HarperCollins Publishers
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Meira
THE POWER OFThings Concealed.
The next morning, the bold, swirling inscription above the doors to the Donati Palace’s throne room stares down at me. I lean against the wall directly opposite the two ornate white doors, their gleaming silver moldings and small sapphire accents adding beauty to confusion, and I touch the mask on my face.
“Are you sure this is necessary?” I ask.
“You don’t like it?” Dendera touches her own, a half-face white mask with small crystal snowflakes clustered around her eyes.
Ventrallan servants provided an array of masks suited to every kingdom, stock they always have on hand for foreign guests. The servants seemed absolutely thrilled that someone would finally get to wear the Winterian masks—it had been decades, apparently, since they had been more thanpretty shelf decorations. Conall and Garrigan didn’t complain at all when they were forced to wear masks too, and they stand stoically beside me in simple white-silk half-face masks that blend into their ivory skin and hair.
“It’s not that,” I say. “I just don’t see why it’s necessary for us. We’re not Ventrallan.”
Dendera smiles but I can’t see more than that in her expression. “It’s respectful of their culture. Besides, if we don’t partake in Ventralli’s rituals, they would have the upper hand, wearing masks as they do.”
I catch my reflection in one of the gilded mirrors that line this hall. The mask she chose for me is half a snowflake, the straight lines forming natural eyeholes before fanning around my face. She curled my long, white hair and left it down, and when one of the servants offered us a collection of dresses and shoes instead of my worn gowns or an unfinished dress of Dendera’s, she teared up in the most perfect way.
Ventrallan fashion is unique, to say the least. Overlapping layers of pink and peach tulle make up this gown, with the topmost layer embellished by twisting strands of crystal beads. The sleeves are only one layer of the tulle, showing my pale arms through a haze of peach. I saw a few of the other dresses the servants gathered for us—slender, form-fitting things constructed entirely of jewels pressed side by side on flesh-colored fabric; skirts that dropped only to the wearer’s knees; neck pieces that fanned aroundin giant cones of stiff fabric. Each gown had the same deliberate feel as the buildings in the city, like every piece of them was cared for.
At least this gown came with a pocket, and the key I found in Putnam sits within, wrapped in a square of cloth. I adjust the layers of tulle around my legs, feeling the weight of the key shift against my thigh. Yet another introduction awaits us, and the sooner we get it over with, the sooner I can start scouring Rintiero’s museums for the final key.
Dendera straightens and turns, hearing footsteps as I do. Sure enough, the rest of our party starts toward us down the long, mirrored hall that stretches before the two ornate doors. Theron with his soldiers, all of them wearing their Cordellan uniforms, now accompanied by green-and-gold masks accented with golden maple leaves and lavender stalks. The mask makes it impossible for me to read Theron’s face, but he meets my eyes as he approaches, his lips parting as if he wants to say something.
I pivot away from him, back rigid, and search for Ceridwen in the crowd. Simon and his guards have masks befitting their kingdom, snapping flames that weave around their faces, blending flawlessly into their scarlet hair. Simon wears the same outfit he wore in Putnam—but the gown Ceridwen chose perfectly combines Ventralli and Summer styles. Red tulle pours from a band of gold around her chest, twisting and wrapping around her body until it splits and falls in two sections over her left leg. When she walks,bloodred silk peeks under the split of fabric, showing an intricate fire design stitched all the way up to her hip. More gold straps crisscross her torso, a beautiful blend of gold and red and orange, flames and beauty and art.
Ceridwen doesn’t look at me, staring at the doors as though they’re an enemy, and I can’t tell whether she’s preparing to run or fight.
“Princess?” I start when they all stop before us. “Are you—”
“Isn’t my little sister lovely?” Simon staggers to her and pats her cheek, resting the conduit on his wrist against her bare shoulder. “She’s just nervous, that’s all.”
Ceridwen flinches to him. “I won’t deal with you right now—”
The opening doors send a ripple of quiet over everyone, but for Ceridwen, the silence is harder, heavier, and she pulls into herself, head down, shoulders slumped.
“The king will see you now,” a steward announces, his mask made of simple purple-and-silver silk. He spins on his heels, strides into the room, and we follow, a slow river of dignitaries clinging to uncomfortable silence like it’s all that will save us from drowning.
I start forward when I notice Ceridwen lingering, her eyes stuck on the room ahead and slow, uneven breaths bursting out of her mouth. Everyone else passes us; even Dendera goes on ahead to give us space. Only Conall and Garrigan linger, and back by the wall, a man falls out of theSummerian group to hover behind Ceridwen. Lekan.
He meets my eyes, his own shrouded with a red silk mask. If he offers a warning in his gaze, I can’t see it, and I turn to Ceridwen.
“You defy your brother on a near-daily basis, but it’s Ventralli you fear?”
She shakes her head, coming out of her fog. When she looks at me, I recognize the same inescapable nothingness I’d feel whenever Sir refused to let me assist with anything. The dark, burning embers of not being enough.
“What’s wrong?” I whisper.
She licks her lips, her hands wringing against her stomach. “The king of Ventralli gave me this dress,” she says, almost as if she’s not aware she’s talking.
“It’s beautiful.”
“I shouldn’t have worn it.” She lifts the skirt in a fist and takes a few quick steps back down the hall, but she stops when Lekan and I start after her, and we all just stand there, me with one hand out, her with one hand against her forehead, Lekan coiled to spring to her.
“Ceridwen, tell me what’s going on,” I try again.
