We’ll see how true that statement has remained.
Another ruler arrives. Azul, with his sky-blue cape, and gems I can see all the way from here at the castle.The only ruler I’m truly happy to see, I think, as I break into a faint smile.
Cleo sweeps in next, her white robes puddling around her.Cleo. She wasn’t at the last Centennial. No one knows why. I didn’t expect her to show. Her curse has affected her realm the least of all of us.
The last ruler arrives, the ruler of Starling, and a coil of relief loosens, knowing we have fully completed at least one of the parts of the prophecy, in the most popular interpretation, at least—all of us being joined.
The Centennial has officially started. Again. I straighten. Then, just as I’m about to turn away from the window, a distant flash of movement catches my eye.
The Wildling. She’s sticking her middle finger up at me. I frown.
Yes. I’ll be staying far away from her.
The gods know I try.
I’m getting ready for the banquet that marks the beginning of the Centennial, when I catch a sound I seldom hear—there’s been little room for celebration these last few centuries.
Singing.
No, not singing. It’s more akin to gently tracing a dagger across the sky, the note impossibly high and smooth. Perfect. It sounds ... perfect. For the first time in centuries, I find myself pausing toenjoysomething.
Enjoyment. How selfish of me. For an instant, my shoulders melt away from my ears. The stress winding through my bones releases. I close my eyes.
Beautiful.
I can’t remember the last time I thought something wasbeautiful. It’s so beautiful that I can’t help myself. I need to know the source. I rip the door of my balcony open, and there—
There she is: the Wildling ruler I promised to stay away from.
My jaw clenches. This is a trick. It’s so damned obvious. She is a temptress, planning to seduce me, starting with this song.
Yet—none of her ancestors ever tried this. And how could she know my room was so close to hers?
I reach around for her powers, to feel for what she’s doing ... and I come up empty.
Strange. It’s as if she’s cloaking her abilities.Smart.
I grind my teeth, telling myself I should go back inside. Close the door and forget this sound.
But I don’t. If this is a trick ... it won’t work. So what’s the harm in listening?
I lean against the door of my balcony, and I do more than just listen. I study. I question. I track every ebb and flow of her voice like tracing a map, as it goes from husky and deep, to high as the stars, every note smooth as the waves below. They crash against the cliff, rising toward her, as if even the sea is trying to listen. I don’t blame it.
I’m entranced at the skill. At the mastery. At the control. Does she sing a lot? Has she practiced for this one moment?
She stops, and I find myselfclapping, like a fool. But some things demand to be praised. So, I clap. She whips around—
And her eyes are wide with surprise. She’s startled. Her arms pinwheel with the speed of the motion, with imbalance. There is no trace of falseness on her expression, which means ...
This wasn’t for me. This wasn’t a trick.
For a moment, our eyes are locked—
And then, she falls off the balcony.
I blink, waiting for her to use her Wildling abilities to summon a vine, or use the rock of the cliff face to climb back.
But then, I hear her scream. Why isn’t she saving herself?
