“Hold!” one of the raiders shouts. From where I sit, high up on my horse, I can see over the shoulder-to-shoulder Cordellan men around me, all facing the raiders. The one who spoke stands near me, her voice cracking out in a sharp, biting command. Her brown eyes flick over us, the only part of her visible beneath her beige head scarf.
Her eyes stop on me and widen.
“Who . . .” Her surprise twists in the air, and as she lowers her weapon, all of the raiders ease down theirs as well. “Winterians,” she growls after a beat.
She glances down the road, her brow tightening.
A caravan rolls up behind us, turning from a road that runs south. Three wagons pulled by oxen, their lumbering bulks kicking up dust and mud into their long, hairy coats. The wagons are completely enclosed just like ours, boxes on wheels with two drivers each, surrounded by a dozen Summerian guards on horseback, clomping steadily down the road toward us.
The girl curses. By the time she pulls my attention back, her raiders have disappeared. I frown but she doesn’t react to their absence, just reaches up and tugs the scarf off herhead, revealing tightly coiled red curls that spring around her face. Like Winterians, Summerian hair is vibrant, to say the least—it’s as if they dipped each strand in the setting sun itself and came away with the most blinding scarlet I’ve ever seen.
Once her scarf is gone, the girl smiles up at me. Her demeanor completely shifts, any flicker of anger buried beneath that smooth smile. “Queen Meira, yes?”
“What’s going on?” Henn snaps from his position next to me. “Who are you—”
“Forgive me,” the girl interrupts. “Bandits run wild in these parts, and I’ve taken it as one of my duties to rid my kingdom of them. I am Ceridwen Preben, sister of Simon.” She drops into a short bow, whipping back up so quickly that her curls dance around her head.
Her eyes flit to the caravan still approaching us, almost within earshot. Her face shows the briefest worry, but it disappears so swiftly I don’t have to time to wonder about it.
Theron turns in his saddle next to me. “I’m Prince Theron of Cordell. I come as an escort of Winter, who is most eager to make their kingdom known to the world. Your brother should already be aware of our visit.”
I gape at him.Do I sound that confident when I lie?
Theron presses on. “I believe we’ve met before, in Ventralli? You were an ambassador there under King Jesse a few years back, weren’t you?”
Now IknowCeridwen’s face falls. She swivels away fromTheron just as the caravan reaches us, her lips breaking into a stiff smile.
“Ah, here we are,” she says, swinging a hand to the nearest Summerian soldier. “Lieutenant, escort our guests to Juli.”
The soldier blinks at her, clearly surprised at seeing her, or at her order, or at our presence in Summer at all. But he nods, surveying us with careful precision. He stops on me and his eyes flash wide, but not with confusion—with pleasure.
“Yes, Princess,” he says, still watching me. “Our king will be eager to speak with them.”
Ceridwen waves her thanks and starts to disappear into the grove of spindly trees, but the lieutenant turns his too-pleased smile on her, and my skin itches.
“Princess,” he calls, “your brother gave us orders that if we were to see you on our journey, you should accompany us to Juli. You can help us watch out for bandits, can’t you?”
Ceridwen pauses before turning, and when she does her face is placid. “Of course, Lieutenant,” she tells him, and strides forward. “I’ll be needing your ride, though, I’m afraid.”
The lieutenant’s grin falls. But he relents, sliding off his horse seconds before she hops up onto it and pushes her new mount forward.
“Juli is a four-hour trip, but you’ll have beds and foodwhen we arrive,” she calls to us.
Our caravan moves again, with Ceridwen at the lead and the Summerian cluster at the rear. I cut my eyes to Theron.
“You know her?”
He makes a noncommittal grunt. “Not well. I went to Ventralli a few years ago to visit my cousin. She was there as an ambassador, and I remember being fascinated to see a Season accepted in a Rhythm court. I didn’t get a chance to speak to her, though—I wish I had, at least to learn how she convinced Ventralli to host her for so long.”
“Maybe you’ll be able to ask her now,” I say. Sir never mentioned Summer sending ambassadors to other kingdoms. Rhythms sent ambassadors to other Rhythm Kingdoms on occasion, but war usually made it difficult for the Seasons to do such things. But somehow, Ceridwen of Summer convinced a Rhythm to host her as a political equal.
Ceridwen can’t be much older than me—eighteen or nineteen at the most—yet she found a way to overcome the stereotypes and prejudices of her kingdom. She’s even found a way to lead raiding parties against bandits despite being the king’s sister. She’s a Season and an ambassador, a princess and a soldier all at once.
I squint into the horizon, trying to make out which of the moving silhouettes is her.
Maybe Summer can help me more than I thought.
?
