Ceridwen tips her head on a half shrug. “There are some good men out there,” she says, her eyes fading to something beside my head, like she’s watching a memory play out. “What’s rare is to have a good,strongman, as opposed to a good,weakman. Those are the ones who ruin the world. Men who mean well, but buckle under others’ opinions until their good intentions destroy an untold number of lives.”
My hand goes slack on the reins. “You’re not just talking about Autumn, are you?”
Ceridwen lifts an eyebrow. “I’ll answer that question, Queen Meira, if you explain how you made it snow in Juli, and how you found a fire pit in my palace’s wine cellar.”
I tense. When I don’t respond, she smiles dully.
“We all have things we need to hide,” she says before she tugs her horse back to fall in with the Summerian party.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
Meira
MY FOURTH-FLOOR ROOMin Langlais Castle overlooks most of Putnam, Yakim’s capital. The other side of the castle stretches out over the Langstone River, allowing the churning water to spin great wheels that send power throughout the building. This water-fueled energy lets lights flare on with the twist of a knob, or hot water run from faucets without needing to heat it over a fire. One of the many things Ceridwen explained before we arrived, but having the explanation in my head doesn’t make what’s happening under my fingers any less bizarre.
Odd gadgets and décor fill the rest of the room—leather and polished oak make up the bed, a table, and chairs, along with accents of silver and copper buttons, knobs, and levers. But a device in the corner got me the most trapped—it’s a replacement for a fireplace. A panel of knobs sits on one end while the other connects to the wall and the powersource. The rest consists of snakelike coils of glass tubes that curl in two distinct sections. When one of the knobs is twisted, the left side of tubes flares hot; when another knob is twisted, the right side flares cold. When a combination of knobs is twisted, the temperature can be adjusted to whatever the resident of the room prefers.
When I got here it was set to heat to combat the chill of proper spring, and the amount of time I’ve spent twisting various knobs and oohing to myself about the instantaneous temperature change is not something I’m proud of. But giving into the amazement of the gadgets proves to be a monotonous-enough activity that my mind clears, letting plans to search for the next key form over my building nerves of meeting the Yakimian queen.
I twist the knob to the left. Hot. To the right. Cold.
I’ve at least decided what type of building I want to search first. The clue that led Theron to guess Yakim in the magic chasm’s entrance was a stack of books. There are dozens—maybe hundreds—of libraries throughout Yakim, but I can start with the oldest sections in Putnam’s, searching for anything that seems unusual. But Theron will no doubt do the same. Should I try to work with him this time? But he still has the first key—if he gets the second one too . . .
I need leverage over Cordell. And I need to focus my search on the Order of the Lustrate and finding out more about magic—areas I definitely don’t want him involved with.
This is what it comes down to. Choosing the well-being of my country over the well-being of my relationships.
The door to my room opens and I rise, grateful for the interruption.
Dendera leans in. “The rest have gathered not far from here. Come, I’ll show you.”
I lift the skirt of my pleated gown as Dendera whips back into the hall, flanked by Conall and Garrigan. She didn’t offer to let me wear normal clothes again, but even I can tell that this place is far less physically threatening than Summer, and I can’t rationalize bringing a weapon when so much relies on befriending Giselle. The only threats here are political or emotional: threats derived from prejudice and thinly veiled remarks. I hope.
The halls of Langlais Castle hold the same strange gadgets and furnishings as my room. The occasional panel of knobs sits in the stone walls, hazy yellow orbs emit steady light, a thick overlay of woven brown carpet covers the floor. Everything would be dreary and dim if not for the lights—their continual glow makes the hall feel bright and steady, as opposed to the usual flickering sconces or fire pits I’m used to.
Dendera leads Conall, Garrigan, and me down two halls before stepping into a wide study. Leather chairs sit on a patterned auburn rug, the walls lined with shelves holding so many books that I’m reminded of Theron’s room. These books feel different, though—where Theron’s were caredfor or laid out for doctoring, these are arranged deliberately, yes, but pages poke out of the tops, the bindings show thread and creases, and a few covers dangle off. I’ve never been particularly concerned with the things that Theron holds on to from his mother’s Ventrallan side, but even I feel a hollow thud in the pit of my stomach when I see the state of these books.
Theron stands from one of the leather chairs and crosses the room to me when I enter. “One of the reasons Ventralli and Yakim have a rather strained relationship,” he explains, his eyes sweeping over the shelves around us. He massages the back of his neck and winces like he’s trying to fight an ache, whether from the state of the books or the growing stress of travel. “Difference of priorities—art versus information.”
“I’ll refuse to be fascinated by any of their other inventions,” I promise, and he smiles.
“Been playing with the temperature gauge, have you?”
My cheeks warm. “Maybe.”
He bobs his head in understanding. “The first time I visited Putnam, I missed a state dinner because I broke the temperature gauge and nearly burned my room down. Then I managed to trap myself in one of their”—he searches for the word—“lifts, I think they call them. Rooms that move up and down in lieu of stairs. This whole kingdom is one big trap.”
I blink, incredulous. “Why haven’t I seen these devicesbefore? I’d think Yakim in all their efficiency would sell these things to the world.”
“They’re willing to sell what they need to survive, but knowledge is power, and these things, however small, are their power.”
“Probably for the best, anyway.” I grin. Snow, it feels good—normal—smiling at him. “I’d hate to have any easily distracted princes injured by warm coils and rooms that move.”
Theron lifts an eyebrow, but the pink tint to his cheeks tells me he’s just as glad for this light banter. “And how long did you fiddle with the temperature gauge?”
