the shell of what it could be, not on the ruin that it is.
Before I even knew I was queen, Hannah showed me the palace through our shared connection to the magic. I saw the ballroom, the great square unfolding from the white marble staircase in a billowing cloud of such pure white that the entire room gleamed. She showed me the halls, each one taller than the last, lit by sconces that threw light onto the ivory perfection. Everything was white—carvings dug into the walls, sculptures in alcoves, moldings that danced in circles and squares along the ceiling. Everything was beautiful, and whole, and perfect.
All those images conflict with what I see now, creating a collage of old and new, whole and broken. The memories of white statues in every alcove and candles flickering on tables and the white-paneled walls mesh with the half-destroyed palace that exists now, holes gaping in the walls and rubble swept into piles.
A small flicker of longing sparks. Hannah showing me what Winter used to look like was one of the few good memories I have of her. Remembering it now . . .
I’ll find a way to get her back. At least, I think I want to get her back.
I yank open a door that leads to the basement. Garrigan and Conall follow me into the even more frigid air, the gray walls a startling contrast to the ivory halls above. Wecontinue until we reach a hall, more stones forming a floor and walls that host heavy iron doors.
