UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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Meira
WE STAY INSummer for a barely acceptable week. Emphasis onbarely.
Every day is hot and slow, and every night is filled with the same parties. Theron still goes to Summer’s vineyards, using the time to get Simon to sign his treaty. I opt not to join them, feigning heat sickness—well, not entirely feigning it, but still—and reveling in the time apart from both Theron and the boundary-less Summerian king, who assured me he assigned men to investigate the slave’s death, but only after a flippant wave of his hand.
“Slaves often meet rough ends in Summer,”he’d said as though he told me merely that Summer is hot, not that someone haddiedunder his care.
If I had any power here, I’d do it myself—but already I stand on shaky ground with Simon. Especially since he knows that I asked him about the slave’s death, and he toldme he put men on it—if word gets back to him that I took it on myself, even after that . . .
I hate that I let that stop me. The old Meira would have simply dived into the investigation, sought out justice for the murdered man without a backward glance. But Queen Meira has to wonder—if Simon stole people from Autumn, would he do the same to Winter?
I’m not justmeanymore. I’m a whole kingdom, and I can’t make mistakes.
Summer’s only redeemable trait is Ceridwen, whom I see even less than Theron and Simon, spotting her only once across the dining room during breakfast. Our allegiance isn’t politically acceptable either, so I stop myself from calling out to her. How easily my mind works in terms of politics now. Hard-hearted politics that prevent me from talking to someone who could have been a good friend, from asking her if she knew the man who was murdered, all because Simon watches, wondering why I choose to speak to his sister instead of him.
Once we finally leave Summer, our caravan now containing two Seasons and a Rhythm, it takes six days of travel to reach Putnam, the capital of Yakim. The first few are spent under Summer’s pounding heat, the oppressive air making the barren, parched world around us ripple. The next days, thankfully, lead us into the northeastern corner of the Southern Eldridge Forest, the wet, dense trees that cup Summer’s left border all the way to the Klaryn Mountains.
The temperature difference is glorious. Though my Winterians exhale in the relief of being in a cooler climate, our Summerian companions twitch with a discomfort that will be long lasting—the Rhythms just entered their proper spring, which means there will be nothing but coolness for the rest of the trip. The thought alleviates a little of my stress, but where do I start in my search for the Order or the keys in Yakim?
The Summerian key was linked to their wine—what in Yakim might hold a key? Their lasting symbols of grandeur could be any of their hundreds of libraries, universities, or warehouses. Or what if it isn’t in a historic place, like the key we found in Summer—what if it is somewhere completely different?
Three days out from Summer, we reach the tributary that shifts the Feni into the Langstone River. The Langstone runs along the eastern borders of both Yakim and Ventralli before it disappears into a lake near the northern Paisel Mountains, making it a popular guide by which to travel on the western bank. It’s also wide enough, deep enough, and populated enough for trade ships and docks, and as our vast caravan of Cordellan, Summerian, and Winterian dignitaries crosses into Yakim along the congested main road that follows the Langstone, we get our first taste of the chaos of Rhythm industry.
People bustle around us, mostly workers milling from village to village on horse-drawn carts, their wagons loadedwith straw or produce or tools. They gape as our caravan passes, staring with wonder at so many people from so many kingdoms.
“It’s . . . a lot,” Nessa pants, her wonder palpable as she leans forward in her saddle, her eyes so wide I worry she hasn’t blinked since we entered Yakim.
The cool blue Langstone stretches so far off to our right that we can’t see its other bank, a never-ending blanket of lapping water dotted by ships. That holds her attention—not the passing mesh of people who stare with just as much amazement at her as she does at the ships. I see a few mouths form the wordWinterians, see a few noses crinkle with disdain. Here the Rhythm–Season prejudice will not be skewed in our favor as it was in Summer.
I pick at a catch on my travel gown, the same one Dendera forced me to wear on our journey out of Winter. She let me wear my normal, comfortable clothes until today, when she cornered me and explained that, even though we’re still a few days out from Putnam, it is imperative we make a good first impression. I agreed with every word she said.
No mistakes here. No risks.
“My queen!” Nessa points excitedly into the distance. “Is that a Cordellan ship?”
I nod, grateful for the distraction. One of the great wooden beasts bobbing in the river has a flag waving over its mast, the fabric flipping taut against the wind and revealing a lavender stalk with a golden maple leaf against agreen background. “And that one is Ventrallan.” I point to one just next to it, a rich violet flag bearing a silver crown. “And Yakimian,” I say, motioning to a ship displaying a flag with a gold ax on a brown background.
The memories of my childhood lessons from Sir shoot a pang of nostalgia through me. It hasn’t been more than a couple of weeks since I saw him, but my mind throbs with missing him, and I wonder if that pain has been here all along, and I just haven’t noticed it.
He’s probably busy overseeing Noam’s control and training our Winterian army with Mather. The image of them crowded in a training yard, working through techniques and setting up sparring sessions, makes me more than a little homesick, an emotion that feels far too familiar—longing for Winter; longing for Sir and Mather and the lives they lead.
I shift up straighter, grinding my jaw. They aren’t my family anymore—they’re my general and my . . . whatever Mather wants to be. Something distant and formal and meaningless.
Nessa sighs, and I twist toward her. She, at least, I still have.
The wonder in her face shifts to a calm curiosity. “I want to see them all.”
I smile. “You will, Lady Kentigern. You’re a world traveler now.”
Her body goes slack and my instincts peak with alertness,but she just shrugs.
“If none of this had happened, I think I would’ve gone to one of Yakim’s universities. I’d want to know as much as I could about the world.”
