CONTENTS

OneTwoThreeFourFiveSix

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ONE

As usual, Julian gave her abook.

Just like the year before,and the year before, andevery holiday or occasion hecould find in between hissister’s birthdays. She hadshelves of his so-calledgifts.Some given in truth, andsometosimplyclearspacein

the library he called abedroom, where books werestacked so high and soprecariously that even thecats had trouble navigatingthe labyrinthine piles. Thesubjects varied, fromadventure tales of Prairieraiders to stuffy poetrycollections about the insipidRoyalCourttheybothstrivedto avoid.Better for kindling,Corianewouldsayeverytime

he left her another dullvolume.Once,forhertwelfthbirthday, Julian gave her anancient text written in alanguage she could not read.Andonesheassumedheonlypretendedtounderstand.

Despiteherdislikeforthemajority of his stories, shekept her own growingcollection on neat shelves,strictly alphabetized, theirspines facing forward to

display titles on leatherbindings. Most would gountouched,unopened,unread,a tragedy even Julian couldnotfindthewordstobemoan.Thereisnothingsoterribleasa story untold. But Corianekept them all the same, welldusted, polished, their gold-stamped letters gleaming inthe hazy light of summer orwinter’s gray castings. FromJulian was scrawled in each

one, and those words shetreasured above almost all.Onlyhistruegiftswerelovedmore:themanualsandguidessheathed in plastic, tuckedbetween the pages of agenealogyorencyclopedia.Afewheldcourtatherbedside,snugbeneathhermattress, tobe pulled out at night whenshe could devour technicalschematics and machinestudies. How to build, break

down, andmaintain transportengines, airjets, telegraphyequipment, even lightbulbsandkitchenstoves.

Her father did notapprove, as was the usualway. A Silver daughter of anobleHighHouseshouldnothavefingersstained inmotoroil, nails chipped by“borrowed” tools, orbloodshot eyes from toomany nights spent straining

overunsuitableliterature.ButHarrus Jacos forgot hismisgivings every time thevideo screen in the estateparlor shorted out, hissingsparks and blurredtransmissions.Fixit,Cori,fixit.Shedidashecommanded,hoping each time would bethe one to convince him.Only to have her tinkeringssneered at a few days later,and all her good work

forgotten.She was glad he was

gone, away in the capitalaidingtheiruncle,thelordofHouse Jacos. This way shecouldspendherbirthdaywiththe people she loved.Namely, her brother, Julian,and Sara Skonos, who hadcome specifically for theoccasion.Growingprettierbythe day, Coriane thought,noting her dearest friend. It

had been months since theirlast meeting, when Saraturned fifteen and movedpermanently to the RoyalCourt.Notsolongreally,butalready the girl seemeddifferent, sharper. Hercheekbones cut cruellybeneath skin somehow palerthan before, as if drained.And her gray eyes, oncebrightstars,seemeddark,fullof shadows. But her smile

came easily, as it always didaround the Jacos children.AroundJulian, truly,Corianeknew. And her brother wasjust the same, grinningbroadly, keeping a distanceno uninterested boy wouldthink to keep. He wassurgically aware of hismovements,andCorianewassurgically aware of herbrother.Atseventeen,hewasnot too young for proposals,

and she suspected therewould be one in the comingmonths.

Julianhadnotbotheredtowrap her gift. It was alreadybeautiful on its own.Leatherbound, striped in thedusty yellow-golds of HouseJacos, with the BurningCrown of Norta embossedinto the cover. Therewas notitleonthefaceorspine,andCoriane could tell there was

no hidden guidebook in itspages.Shescowledalittle.

“Open it, Cori,” Juliansaid, stopping her before shecould toss the book onto themeagerpileofotherpresents.All of them veiled insults:gloves to hide “common”hands,impracticaldressesfora court she refused to visit,andanalreadyopenedboxofsweetsher fatherdidn’twanther to eat. They would be

gonebydinnertime.Coriane did as instructed

andopenedthebooktofinditempty. Its cream pages wereblank.Shewrinkledhernose,not bothering to put on theshow of a grateful sister.Julian required no such lies,and would see through themanyway. What’s more, therewasnoonehere to scoldherfor such behavior.Mother isdead, Father gone, and

Cousin Jessamine isblessfully still asleep. OnlyJulian, Coriane, and Sara satalone in the garden parlor,three beads rattling aroundthe dusty jar of the Jacosestate.Itwasayawningroomthatmatchedtheever-present,hollow ache in Coriane’schest. Arched windowsoverlookedatangledgroveofonce-orderly roses that hadnot seen the hands of a

greenwardeninadecade.Thefloorneededagoodsweepingand the gold draperies weregray with dust, and mostlikely spiderwebs as well.Even the painting over thesoot-stained marble fireplacewas missing its gilt frame,sold off long ago. The manwho stared out from thenaked canvas was CorianeandJulian’sowngrandfather,Janus Jacos, who would

certainly despair of hisfamily’s state. Poor nobles,trading on an old name andtraditions, making do withlittleandlesseveryyear.

Julian laughed, makingthe usual sound. Fondexasperation, Coriane knew.It was the best way todescribe his attitude towardhisyoungersister.Twoyearshis junior, and always quickto remindher of his superior

age and intellect. Gently, ofcourse. As if that made anydifference.

“It’s foryou towrite in,”he pressed on, sliding long,thin fingers over the pages.“Your thoughts,whatyoudowithyourdays.”

“Iknowwhatadiary is,”she replied, snapping thebook shut. He didn’t mind,notbothering tobeoffended.Julian knew her better than

anyone.Even when I get thewordswrong. “Andmy daysdon’t warrant much of arecord.”

“Nonsense, you’re quiteinterestingwhenyoutry.”

Coriane grinned. “Julian,your jokes are improving.Have you finally found abook to teach you humor?”Her eyes flickered to Sara.“Orsomeone?”

While Julian flushed, his

cheeks bluing withsilverblood, Sara took it instride. “I’m a healer, not amiracleworker,”shesaid,hervoiceamelody.

Their joined laughterechoed, filling the emptinessof the estate house for onekind moment. In the corner,the old clock chimed, tollingthe hour of Coriane’s doom.Namely, Cousin Jessamine,who would arrive at any

moment.Julianwasquicktostand,

stretching a lanky formtransitioning into manhood.He still had growing to do,both up and out.Coriane, onthe other hand, had been thesame height for years andshowed no sign of changing.She was ordinary ineverything, from almostcolorless blue eyes to limpchestnut hair that stubbornly

refused togrowmuchfartherthanhershoulders.

“You didn’t want these,did you?” he said as hereached across his sister. Hesnatched a few sugar-glassedcandiesfromthebox,earninga swat in reply. Etiquette bedamned. Those are mine.“Careful,” he warned, “I’lltellJessamine.”

“No need,” came theirelderlycousin’sreedywhistle

of a voice, echoing from thecolumned entrance to theparlor. With a hiss ofannoyance, Coriane shut hereyes,tryingtowillJessamineJacosoutofexistence.Nousein that, of course. I’m not awhisper. Just a singer. Andthoughshecouldhavetriedtouse her meager abilities onJessamine, itwouldonly endpoorly.OldasJessaminewas,her voice and ability were

still whip-sharp, far quickerthan her own. I’ll end upscrubbing floorswithasmileifItryher.

Corianepastedonapoliteexpressionand turned to findher cousin leaning upon abejeweled cane, one of thelast beautiful things in theirhouse.Ofcourse, itbelongedto the foulest. Jessamine hadlong ago stopped frequentingSilver skin healers, to “age

gracefully” as she put it.Though, in truth, the familycould no longer afford suchtreatments from the mosttalentedofHouseSkonos, oreven the skin healerapprentices of common,lesser birth. Her skin saggednow, gray in pallor, withpurple age spots across herwrinkled hands and neck.Todaysheworea lemonsilkwraparoundherhead,tohide

thinning white hair thatbarelycoveredherscalp,andaflowingdresstomatch.Themoth-eaten edges were wellhidden, though. Jessamineexcelledatillusion.

“Beadearandtakethoseto the kitchen, Julian, won’tyou?” she said, jabbing along-nailed finger at thecandies.“Thestaffwillbesograteful.”

It took all Coriane’s

strength not to scoff. “Thestaff” was little more than aRedbutlermoreancient thanJessamine, who didn’t evenhave teeth, as well as thecook and two young maids,whoweresomehowexpectedto maintain the entire estate.Theymightenjoythecandies,but of course Jessamine hadno true intention of lettingthem. They’ll end up at thebottomofthetrash,ortucked

away in her own roommorelike.

Julianfeltquitethesame,judging by his twistedexpression. But arguing withJessaminewas as fruitless asthe trees in the corruptedoldorchard.

“Of course, Cousin,” hesaidwithavoicebettersuitedto a funeral. His eyes wereapologetic, while Coriane’swere resentful. She watched

with a thinly veiled sneer asJulian offered one arm toSara, the other scooping upherunsuitablegift.Bothwereeager to escape Jessamine’sdomain, but loath to leaveCorianebehind.Still,theydidit, sweeping away from theparlor.

That’s right, leave mehere. You always do.Abandoned to Jessamine,whohadtakenituponherself

to turnCoriane into a properdaughterofHouse Jacos.Putsimply:silent.

And always left to theirfather,whenhereturnedfromcourt,fromlongdayswaitingfor Uncle Jared to die. Thehead of House Jacos,governor of the Aderonackregion,hadnochildrenofhisown, and so his titles wouldpass to his brother, and thenJulian after him. At least, he

hadnochildrenanymore.Thetwins, Jenna and Caspian,werekilledintheLakelanderWar, leaving their fatherwithout an heir of his flesh,not to mention the will tolive. It was only a matter oftime before Coriane’s fathertookuptheancestralseat,andhe wanted to waste no timedoing so. Coriane found thebehaviorperverseatbest.Shecouldn’t imagine doing such

a thing to Julian, no matterhow angry he made her. Tostandbyandwatchhimwasteaway with grief. It was anugly, loveless act, and thethought of it turned herstomach.ButIhavenodesireto lead our family, andFather is amanof ambition,ifnottact.

What he planned to dowithhiseventualrise,shedidnot know. House Jacos was

small,unimportant,governorsof a backwater with littlemorethanthebloodofaHighHouse tokeep themwarmatnight. And of course,Jessamine, to make sureeveryone pretended like theyweren’tdrowning.

She took a seat with thegrace of one half her age,knockinghercaneagainstthedirty floor. “Preposterous,”she muttered, striking at a

hazeofdustmotesswirlingina beamof sunlight. “So hardtofindgoodhelpthesedays.”

Especiallywhenyoucan’tpay them,Coriane sneered inherhead.“Indeed,Cousin.Sodifficult.”

“Well, hand them over.Let’s see what Jared sentalong,” she said.Oneclawedhand reached out, flappingopen and closed in a gesturethat made Coriane’s skin

crawl.Shebitherlipbetweenher teeth, chewing it to keepfromsaying thewrong thing.Instead, she lifted the twodresses thatwere her uncle’sgifts and laid them upon thesofa where Jessamineperched.

Sniffing, Jessamineexamined them as Julian didhisancienttexts.Shesquintedatthestitchingandlacework,rubbing the fabric, pulling at

invisiblestraythreadsinbothgolden dresses. “Suitable,”shesaidafteralongmoment.“If not outdated. None ofthesearethelatestfashions.”

“What a surprise,”Coriane could not help butdrawl.

Thwack.Thecanehit thefloor. “No sarcasm, it’sunbecomingofalady.”

Well, every lady I’vemetseems well versed in it,

yourself included. If I canevencallyoualady.Intruth,JessaminehadnotbeentotheRoyal Court in at least adecade.Shehadnoideawhatthe latest fashionswere, and,whenshewasdeepinthegin,could not even rememberwhichkingwasonthethrone.“Tiberias the Sixth? Fifth?No, it’s the Fourth still,certainly, the old flame justwon’t die.” And Coriane

wouldgently remindher thatthey were ruled by TiberiastheFifth.

Hisson,thecrownprince,would be Tiberias the Sixthwhenhisfatherdied.Thoughwith his reputed taste forwarfare,Corianewondered ifthe prince would live longenoughtowearacrown.Thehistory of Norta was fraughtwith Calore firebrands dyingin battle, mostly second

princes and cousins. Shequietly wished the princedead, if only to see whatwould happen. He had nosiblingsthatsheknewof,andtheCalore cousinswere few,not to mention weak, ifJessamine’s lessons could betrusted. Norta had foughtLakelandersforacentury,butanother war within wascertainly on the horizon.Between theHighHouses, to

put another family on thethrone.Not thatHouse Jacoswould be involved at all.Their insignificance was aconstant, just like CousinJessamine.

“Well, if your father’scommunications are to bebelieved,thesedressesshouldbe of use soon enough,”Jessamine carried on as sheset the presents down.Unconcernedwiththehouror

Coriane’spresence, shedrewaglassbottleofginfromhergown and took a hearty sip.The scent of juniper bit theair.

Frowning,Corianelookedupfromherhands,nowbusywringing the new gloves. “IsUncleunwell?”

Thwack. “What a stupidquestion. He’s been unwellforyears,asyouknow.”

Her face burned silver

with a florid blush. “Imean,worse.Isheworse?”

“Harrus thinks so. Jaredhas taken to his chambers atcourt, and rarely attendssocial banquets, let alone hisadministrative meetings orthe governors’ council. Yourfatherstandsinforhimmoreand more these days. Not tomention the fact that youruncle seems determined todrink away the coffers of

House Jacos.” Another swigof gin. Coriane almostlaughed at the irony. “Howselfish.”

“Yes, selfish,” the younggirl muttered. You haven’twishedme a happy birthday,Cousin.Butshedidnotpresson that subject. Ithurts tobecalled ungrateful, even by aleech.

“Another book fromJulian, I see, oh, and gloves.

Wonderful, Harrus took mysuggestion. And Skonos,whatdidshebringyou?”

“Nothing.” Yet. Sara hadtold her towait, that her giftwasn’t something to be piledwiththeothers.

“No gift? Yet she sitshere, eating our food, takingupspace—”

CorianedidherbesttoletJessamine’s words float overherandaway,likecloudsina

windblown sky. Instead, shefocused on the manual sheread last night. Batteries.Cathodes and anodes,primary use are discarded,secondary can be recharged—

Thwack.“Yes,Jessamine?”A very bug-eyed old

woman stared back atCoriane, her annoyancewritten in every wrinkle. “I

don’t do this formy benefit,Coriane.”

“Well, it certainly isn’tfor mine,” she couldn’t helpbuthiss.

Jessamine crowed inresponse, her laugh so brittleshe might spit dust. “You’dlike that, wouldn’t you? TothinkthatIsitherewithyou,suffering your scowls andbitterness for fun?Think lessofyourself,Coriane.Idothis

for no one but House Jacos,forallofus.Iknowwhatwearebetter thanyoudo.AndIremember what we werebefore, when we lived atcourt, negotiated treaties,were as indispensable to theCalore kings as their ownflame. I remember. There isnogreaterpainorpunishmentthanmemory.”Sheturnedhercane over in her hand, onefingercountingthejewelsshe

polished every night.Sapphires, rubies, emeralds,and a single diamond.Givenby suitors or friends orfamily,Corianedidnotknow.But they were Jessamine’streasure, and her eyesglitteredlikethegems.“Yourfather will be lord of HouseJacos, and your brother afterhim.That leavesyou inneedof a lord of your own. Lestyou wish to stay here

forever?”Likeyou.The implication

was clear, and somehowCoriane found she could notspeak around the suddenlumpinherthroat.Shecouldonly shake her head. No,Jessamine, I do not want tostay here. I don’twant to beyou.

“Very good,” Jessaminesaid.Hercanethwackedoncemore. “Let’s begin for the

day.”

Later that evening, Corianesat down to write. Her penflew across the pages ofJulian’sgift, spilling inkasaknifewouldblood.Shewroteof everything. Jessamine, herfather, Julian. The sinkingfeelingthatherbrotherwouldabandon her to navigate thecoming hurricane alone. Hehad Sara now. She’d caught

them kissing before dinner,and while she smiled,pretending to laugh,pretending to be pleased bytheir flushes and stutteredexplanations, Coriane quietlydespaired. Sara was my bestfriend. Sara was the onlything that belonged to me.But no longer. Just likeJulian,Sarawoulddriftaway,until Coriane was left withonly the dust of a forgotten

homeandaforgottenlife.Because no matter what

Jessamine said, how shepreened and lied aboutCoriane’sso-calledprospects,therewasnothingtobedone.No one will marry me, atleastnooneIwanttomarry.She despaired of it andaccepteditinthesameturn.Iwill never leave this place,shewrote.Thesegoldenwallswillbemytomb.

TWO

Jared Jacos received twofunerals.

The first was at court inArcheon, on a spring dayhazy with rain. The second

wouldbeaweekafter,at theestateinAderonack.Hisbodywould join the family tombandrestinamarblesepulcherpaid for with one of thejewels from Jessamine’scane. The emerald had beensoldofftoagemmerchantinEast Archeon while Coriane,Julian, and their aged cousinlookedon.Jessamineseemeddetached, not bothering towatch as the green stone

passed from the new LordJacos’s hand to the Silverjeweler. A common man,Coriane knew. He wore nohouse colors to speak of, buthewasricherthantheywere,with fine clothes and a goodamount of jewelry all over.We might be noble, but thisman could buy us all if hewanted.

Thefamilyworeblack,aswas custom. Coriane had to

borrow a gown for theoccasion, one of Jessamine’smanyhorridmourningfrocks,for Jessamine had attendedand overseen more than adozen funerals of HouseJacos. The young girl itchedin the getup but kept still astheyleftthemerchantquarter,heading for the great bridgethat spanned the CapitalRiver, connecting both sidesof the city. Jessaminewould

scold or hit me if I startedscratching.

It was not Coriane’s firstvisit to the capital, or evenher tenth. She’d been theremany times, usually at heruncle’s bidding, to show theso-called strength of HouseJacos. A foolish notion. Notonlyweretheypoor,buttheirfamily was small, wasting,especially with the twinsgone. No match to the

sprawling family trees ofHouses Iral, Samos,Rhambos, and more. Richbloodlines that could supportthe immense weight of theirmanyrelations.TheirplaceasHigh Houses was firmlycemented in the hierarchy ofboth nobility andgovernment. Not so withJacos, if Coriane’s father,Harrus, could not find awayto prove his worth to his

peers and his king. For herpart, Coriane saw no waythroughit.AderonackwasontheLakelanderborder,alandoffewpeopleanddeepforestno one needed to log. Theycould not claim mines ormillsorevenfertilefarmland.There was nothing of use intheircorneroftheworld.

Shehadtiedagoldensasharoundherwaist, cinching inthe ill-fitting, high-collared

dress in an attempt to look abitmorepresentable,ifnotinfashion. Coriane told herselfshe didn’tmind thewhispersof court, the sneers from theother young ladies whowatched her like she was abug, or worse, a Red. Theywereallcruelgirls,sillygirls,waitingwithbatedbreath foranynewsofQueenstrial.Butof course that wasn’t true.Sarawasoneofthem,wasn’t

she? A daughter of LordSkonos, training to be ahealer,showinggreatpromisein her abilities. Enough toservicetheroyalfamilyifshekepttothepath.

I desire no such thing,Sara said once, confiding inCoriane months before,during a visit. It will be awaste if I spend my lifehealing paper cuts andcrow’s-feet. My skills would

beofbetteruseintrenchesoftheChokeor thehospitalsofCorvium. Soldiers die thereevery day, you know. Redsand Silvers both, killed byLakelander bombs andbullets, bleeding to deathbecause people like me stayhere.

Shewouldneversaysotoanyone else, least of all herlord father.Suchwordswerebetter suited to midnight,

whentwogirlscouldwhispertheir dreams without fear ofconsequence.

“I want to build things,”Coriane told her best friendonsuchanoccasion.

“Buildwhat,Coriane?”“Airjets, airships,

transports, video screens—ovens! I don’t know, Sara, Idon’t know. I justwant to—tomakesomething.”

Sara smiled then, her

teeth glinting in a slimbeamof moonlight. “Makesomething of yourself, youmean.Don’tyou,Cori?”

“Ididn’tsaythat.”“Youdidn’thaveto.”“I can see why Julian

likesyousomuch.”That quieted Sara right

away, and she was asleepsoon after. But Coriane kepther eyes open, watchingshadows on the walls,

wondering.Now,onthebridge,inthe

middle of brightly coloredchaos, she did the same.Nobles, citizens, merchantsseemed to float before her,their skin cold, pace slow,eyeshardanddarknomattertheircolor.Theydrankinthemorning with greed, aquenchedmanstillgulpingatwater while others died ofthirst. The others were the

Reds, of course, wearing thebands thatmarked them.Theservants among them woreuniforms, some striped withthecolorsof theHighHousethey served. Theirmovementswere determined,their eyes forward, hurryingalong on their errands andorders.They have purpose atleast, Coriane thought. Notlikeme.

Shesuddenlyfelttheurge

to grab on to the nearbylamppost, to wrap her armsaround it lest she be carriedawaylikea leafonthewind,or a stone dropping throughwater.Flyingor drowningorboth. Going where someother force willed. Beyondherowncontrol.

Julian’s hand closedaround herwrist, forcing hertotakehisarm.He’lldo, shethought,andacordoftension

relaxed in her. Julian willkeepmehere.

Later on, she recordedlittleof theofficialfuneral inherdiary, longspatteredwithink splotches and cross outs.Her spelling was improvingthough, as was herpenmanship. She wrotenothing of Uncle Jared’sbody,hisskinwhiterthanthemoon, drained of blood bythe embalming process. She

did not record how herfather’s lip quivered,betraying the pain he trulyfelt for his brother’s death.Her writings were not of theway the rain stopped, justlong enough for theceremony, or the crowd oflords who came to pay theirrespects. She did not evenbother to mention the king’spresence, or that of his son,Tiberias, who brooded with

dark brows and an evendarkerexpression.

Uncle is gone, she wroteinstead of all this. Andsomehow,insomeway,Ienvyhim.

Asalways,shetuckedthediary away when she wasfinished,hidingitbeneaththemattress of her bedchamberwiththerestofher treasures.Namely, a little pallet oftools. Jealously guarded,

taken from the abandonedgardener’s shed back home.Two screwdrivers, a delicatehammer, one set of needle-nose pliers, and a wrenchrusted almost beyond use.Almost. There was a coil ofspindlywireaswell,carefullydrawn from an ancient lampin the corner that no onewould miss. Like the estate,theJacostownhouseinWestArcheon was a decaying

place.And damp, too, in themiddle of the rainstorm,giving the old walls the feelofadrippingcave.

Shewas stillwearing herblack dress and gold sash,with what she told herselfwereraindropsclingingtoherlashes,when Jessamine burstthrough thedoor.To fuss, ofcourse. There was no suchthing as a banquet without atwittering Jessamine, let

alone one at court. She didher best to make Coriane aspresentable as possible withthe meager time and meansavailable, as if her lifedepended upon it.Perhaps itdoes.Whatever lifesheholdsdear.Perhaps the court is inneed of another etiquetteinstructor for the noblechildren, and she thinksperforming miracles with mewillwinhertheposition.

Even Jessamine wants toleave.

“There now, none ofthis,” Jessamine muttered,swiping at Coriane’s tearswitha tissue.Another swipe,this timewithachalkyblackpencil,tomakehereyesstandout. Purple-blue rouge alongher cheeks, giving her theillusion of bone structure.Nothing on the lips, forCoriane had never mastered

the art of not getting lipstickonherteethorwaterglass.“Isupposeitwilldo.”

“Yes,Jessamine.”As much as the old

woman delighted inobedience, Coriane’s mannergave her pause.The girlwassad, clearly, in the wake ofthe funeral. “What’s thematter,child?Isitthedress?”

I don’t care about fadedblacksilksorbanquetsorthis

vilecourt. Idon’tcareaboutany of it. “Nothing at all,Cousin. Just hungry, Isuppose.” Coriane reachedfor theeasyescape, throwingoneflawtoJessaminetohideanother.

“Mercy upon yourappetite,” she replied, rollingher eyes. “Remember, youmust eat daintily, like abird.There should always be foodonyourplate.Pick,pick,pick

—”Pickpickpick.Thewords

feltlikesharpnailsdrummingon Coriane’s skull. But sheforcedasmileallthesame.Itbit at the corners of hermouth, hurting just as muchasthewordsandtherainandthe falling sensation that hadfollowedhersincethebridge.

Downstairs, Julian andtheir father were alreadywaiting, huddled close to a

smoky fire in the hearth.Their suits were identical,blackwithpalegoldensashesacross their chests fromshoulder to hip. Lord Jacostentatively touched thenewlyacquiredpinstuckinhissash—abeatengoldsquareasoldas his house. Nothingcompared to the gems,medallions,andbadgesoftheother governors, but enoughforthismoment.

Julian caught Coriane’seye, beginning to wink forherbenefit,butherdowncastairstoppedhimcold.Hekeptclosetoherallthewaytothebanquet, holding her hand intherented transport,and thenher arm as they crossedthrough the great gates ofCaesar’s Square. WhitefirePalace, their destination,sprawled to their left,dominating the south side of

the tiled Square now busywithnobles.

Jessamine buzzed withexcitement, despite her age,and made sure to smile andnod at everyonewho passed.She even waved, letting theflowing sleeves of her blackandgoldgownglide throughtheair.

Communicating withclothes, Coriane knew. Howutterly stupid. Just like the

rest of this dance that willendwith the furtherdisgraceanddownfallofHouseJacos.Why delay the inevitable?Whyplayatagamewecan’thope to compete in? Shecouldnotfathomit.Herbrainknew circuitry better thanhighsociety,anddespairedatever understanding the latter.There was no reason to thecourt of Norta, or even herownfamily.EvenJulian.

“I know what you askedof Father,” she muttered,careful to keep her chintucked against his shoulder.His jacketmuffledhervoice,but not enough for him toclaimhecouldn’thearher.

His muscles tightenedbeneathher.“Cori—”

“I must admit, I don’tquite understand. I thought—” Her voice caught. “Ithoughtyouwouldwanttobe

with Sara, now that we’llhavetomovetocourt.”

You asked to go toDelphie, to work with thescholars and excavate ruinsrather than learn lordship atFather’s right hand. Whywould you do that? Why,Julian? And the worstquestion of all, the one shedidn’thavethestrengthtoask—how could you leave metoo?

Herbrotherheavedalongsighandtightenedhisgrip.“Idid—Ido.But—”

“But? Has somethinghappened?”

“No,nothingatall.Goodor bad,” he added, and shecouldhearthehintofasmileinhisvoice.“Ijustknowshewon’t leavecourt if I’mherewithFather.Ican’tdothattoher.Thisplace—Iwon’t trapherhereinthispitofsnakes.”

Coriane felt a pang ofsorrowforherbrotherandhisnoble, selfless, stupid heart.“You’dlethergotothefront,then.”

“There’snoletwhereI’mconcerned. She should beable to make her owndecisions.”

“And if her father, LordSkonos, disagrees?” As hesurelywill.

“Then I’ll marry her as

planned and bring her toDelphiewithme.”

“Always a plan withyou.”

“Icertainlytry.”Despite the swell of

happiness—her brother andbest friend married—thefamiliar ache tugged atCoriane’s insides. They’ll betogether,andyouleftalone.

Julian’s fingers squeezedher own suddenly, warm

despitethemistingrain.“Andofcourse,I’llsendforyouaswell.YouthinkI’dleaveyouto face theRoyalCourtwithno one but Father andJessamine?” Then he kissedhercheekandwinked.“Thinkabitbetterofme,Cori.”

Forhissake,sheforcedawide, white grin that flashedinthelightsofthepalace.Shefelt none of its gleam. HowcanJulianbesosmartandso

stupid at the same time? Itpuzzled and saddened her insuccession. Even if theirfather agreed to let Julian goto study in Delphie, Corianewouldneverbeallowedtodothe same. She was no greatintellect, charmer, beauty, orwarrior.Herusefulnesslayinmarriage, in alliance, andthere were none to be foundin her brother’s books orprotection.

Whitefirewasdoneup inthe colors of House Calore,blackandredandroyalsilverfromeveryalabaster column.The windows winked withinner light, and sounds of aroaringpartyfilteredfromthegrand entrance, manned bythe king’s own Sentinelguards in their flaming robesand masks. As she passedthem, still clutching Julian’shand,Coriane felt less like a

lady,andmorelikeaprisonerbeingledintohercell.

THREE

Coriane did her best to pickpickpickathermeal.

She also debatedpocketing a few gold-inlaidforks. If only House

Merandus did not face themacross the table. They werewhispers, all of them, mindreaders who probably knewCoriane’s intentions as wellas she did. Sara told her sheshould be able to feel it, tonotice if one of them pokedinto her head, and she keptrigid, on edge, trying to bemindful of her own brain. Itmade her silent and white-faced,staringintenselyather

plate of pulled-apart anduneatenfood.

Julian tried to distract, asdidJessamine,thoughshedidso unintentionally. All butfalling over herself tocompliment Lord and LadyMerandusoneverythingfromtheir matching outfits (a suitfor thelordandgownfor thelady, both shimmering like ablue-blackskyofstars)totheprofitsoftheirancestrallands

(mostly in Haven, includingthe techie slum of MerryTown, a placeCoriane knewwas hardly merry). TheMerandus brood seemedintent on ignoring HouseJacos as best they could,keeping their attentions onthemselves and the raisedbanquet table where theroyals ate.Coriane could nothelp but steal a glance atthemaswell.

TiberiastheFifth,KingofNorta, was in the centernaturally,sitting talland leaninhisornate chair.Hisblackdress uniform was slashedwith crimson silk and silverbraid,allmeticulouslyperfectand in place. He was abeautiful man, more thanhandsome,witheyesofliquidgoldandcheekbonestomakepoets weep. Even his beard,regally speckled with gray,

was neatly razored to anedged perfection. Accordingto Jessamine, hisQueenstrialwas a bloodbath of warringladies vying to be his queen.Noneseemedtomindthatthekingwould never love them.They only wanted to motherhis children, keep hisconfidence,andearnacrownof their own. Queen Anabel,anoblivionofHouseLerolan,did just that. She sat on the

king’s left,her smilecurling,eyes on her only son. Hermilitaryuniformwasopenatthe neck, revealing afirestorm of jewels at herthroat, red and orange andyellow as the explosiveability she possessed. Hercrownwassmallbutdifficultto ignore—black gems thatwinked every time shemoved, set into a thick bandofrosegold.

The king’s paramourwore a similar band on hishead, though the gemstoneswereabsent from thiscrown.He didn’t seem to mind, hissmilefiercelybrightwhilehisfingers intertwined with theking’s. Prince Robert ofHouseIral.Hehadnotadropof royal blood, but held thetitle fordecadesat theking’sorders. Like the queen, heworeariotofgems,blueand

redinhishousecolors,mademore striking by his blackdress uniform, long ebonyhair, and flawless bronzeskin. His laughwasmusical,and it carried over the manyvoices echoing through thebanquethall.Corianethoughthehadakindlook—astrangethingforonesolongatcourt.Itcomfortedhera little,untilshe noticed his own houseseated next to him, all of

them sharp and stern, withdartingeyesandferalsmiles.She tried to remember theirnames, but knew only one—hissister,LadyAra,theheadof House Iral, seeming it inevery inch. As if she sensedher gaze, Ara’s dark eyesflashed toCoriane’s, and shehadtolookelsewhere.

Totheprince.TiberiastheSixth one day, but onlyTiberias now. A teenager,

Julian’sage,withtheshadowof his father’s beardsplotchedunevenlyacrosshisjaw. He favored wine,judging by the empty glasshastily being refilled and thesilver blush blooming acrosshis cheeks. She rememberedhim at her uncle’s funeral, adutifulsonstandingstoicbyagrave.Nowhegrinnedeasily,tradingjokeswithhismother.

Hiseyescaughthersfora

moment, glancing overQueen Anabel’s shoulder tolockontotheJacosgirlinanolddress.Henoddedquickly,acknowledging her stare,before returning to his anticsandhiswine.

“I can’t believe sheallowsit,”saidavoiceacrossthetable.

Coriane turned to findElara Merandus also staringat the royals, her keen and

angled eyes narrowed indistaste. Like her parents’,Elara’s outfit sparkled, darkblue silk and studded whitegems, though she wore awrappedblousewithslashed,cape sleeves instead of agown. Her hair was long,violently straight, falling inan ash curtain of blond overoneshoulder,revealinganearstudded with crystalbrilliance.Therestofherwas

just as meticulously perfect.Long dark lashes, skin morepale and flawless thanporcelain, with the grace ofsomething polished andpruned into court perfection.Already self-conscious,Coriane tugged at the goldensash around her waist. Shewished nothingmore than towalk out of the hall and allthe way back to the townhouse.

“I’m speaking to you,Jacos.”

“Forgive me if I’msurprised,” Coriane replied,doing her best to keep hervoice even. Elara was notknown for her kindness, ormuch else for that matter.Despitebeingthedaughterofarulinglord,Corianerealizedsheknewlittleofthewhispergirl. “What are you talkingabout?”

Elara rolled bright blueeyeswiththegraceofaswan.“Thequeen,ofcourse.Idon’tknowhowshestandstosharea table with her husband’swhore,much less his family.It’saninsult,plainasday.”

Again,CorianeglancedatPrince Robert. His presenceseemed to soothe the king,andifthequeentrulyminded,she didn’t show it. As shewatched, all three crowned

royals were whisperingtogether in gentleconversation. But the crownprinceandhiswineglassweregone.

“I wouldn’t allow it,”Elara continued, pushing herplate away. It was empty,eaten clean.At least she hasspineenoughtoeatherfood.“And it would be my housesitting up there, not his. It’sthe queen’s right and no one

else’s.”Soshe’llbecompeting in

Queenstrial,then.“OfcourseIwill.”Fear snapped through

Coriane,chillingher.Didshe—?

“Yes.” A wicked smilespreadacrossElara’sface.

It burned something inCoriane and she nearly fellback in shock. She feltnothing, not even a brush

insideherhead,noindicationthatElarawaslisteningtoherthoughts.“I—”shesputtered.“Excuse me.” Her legs feltforeign as she stood,wobblyfrom sitting through thirteencourses. But still under herownpower,thankfully.Blankblank blank blank, shethought,picturingwhitewallsand white paper and whitenothing in her head. Elaraonly watched, giggling into

herhand.“Cori—?” she heard

Julian say, buthedidn’t stopher. Neither did Jessamine,whowouldnotwanttocauseascene.Andherfatherdidn’tnotice at all,more engrossedin something Lord Provoswassaying.

Blankblankblankblank.Her footsteps were even,

nottoofastortooslow.HowfarawaymustIbe?

Farther, said Elara’ssneeringpurrinherhead.Shenearly tripped over at thesensation. The voice echoedin everything around and inher, windows to bone, fromthe chandeliers overhead tothe blood pounding in herears.Farther,Jacos.

Blankblankblankblank.She did not realize she

was whispering the words toherself, fervent as a prayer,

until she was out of thebanquethall,downapassage,and through an etched glassdoor. A tiny courtyard rosearound her, smelling of rainandsweetflowers.

“Blank blank blankblank,” she mumbled oncemore,movingdeeperintothegarden. Magnolia treestwisted in an arch, formingacrownofwhiteblossomsandrich green leaves. It was

barely raining anymore, andshemovedcloser to the treesfor shelter from the finaldrippingsofthestorm.Itwaschillierthansheexpected,butCoriane welcomed it. Elaraechoednolonger.

Sighing, she sank downonto a stone bench beneaththe grove. Its touch wascolder still and she wrappedherarmsaroundherself.

“I can help with that,”

said a deep voice, the wordsslowandplodding.

Coriane whirled, wide-eyed. She expected Elarahaunting her, or Julian, orJessaminetoscoldherabruptexit. The figure standing afewfeetawaywasclearlynotanyofthem.

“YourHighness,”Corianesaid, jumping to her feet soshecouldbowproperly.

ThecrownprinceTiberias

stoodoverher,pleasantinthedarkness,aglass inonehandandahalf-emptybottleintheother. He let her go throughthe motions and kindly saidnothing of her poor form.“That’ll do,” he finally said,motioningforhertostand.

She did as commandedwith all haste, straighteningup to face him. “Yes, YourHighness.”

“Would you care for a

glass, my lady?” he said,thoughhewasalreadyfillingthe cup. No one was foolishenough to refuse an offerfrom a prince of Norta. “It’snot a coat, but it will warmyouwellenough.Pitythere’sno whiskey at thesefunctions.”

Coriane forced a nod.“Pity,yes,”sheechoed,neverhaving tasted the bite ofbrown liquor. With shaking

hands,shetookthefullglass,her fingersbrushinghis foramoment. His skin was warmasastoneinthesun,andshewas struck by the need tohold his hand. Instead, shedrankdeepoftheredwine.

He matched her, albeitsipping straight from thebottle. How crude, shethought, watching his throatbob as he swallowed.Jessaminewould skinme if I

didthat.Theprincedidnotsitnext

to her, but maintained hisdistance, so that she couldonly feel the ghost of hiswarmth.Enough to knowhisblood ran hot even in thedamp.Shewonderedhowhemanaged to wear a trim suitwithout sweating rightthroughit.Partofherwishedhe would sit, only so shecould enjoy the secondhand

heat of his abilities. But thatwould be improper, on boththeirparts.

“You’re the niece ofJarred Jacos, yes?” His tonewas polite, well trained. Anetiquette coach probablyfollowed him since birth.Again,hedidnotwaitforananswer to his question. “Mycondolences,ofcourse.”

“Thank you.My name isCoriane,” she offered,

realizing he would not ask.Heonlyaskswhathealreadyknowstheanswerto.

He dipped his head inacknowledgment. “Yes. AndIwon’tmakefoolsofbothofusbyintroducingmyself.”

In spite of propriety,Coriane felt herself smile.Shesippedatthewineagain,notknowingwhatelse todo.Jessamine had not given hermuch instruction on

conversing with royals ofHouse Calore, let alone thefuture king. Speak whenspoken to was all she couldrecall, so she kept her lipspressed together so tightlytheyformedathinline.

Tiberias laughed openlyat thesight.Hewasmaybealittle drunk, and entirelyamused. “Do you know howannoyingit is tohaveto leadevery single conversation?”

Hechuckled.“ItalktoRobertand my parents more thananyone else, simply becauseit’s easier than extractingwordsfromotherpeople.”

How wretched for you,she snapped in her head.“Thatsoundsawful,”shesaidas demurely as she could.“Perhaps when you’re king,you can make some changestotheetiquetteofcourt?”

“Sounds exhausting,” he

muttered back around swigsof wine. “And unimportant,in the scheme of things.There’sawaron,incaseyouhaven’tnoticed.”

He was right. The winedidwarmherabit.“Awar?”she said. “Where? When?I’veheardnothingofthis.”

The prince whipped tofaceherquickly,onlytofindCoriane smirking a little athis reaction. He laughed

again,andtippedthebottleather. “You had me for asecondthere,LadyJacos.”

Still grinning, he movedto the bench, sitting next toher. Not close enough totouch, but Coriane still wentstock-still, her playful edgeforgotten.Hepretendednottonotice. She tried her best toremaincalmandpoised.

“SoI’moutheredrinkingin the rain because my

parents frown upon beingintoxicated in front of thecourt.” The heat of himflared, pulsingwith his innerannoyance. Coriane reveledin the sensation as the coldwas chased from her bones.“What’s your excuse? No,wait,letmeguess—youwereseatedwithHouseMerandus,yes?”

Gritting her teeth, shenodded. “Whoever arranged

thetablesmusthateme.”“Thepartyplannersdon’t

hate anyone but my mother.She’snotonefordecorationsor flowers or seating charts,and they think she’sneglectingherqueenlyduties.Of course, that’s nonsense,”he added quickly. Anotherdrink. “She sits onmorewarcouncils than Father andtrains enough for the both ofthem.”

Coriane remembered thequeen in her uniform, asplendor of medals on herchest. “She’s an impressivewoman,” she said, notknowing what else to say.HermindflittedbacktoElaraMerandus, glaring at theroyals, disgusted by thequeen’sso-calledsurrender.

“Indeed.”Hiseyes roved,landing on her now emptyglass. “Care for the rest?”he

asked, and this time he trulywaswaitingforananswer.

“I shouldn’t,” she said,putting the wineglass downon the bench. “In fact, Ishould go back inside.Jessamine—my cousin—willbefuriouswithmeasitis.”Ihope she doesn’t lecture meallnight.

Overhead, the sky haddeepened to black, and theclouds were rolling away,

clearing the rain to revealbright stars. The prince’sbodily warmth, fed by hisburner ability, created apleasantpocket around them,one Coriane was loath toleave. She heaved a steadybreath, drawing in one lastgasp of the magnolia trees,andforcedherselftoherfeet.

Tiberias jumped up withher, still deliberate in hismanners.“Shall Iaccompany

you?” he asked as anygentleman would. ButCorianereadthereluctanceinhiseyesandwavedhimoff.

“No, Iwon’t punish bothofus.”

His eyes flashed at that.“Speaking of punishment—ifElara whispers to you everagain,youshowherthesamecourtesy.”

“How—how did youknowitwasher?”

A storm cloud ofemotions crossed his face,most of them unknown toCoriane. But she certainlyrecognizedanger.

“She knows, as everyoneelse knows, that my fatherwillcallforQueenstrialsoon.I don’t doubt she’s wriggledinto every maiden’s head, tolearn her enemies and herprey.” With almost viciousspeed,hedrankthelastofthe

wine, emptying the bottle.Butitwasnotemptyforlong.Something on his wristsparked,astarburstofyellowand white. It ignited intoflame inside the glass,burning the last drops ofalcohol in its green cage.“I’m told her technique isprecise, almost perfect. Youwon’t feel her if she doesn’twantyouto.”

Coriane tasted bile at the

back of her mouth. Shefocused on the flame in thebottle, if only to avoidTiberias’s gaze. As shewatched,theheatcrackedtheglass, but it did not shatter.“Yes,” she said hoarsely. “Itfeelslikenothing.”

“Well, you’re a singer,aren’t you?” His voice wassuddenlyharshashisflame,asharp, sickly yellow behindgreenglass.“Giveherataste

ofherownmedicine.”“I couldn’t possibly. I

don’t have the skill. Andbesides, there are laws. Wedon’t use ability against ourown, outside the properchannels—”

This time, his laugh washollow. “And is ElaraMerandusfollowingthatlaw?She hits you, you hit herback,Coriane.That’sthewayofmykingdom.”

“It isn’t your kingdomyet,”sheheardherselfmutter.

ButTiberias didn’tmind.Infact,hegrinneddarkly.

“I suspected you had aspine, Coriane Jacos.Somewhereinthere.”

No spine. Anger hissedinside her, but she couldnever give it voice. He wasthe prince, the future king.And shewasnoone at all, alimp excuse for a Silver

daughter of a High House.Instead of standing upstraight, as shewished todo,shebentintoonemorecurtsy.

“Your Highness,” shesaid,droppinghereyestohisbootedfeet.

Hedidnotmove,didnotclose the distance betweenthem as a hero in her bookswould. Tiberias Calore stoodback and let her go alone,returning to a den of wolves

with no shield but her ownheart.

After some distance, sheheard the bottle shatter,spitting glass across themagnoliatrees.

Astrangeprince,anevenstranger night, she wrotelater. I don’t know if I everwanttoseehimagain.Butheseemedlonelytoo.Shouldwenotbelonelytogether?

At least Jessamine was

too drunk to scold me forrunningoff.

FOUR

Life at court was neitherbetter nor worse than life ontheestate.

The governorship camewithgreater incomes,butnot

nearly enough to elevateHouse Jacos beyond muchmore than the basicamenities. Coriane still didnot have her own maid, nordid she want one, thoughJessamine continued to crowabout needing help of herown. At least the Archeontown house was easier tomaintain, rather than theAderonack estate nowshuttered in the wake of the

family’s transplant to thecapital.

I miss it, somehow,Coriane wrote. The dust, thetangled gardens, theemptinessand thesilence.Somany corners that were myown, far from Father andJessamine and even Julian.Most of all she mourned theloss of the garage andoutbuildings. The family hadnot owned a working

transport in years, let aloneemployed a driver, but theremnants remained. Therewas the hulking skeleton ofthe private transport, a six-seater,itsenginetransplantedto the floor like an organ.Busted water heaters, oldfurnaces cannibalized forparts, not to mention oddsand ends from their long-gone gardening staff, litteredthe various sheds and

holdings. I leave behindunfinished puzzles, piecesnever put back together. Itfeels wasteful. Not of theobjects, but myself. So muchtime spent stripping wire orcounting screws. For what?For knowledge I will neveruse? Knowledge that iscursed, inferior, stupid, toeveryone else? What have Idone with myself for fifteenyears? A great construct of

nothing. I suppose Imiss theoldhousebecauseitwaswithme in my emptiness, in mysilence. I thought I hated theestate, but I think I hate thecapitalmore.

Lord Jacos refused hisson’s request, of course. Hisheirwouldnotgo toDelphietotranslatecrumblingrecordsand archive petty artifacts.“Nopointinit,”hesaid.Justashesawnopointinmostof

what Coriane did, andregularlyvoicedthatopinion.

Both children weregutted, feeling their escapesnatched away. EvenJessamine noticed theirdownturn in emotion, thoughshesaidnothingtoeither.ButCorianeknewtheiroldcousinwenteasyonherintheirfirstmonthsatcourt,orrather,shewashardonthedrink.Forasmuch as Jessamine talked of

ArcheonandSummerton,shedidn’tseemtolikeeitherverymuch,ifherginconsumptionwasanyindication.

More often than not,Coriane could slip awayduring Jessamine’s daily“nap.” She walked the citymany times in hopes offinding a place she enjoyed,somewhere to anchor her inthe newly tossing sea of herlife.

She found no such place—insteadshefoundaperson.

He asked her to call himTibe after a few weeks. Afamilynickname,usedamongtheroyalsandapreciousfewfriends. “All right, then,”Coriane said, agreeing to hisrequest. “Saying ‘YourHighness’wasgettingtobeabitofapain.”

Theyfirstmetbychance,on the massive bridge that

spanned the Capital River,connecting both sides ofArcheon. A marvelousstructure of twisted steel andtrussed iron, supporting threelevelsofroadway,plazas,andcommercial squares. Corianewas not so dazzled by silkshops or the stylish eateriesjuttingoutoverthewater,butmore interested in the bridgeitself, its construction. Shetried to fathom how many

tons of metal were beneathher feet,herminda flurryofequations.At first, shedidn’tnotice the Sentinels walkingtoward her, nor the princethey followed. He wasclearheadedthistime,withouta bottle in hand, and shethoughthewouldpassherby.

Instead,hestoppedatherside,hiswarmthagentleebblike the touch of a summersun. “Lady Jacos,” he said,

followinghergazetothesteelof the bridge. “Somethinginteresting?”

Sheinclinedherheadinabow, but didn’t want toembarrass herself withanother poor curtsy. “I thinkso,” she replied. “I was justwonderinghowmanytonsofmetal we’re standing on,hopingitwillkeepusup.”

The prince let out a puffof laughter tinged with

nervous. He shifted his feet,as if suddenly realizingexactly how high above thewater theywere. “I’ll domybest to keep that thought outof my head,” he mumbled.“Any other frighteningnotionstoshare?”

“Howmuch time do youhave?” she said with half agrin. Half only, becausesomething tugged at the rest,weighing it down. The cage

ofthecapitalwasnotahappyplaceforCoriane.

Nor Tiberias Calore.“Wouldyou favormewith awalk?” he asked, extendingan arm. This time, Corianesaw no hesitation in him, oreven the pensive wonderingsof a question. He knew heransweralready.

“Of course.” And sheslippedherarminhis.

ThiswillbethelasttimeI

holdthearmofaprince, shethought as they walked thebridge.Shethoughtthateverytime, and she was alwayswrong.

In early June, a week beforethecourtwouldfleeArcheonfor the smaller but just asgrand summer palace, Tibebroughtsomeonetomeether.They were to rendezvous inEastArcheon,inthesculpture

garden outside the HexaprinTheater. Coriane was early,forJessaminestarteddrinkingduringbreakfast,andshewaseager to get away. For once,her relative poverty was anadvantage. Her clothes wereordinary, clearly Silver, astheywerestripedinherhousecolorsofgoldandyellow,butnothingremarkable.Nogemsto denote her as a lady of aHigh House, as someone

worth noticing. Not even aservant inuniform to standafew paces behind. The otherSilvers floating through thecollection of carved marblebarelysawher,andforonce,shelikeditthatway.

The green dome ofHexaprinroseabove,shadingherfromthestillrisingsun.Ablack swan of smooth,flawless granite perched atthe top, its long neck arched

andwingsspreadwide,everyfeathermeticulouslysculpted.A beautiful monument toSilver excess. And probablyRed made, she knew,glancing around. There wereno Reds nearby, but theybustled on the street. A fewstopped to glance at thetheater, their eyes raised to aplace they could neverinhabit. Perhaps I’ll bringEliza and Melanie someday.

She wondered if the maidswould like that, or beembarrassedbysuchcharity.

She never found out.Tibe’s arrival erased allthoughtsofherRedservants,and most other things alongwiththem.

He had none of hisfather’s beauty, but washandsome in his own way.Tibe had a strong jaw, stillstubbornly trying to grow a

beard,withexpressivegoldeneyesandamischievoussmile.His cheeks flushed when hedrank and his laughterintensified,asdidhisripplingheat, but at the moment hewas sober as a judge andtwitchy. Nervous, Corianerealizedasshemovedtomeethimandhisentourage.

Today he was dressedplainly—butnotaspoorlyasme. No uniform, medals,

nothingofficialtodenotethisa royal event. He wore asimple coat, charcoal-gray,over a white shirt, dark redtrousers, and black bootspolished to a mirror shine.The Sentinels were not soinformal. Their masks andflaming robes were markenoughofhisbirthright.

“Goodmorning,”hesaid,and she noticed his fingersdrummingrapidlyathisside.

“I thoughtwe could seeFallof Winter. It’s new, fromPiedmont.”

Her heart leapt at theprospect. The theater was anextravagance her familycould hardly afford and,judgingbytheglintinTibe’seye, he knew that. “Ofcourse, that soundswonderful.”

“Good,” he replied,hooking her arm in his own.

It was second nature to bothof them now, but stillCoriane’s arm buzzed withthefeelofhim.Shehadlongdecided theirs was only afriendship—he’s a prince,bound to Queenstrial—though she could still enjoyhispresence.

They left the garden,heading for the tiled steps ofthetheaterandthefountainedplaza before the entrance.

Most stopped to give themroom, watching as theirprince and a noble ladycrossed to the theater.A fewsnapped photographs, thebright lights blindingCoriane, but Tibe smiledthrough it. He was used tothis sort of thing. She didn’tmind it either, not truly. Infact,shewonderedwhetherornot there was a way to dimthecamerabulbs,andprevent

them from stunning anyonewho came near. The thoughtofbulbsandwireandshadedglass occupied her until Tibespoke.

“Robert will be joiningus,bytheway,”heblurtedasthey crossed the threshold,stepping over a mosaic ofblack swans taking flight.Atfirst, Coriane barely heardhim, stunned as she was bythe beauty ofHexaprin,with

its marbled walls, soaringstaircases, explosions offlowers, andmirrored ceilinghung with a dozen gildedchandeliers. But after asecond, she clamped her jawshut and turned back toTibeto find him blushingfuriously,worsethanshehadeverseen.

She blinked at him,concerned. Inhermind’seyeshesawtheking’sparamour,

theprincewhowasnotroyal.“That’s quite all right withme,”shesaid,carefultokeepher voice low. There was acrowdforming,eagertoenterthe matinee performance.“Unless it isn’t all rightwithyou?”

“No, no, I’m very happyhe came. I—I asked him tocome.” Somehow, the princewas tripping over his words,and Coriane could not

understand why. “I wantedhimtomeetyou.”

“Oh,” she said, notknowing what else to say.Thensheglanceddownatherdress—ordinary, out of style—and frowned. “I wish Iwore something else. It’s noteverydayyoumeetaprince,”sheaddedwiththeshadowofawink.

He barked a laugh ofhumor and relief. “Clever,

Coriane,veryclever.”They bypassed the ticket

booths, as well as the publicentrance to the theater. Tibeledheruponeofthewindingstaircases, offering her abetter view of the massivefoyer. As on the bridge, shewondered who made thisplace, but deep down, sheknew. Red labor, Redcraftsmen,withperhapsafewmagnetrons to aid the

process. Therewas the usualtwinge of disbelief. Howcould servants create suchbeautyandstillbeconsideredinferior?Theyarecapableofwonders different from ourown.

Theygainedskill throughhandiwork and practice,rather than birth. Is that notequaltoSilverstrength,ifnotgreater than it? But she didnot dwell on such thoughts

long. She never did. This isthewayoftheworld.

The royal boxwas at theend of a long, carpeted halldecoratedbypaintings.Manywere of Prince Robert andQueen Anabel, both greatpatrons of the arts in thecapital.Tibepointedthemoutwith pride, lingering by aportrait of Robert and hismotherinfullregalia.

“Anabel hates that

painting,” a voice said fromthe end of the hall. Like hislaugh, Prince Robert’s voicehad a melody to it, andCoriane wondered if he hadsingerbloodinhisfamily.

The prince approached,gliding silently across thecarpet with long, elegantstrides.Asilk,Corianeknew,remembering he was ofHouse Iral. His ability wasagility, balance, lending him

swiftmovement and acrobat-like skill. His long hair fellover one shoulder, gleamingin dark waves of blue-black.As he closed the distancebetween them, Corianenoticedgrayathistemples,aswellaslaughlinesaroundhismouthandeyes.

“She doesn’t think it atrue likeness of us—toopretty, you know yourmother,” Robert continued,

comingtostopinfrontofthepainting. He gestured toAnabel’s face and then hisown. Both seemed to glowwith youth and vitality, theirfeatures beautiful and eyesbright. “But I think it’s justfine. After all, who doesn’tneed a little help now andthen?” he added with a kindwink. “You’ll find that soonenough,Tibe.”

“NotifIcanhelpit,”Tibe

replied. “Sitting forpaintingsmightbe themostboring actinthekingdom.”

Coriane angled a glanceathim.“Asmallpricetopay,though.Foracrown.”

“Well said, Lady Jacos,well said.” Robert laughed,tossing back his hair. “Steplightly around this one, myboy.Though it seemsyou’vealready forgotten yourmanners?”

“Of course, of course,”Tibe said, and waved hishand,gesturingforCorianetocome closer. “Uncle Robert,this is Coriane of HouseJacos, daughter of LordHarrus, Governor ofAderonack.AndCoriane,thisis Prince Robert of HouseIral, Sworn Consort of HisRoyalMajesty,KingTiberiastheFifth.”

Her curtsy had improved

inthepastmonths,butnotbymuch. Still, she attempted,only to have Robert pull herinto an embrace. He smelledof lavender and—bakedbread?“Apleasure to finallymeet you,” he said, holdingheratarm’slength.Foronce,Corianedidnot feelas ifshewas being examined. Theredidn’t seem to be an unkindboneinRobert’sbody,andhesmiledwarmlyather.“Come

now, they should be startingmomentarily.”

As Tibe did before,Robert took her arm, pattingher hand like a dotinggrandfather.

“You must sit by me, ofcourse.”

Something tightened inCoriane’schest,anunfamiliarsensation. Was it . . .happiness?Shethoughtso.

Grinningaswidelyasshe

could, she looked over hershoulder to see Tibefollowing, his eyes on hers,his smile both joyous andrelieved.

The next day, Tibe left withhis father to review troops ata fort in Delphie, leavingCoriane free to visit Sara.HouseSkonoshadanopulenttown house on the slopes ofWest Archeon, but they also

enjoyed apartments inWhitefire Palace itself,should the royal family haveneed of a skilled skin healerat anymoment.Sarametherat the gates unaccompanied,her smile perfect for theguards, but a warning toCoriane.

“What’s wrong? What isit?”shewhisperedassoonasthey reached the gardensoutsidetheSkonoschambers.

Sara drew them fartherintothetrees,untiltheywereinches from an ivy-drapedgarden wall, with immenserosebushes on either side,obstructing them both fromview.A thrumofpanicwentthrough Coriane. Hassomething happened? ToSara’s parents? Was Julianwrong—would Sara leavethem for the war? Corianeselfishly hoped that was not

the case. She loved Sara aswellasJuliandid,butwasnotsowillingtoseehergo,evenfor her own aspirations.Alreadythethoughtfilledherwithdread, and she felt tearsprickhereyes.

“Sara, are you—are yougoing to—?” she began,stammering, but Sara wavedheroff.

“Oh, Cori, this hasnothingtodowithme.Don’t

you dare cry,” she added,forcing a small laugh whileshehuggedCoriane.“Oh,I’msorry,Ididn’tmeant toupsetyou. I just didn’t want to beoverheard.”

Relief flooded throughCoriane. “Thankmy colors,”she mumbled. “So whatrequiressuchsecrecy?Isyourgrandmother asking you tolifthereyebrowsagain?”

“Icertainlyhopenot.”

“Thenwhat?”“YoumetPrinceRobert.”Coriane scoffed. “And?

This is court, everyone’smetRobert—”

“Everyone knows him,but they don’t have privateaudiences with the king’sparamour.Infact,heisnotatallwellliked.”

“Can’timaginewhy.He’sprobably the kindest personhere.”

“Jealousy mostly, and afew of the more traditionalhouses think it’s wrong toelevate him so high.‘Crowned prostitute’ is thetermmostused,Ithink.”

Coriane flushed, bothwith anger andembarrassment on Robert’sbehalf.“Well,ifit’sascandalto meet him and like him, Idon’t mind in the least.Neither did Jessamine,

actually, she was quiteexcitedwhenIexplained—”

“BecauseRobert isn’t thescandal, Coriane.” Sara tookherhands, andCoriane felt abitofherfriend’sabilityseepinto her skin. A cool touchthatmeantherpapercutfromyesterdaywouldbegoneinablink.“It’syouandthecrownprince, your closeness.Everyone knows how tightlyknit the royal family is,

particularly where Robert isconcerned. They value himand protect him aboveeverything. If Tiberiaswantedyou two tomeet then—”

Despite the pleasantsensation, Coriane droppedSara’shands.“We’re friends.That’s all this ever can be.”She forced a giggle that wasquite unlike herself. “Youcan’t seriously think Tibe

sees me as anything more,that he wants or even canwant anything more fromme?”

Sheexpectedherfriendtolaughwithher, towave italloff as a joke. Instead, Sarahad never looked so grave.“All signs point to yes,Coriane.”

“Well, you’rewrong. I’mnot—he wouldn’t—andbesides,there’sQueenstrialto

thinkof.Itmustbesoon,he’sofage,andnoonewouldeverchooseme.”

Again, Sara tookCoriane’s hands and gavethem a gentle squeeze. “Ithinkhewould.”

“Don’t say that to me,”Coriane whispered. Shelookedtotheroses,butitwasTibe’s face she saw. It wasfamiliarnow,aftermonthsoffriendship. She knew his

nose, his lips, his jaw, hiseyesmostofall.Theystirredsomething in her, aconnection she did not knowshe couldmakewith anotherperson. She saw herself inthem,herownpain, herownjoy. We are the same, shethought. Searching forsomething to keep usanchored, both alone in acrowded room. “It’simpossible. And telling me

this, giving me any kind ofhopewhereheisconcerned...”Shesighedandbitherlip.“I don’t need that heartachealong with everything else.He’smy friend, and I’m his.Nothingmore.”

Sara was not one forfancies or daydreaming. Shecared more for mendingbroken bones than brokenhearts. So Coriane could nothelpbutbelieveherwhenshe

spoke, even against her ownmisgivings.

“Friend or not, Tibefavors you. And for thatalone, you must be careful.He’s just painted a target onyour back, and every girl atcourtknowsit.”

“EverygirlatcourthardlyknowswhoIam,Sara.”

But still, she returnedhomevigilant.

And that night, she

dreamed of knives in silk,cuttingherapart.

FIVE

There would be noQueenstrial.

TwomonthspassedattheHall of the Sun, and withevery dawn the court waited

for some announcement.Lordsand ladiespestered theking, asking when his sonwould choose a bride fromtheir daughters. He was notmoved by anyone’s petition,meetingallwithhisbeautiful,stoiceyes.QueenAnabelwasquite the same, giving noindicationastowhenhersonwould undertake his mostimportant duty. Only PrinceRobert had the boldness to

smile, knowing preciselywhat storm gathered on thehorizon.Thewhispersroseasdays passed. They wonderedifTiberiaswaslikehisfather,preferring men to women—but even then, hewas boundtochooseaqueentobearhimsonsofhisown.Othersweremore astute, picking up thetrail of carefully laid breadcrumbs Robert had left forthem.Theyweremeanttobe

gentle,helpful signposts.Theprince has made his choiceclear, and no arena willchangehismind.

Coriane Jacos dined withRobert regularly, as well asQueen Anabel. Both werequicktopraisetheyounggirl,so much so that the gossipswonderedifHouseJacoswasasweakastheyappeared.“Atrick?” they said. “A poormask to hide a powerful

face?” The cynics amongthem found otherexplanations.“She’sasinger,a manipulator. She lookedinto the prince’s eyes andmade him love her. It wouldnotbethefirst timesomeonebrokeourlawsforacrown.”

Lord Harrus reveled inthe newfound attention. Heused it as leverage, to tradeon his daughter’s future fortetrarch coins and credit.But

he was a poor player in alarge, complicated game. Helostasmuchasheborrowed,betting on cards as well asTreasury stocks orundertaking ill-thought,costly ventures to “improve”his governed region. Hefounded two mines at thebehest of Lord Samos, whoassuredhimofrichironveinsin the Aderonack hills. Bothfailed within weeks, turning

upnothingbutdirt.Only Julian was privy to

such failures, and he wascarefultokeepthemfromhissister. Tibe, Robert, andAnabel did the same,shielding her from the worstgossip, working inconjunction with Julian andSara to keepCoriane blissfulin her ignorance. But ofcourse, Coriane heard allthings even through their

protections. And to keep herfamily and friends fromworry, to keep them happy,shepretendedtobethesame.Onlyherdiaryknewthecostofsuchlies.

Father will bury us withboth hands.He boasts ofmeto his so-called friends,telling them I’m the nextqueenofthiskingdom.Idon’tthinkhe’s everpaid somuchattention to me before, and

evennow,itisminuscule,notfor my own benefit. Hepretends to love me nowbecause of another, becauseof Tibe. Only when someoneelseseesworthinmedoeshecondescendtodothesame.

Becauseofherfather,shedreamedofaQueenstrialshedid not win, of being castaside and returned to the oldestate. Once there, she wasmade to sleep in the family

tomb, beside the still, barebody of her uncle.When thecorpse twitched, handsreaching for her throat, shewould wake, drenched insweat,unabletosleepfortherestofthenight.

JulianandSara thinkmeweak, fragile, a porcelaindoll who will shatter iftouched, shewrote.Worst ofall, I’m beginning to believethem.AmIreallysofrail?So

useless? Surely I can be ofsomehelpsomehow,ifJulianwould only ask? AreJessamine’slessonsthebestIcando?WhatamIbecomingin this place? I doubt I evenremember how to replace alightbulb.IamnotsomeoneIrecognize. Is this whatgrowingupmeans?

Because of Julian, shedreamed of being in abeautiful room. But every

door was locked, everywindow shut, with nothingand no one to keep hercompany. Not even books.Nothing to upset her. Andalways, the room wouldbecome a birdcage withgilded bars. It would shrinkand shrink until it cut herskin,wakingherup.

I am not the monster thegossips think me to be. I’vedonenothing,manipulatedno

one.Ihaven’tevenattemptedto use my ability in months,sinceJulianhasnomoretimeto teach me. But they don’tbelieve that. I see how theylookatme,eventhewhispersof House Merandus. EvenElara.Ihavenotheardherinmy head since the banquet,whenher sneersdroveme toTibe.Perhapsthattaughtherbetter than to meddle. Ormaybesheisafraidoflooking

intomyeyesandhearingmyvoice, as if I’m some kind ofmatch for her razoredwhispers.Iamnot,ofcourse.I am hopelessly undefendedagainst people like her.Perhaps I should thankwhoeverstartedtherumor.Itkeepspredatorslikeherfrommakingmeprey.

Because of Elara, shedreamed of ice-blue eyesfollowing her every move,

watching as she donned acrown. People bowed underher gaze and sneered whenshe turned away, plottingagainst their newly madequeen. They feared her andhated her in equal measure,each one a wolf waiting forher tobe revealedasa lamb.She sang in the dream, awordless song that didnothing but double theirbloodlust. Sometimes they

killed her, sometimes theyignored her, sometimes theyput her in a cell. All threewrenchedherfromsleep.

Today Tibe said he lovesme, that he wants to marryme.Idonotbelievehim.Whywouldhewantsuchathing?Iam no one of consequence.No great beauty or intellect,no strength or power to aidhis reign. I bring nothing tohimbutworryandweight.He

needs someone strong at hisside, a personwho laughs atthe gossips and overcomesher own doubts. Tibe is asweak as I am, a lonely boywithout a path of his own. Iwillonlymakethingsworse.Iwillonlybringhimpain.HowcanIdothat?

Because of Tibe, shedreamed of leaving court forgood. Like Julian wanted todo,tokeepSarafromstaying

behind. The locations variedwiththechangingnights.SherantoDelphieorHarborBayor Piedmont or even theLakelands, each one paintedin shades of black and gray.Shadowcitiestoswallowherup and hide her from theprince and the crown heoffered. But they frightenedher too. And they werealwaysempty,evenofghosts.Inthesedreams,sheendedup

alone. From these dreams,she woke quietly, in themorning,withdriedtearsandanachingheart.

Still,shedidnothavethestrengthtotellhimno.

When Tiberias Calore,heir to the throne of Norta,sank toakneewitha ring inhand,shetookit.Shesmiled.Shekissedhim.Shesaidyes.

“You have made mehappier than I ever thought I

couldbe,”Tibetoldher.“I know the feeling,” she

replied,meaningeveryword.She was happy, yes, in herownway,asbestsheknew.

But there is a differencebetween a single candle indarkness,andasunrise.

There was opposition amongtheHighHouses.Queenstrialwas their right, after all. Towedthemostnoblesontothe

most talented daughter.House Merandus, Samos,Osanos were once the front-runners, their girls groomedto be queens only to haveeven the chance of a crownsnatched away by somenobody. But the king stoodfirm. And there wasprecedent. At least twoCalore kings before hadwedoutside the bonds ofQueenstrial. Tibe would be

thethird.As if toapologize for the

Queenstrial slight, the rest ofthe wedding was rigidlytraditional.Theywaited untilCoriane turned sixteen thefollowingspring,drawingouttheengagement,allowing theroyal family to convince,threaten,andbuytheirwaytothe acceptance of the HighHouses.Eventuallyallagreedto the terms. Coriane Jacos

would be queen but herchildren, all of them, wouldbe subject to politicalweddings. A bargain she didnot want to make, but Tibewas willing, and she couldnottellhimno.

Ofcourse,Jessaminetookcreditforeverything.EvenasCoriane was laced into herweddinggown,anhour frommarrying a prince, the oldcousin crowed across a

brimful glass. “Look at yourbearing, those are Jacosbones. Slender, graceful, likeabird.”

Coriane felt nothing ofthesort.IfIwasabird,thenIcouldflyawaywithTibe.Thetiaraonherhead, the firstofmany, poked into her scalp.Notagoodomen.

“It gets easier,” QueenAnabel whispered into herear. Coriane wanted to

believeher.With no mother of her

own, Coriane had willinglyaccepted Anabel and Robertas substitute parents. In aperfect world, Robert wouldevenwalkherdowntheaisleinsteadofherfather,whowasstill wretched. As a weddinggift,Harrushadaskedforfivethousand tetrarchs inallowance.Hedidn’tseemtounderstandthatpresentswere

usuallygiventothebride,notrequested of her.Despite hersoon-to-be royal position, hehad lost his governorship topoor management. Alreadyon thin ice due to Tibe’sunorthodox engagement, theroyals could do nothing tohelp and House Provosgleefully took up thegovernanceofAderonack.

After the ceremony, thebanquet, and even after Tibe

hadfallenasleepintheirnewbedchamber, Corianescrawled in her diary. Thepenmanship was hasty,slurred, with sloping lettersand blots of ink that bledthrough the pages. She didnotwriteoftenanymore.

I ammarried to a princewho will one day be a king.Usuallythisiswherethefairytale ends. Stories don’t gomuch further than this

moment, and I fear there’s agoodreasonforit.Asenseofdread hung over today, ablackcloudIstillcan’tberidof.Itisanuneasedeepintheheart of me, feeding off mystrength. Or perhaps I amcoming down with sickness.It’s entirely possible. Sarawillknow.

I keep dreaming of hereyes.Elara’s. Is itpossible—couldshebesendingmethese

nightmares?Canwhispersdosucha thing? Imust know. Imust.Imust.IMUST.

Forher firstactasaprincessofNorta,Corianeemployedapropertutor,aswellastakingJulian into her household.Both to hone her ability, andhelp her defend againstwhatshe called “annoyances.” Acarefully chosen word. Oncemore,sheelectedtokeepher

problems to herself, to stopher brother from worry, aswellashernewhusband.

Both were distracted.Julian by Sara, and Tibe byanotherwell-guardedsecret.

Thekingwassick.It took two long years

before the court knewanythingwasamiss.

“It’s been like this forsometimenow,”Robertsaid,one hand in Coriane’s. She

stoodonabalconywithhim,herfacethepictureofsorrow.The prince was stillhandsome, still smiling, buthis vigor was gone, his skingrayanddark,leachedoflife.He seemed to be dying withtheking.ButRobert’swasanailment of the heart, not thebones and blood, as thehealerssaidoftheking’sills.Acancer,agnawing,riddlingTiberiaswithrotandtumors.

He shivered, despite thesunabove,nottomentionthehot summer air. Coriane feltsweat on the back of herneck,butlikeRobert,shewascoldinside.

“The skin healers canonlydosomuch.Ifonlyhe’dbrokenhisspine,that’dbenotroubleatall.”Robert’slaughsounded hollow, a songwithout notes. The king wasnot yet dead, and already his

consort was a shell ofhimself.Andwhileshefearedfor her father-in-law,knowing that a painful,diseased death waited forhim, she was terrified oflosing Robert as well. Hecannot succumb to this. Iwon’tlethim.

“It’s fine, no need toexplain,” Coriane muttered.She did her best not to cry,though every inch of her

hoped to. How can this behappening? Are we notSilvers? Are we not gods?“Does he need anything?Doyou?”

Robert smiled an emptysmile.Hiseyesflashedtoherstomach, not yet rounded bythe life inside. A prince orprincess, she did not knowyet. “Hewouldhave liked tohaveseenthatone.”

House Skonos tried

everything, even cycling theking’s blood. But whateversickness he had neverdisappeared. Itwastedathimfaster than they could heal.UsuallyRobertstayedbyhimin his chamber, but today heleft Tiberias alone with hisson, and Coriane knew why.Theendwasnear.Thecrownwould pass, and there werethingsonlyTibecouldknow.

The day the king died,

Corianemarked the date andcolored the entire diary pageinblackink.Shedidthesamea few months later, forRobert.Hiswillwasgone,hisheart refusing to beat.Somethingateathimtoo,andin the end, it swallowed himwhole. Nothing could bedone.Noonecouldholdhimback from taking shadowedflight. Coriane wept bitterlyas she inked the day of his

endinginherdiary.She carried on the

tradition. Black pages forblack deaths. One forJessamine, her body simplytoo old to continue. One forherfather,whofoundhisendinthebottomofaglass.

And three for themiscarriages she sufferedover the years. Each onecameatnight,ontheheelsofaviolentnightmare.

SIX

Corianewas twenty-one,andpregnantforafourthtime.

Shetoldnoone,notevenTibe. She did not want theheartache for him. Most of

all, she wanted no one toknow.IfElaraMeranduswastruly still plaguing her,turningherownbodyagainsther unborn children, shedidn’t want any kind ofannouncement regardinganotherroyalchild.

The fears of a fragilequeen were no basis forbanishing a High House, letalone one as powerful asMerandus. So Elarawas still

at court, the last of the threeQueenstrial favorites stillunmarried. She made noovertures to Tibe. On thecontrary, she regularlypetitioned to join Coriane’sladies, and was regularlydeniedherrequest.

ItwillbeasurprisewhenI seek her out, Corianethought, reviewing hermeager but necessary plan.She’ll be off guard, startled

enough for me to work. ShehadpracticedonJulian,Sara,evenTibe.Her abilitieswerebetter than ever. I willsucceed.

ThePartingBallsignalingthe end of the season at thesummer palace was theperfect cover. So manyguests,somanyminds.Elarawouldbeeasytogetcloseto.Shewould not expectQueenCoriane to speak to her, let

alonesingtoher.ButCorianewoulddoboth.

Shemadesuretodressfortheoccasion.Evennow,withthe wealth of the crownbehind her, she felt out ofplaceinhercrimsonandgoldsilks, a girl playing dress-upagainst the lords and ladiesaround her. Tibe whistled ashe always did, calling herbeautiful, assuring her shewas theonlywoman forhim

—in thisworld or any other.Normally it calmed her, butnow she was only nervous,focusedonthetaskathand.

Everything moved bothtooslowlyandtooquicklyforher taste. The meal, thedancing, greeting so manycurled smiles and narrowedeyes.ShewasstilltheSingerQueen to somany, awomanwhobewitchedherwaytothethrone.Ifonlythatweretrue.

If only I was what theythoughtme to be, thenElarawould be of no consequence,Iwouldnotspendeverynightawake,afraidtosleep,afraidtodream.

Her opportunity camedeepintothenight,whenthewine was running low andTibe was in his preciouswhiskey. She swept awayfrom his side, leaving Juliantoattendtoherdrunkenking.

Even Sara did not notice herqueenstealaway,tocrossthepathofElaraMerandusassheidledbythebalconydoors.

“Come outside with me,won’t you, Lady Elara?”Coriane said, her eyes wideand laser-focused on Elara’sown. To anyone who mightpass by, her voice soundedlike music and a choir both,elegant, heartbreaking,dangerous. A weapon as

devastating as her husband’sflame.

Elara’s eyes did notwaver, locked uponCoriane’s, and the queen felther heart flutter. Focus, shetold herself. Focus, damnyou. If theMeranduswomancould not be charmed, thenCoriane would be in forsomething worse than hernightmares.

But slowly, sluggishly,

Elara tooka stepback,neverbreaking eye contact. “Yes,”she said dully, pushing thebalcony door open with onehand.

They stepped outtogether, Coriane holdingElara by the shoulder,keeping her from wavering.Outside, thenightwas stickyhot,thelastgaspsofsummerin the upper river valley.Coriane felt none of it.

Elara’s eyes were the onlythingsinhermind.

“Have you been playingwith my mind?” she asked,cutting directly to herintentions.

“Not for a while,” Elarareplied,hereyesfaraway.

“When was the lasttime?”

“Yourweddingday.”Coriane blinked, startled.

So long ago. “What? What

didyoudo?”“I made you trip.” A

dreamysmile crossedElara’sfeatures. “Imadeyou triponyourdress.”

“That—that’sit?”“Yes.”“And the dreams? The

nightmares?”Elara said nothing.

Because there’s nothing forhertosay,Corianeknew.Shesucked in a breath, fighting

the urge to cry. These fearsare my own. They alwayshave been. They always willbe. I was wrong before Icame to court, and I’m stillwronglongafter.

“Go back inside,” shefinally hissed. “Remembernone of this.” Then sheturnedaway,breakingtheeyecontact she so desperatelyneeded to keep Elara underhercontrol.

Likeapersonwakingup,Elara blinked rapidly. Shecast a singleconfusedglanceat the queen before hurryingaway,backintotheparty.

Coriane moved in theoppositedirection,towardthestone bannister ringing thebalcony. She leaned over it,trying to catch her breath,trying not to scream.Greenerystretchedbelowher,a garden of fountains and

stone more than forty feetdown. For a single,paralyzingsecond,shefoughttheurgetojump.

The next day, she took aguard into her service, todefend her from any Silverability someone might useagainsther.IfnotElara, thansurelysomeoneelseofHouseMerandus. Coriane simplycould not believe how her

mind seemed to spin out ofcontrol, happy one secondand then distraught the next,bouncing between emotionslikeakiteinagale.

The guard was of HouseArven, the silent house. HisnamewasRane,asaviorcladin white, and he swore todefend his queen against allforces.

They named the baby

Tiberias, as was custom.Coriane didn’t care for thename, but acquiesced atTibe’s request, and hisassurance that they wouldnamethenextafterJulian.Hewasafatbaby,smilingearly,laughing often, growingbigger by leaps and bounds.She nicknamed him Cal todistinguish him from hisfather and grandfather. Itstuck.

The boy was the sun inCoriane’s sky.Onharddays,he split the darkness. Ongood days, he lit the world.WhenTibewentaway to thefront,forweeksatatimenowthatthewarranhotagain,Calkept her safe. Only a fewmonths old and better thananyshieldinthekingdom.

Julian doted on the boy,bringinghim toys, reading tohim. Cal was apt to break

things apart and jam themback together incorrectly, toCoriane’s delight. She spentlong hours piecing hissmashed gifts back together,amusing him as well asherself.

“He’ll be bigger than hisfather,” Sara said. Not onlywassheCoriane’schieflady-in-waiting, she was also herphysician. “He’s a strongboy.”

While any mother wouldrevelinthosewords,Corianefeared them.Bigger than hisfather, a strong boy. Sheknew what that meant for aCalore prince, an heir to theBurningCrown.

He will not be a soldier,shewroteinhernewestdiary.I owe him that much. Toolong the sons and daughtersof House Calore have beenfighting, too long has this

country had a warrior king.Too long have we been atwar, on the front and—andalso within. It might be acrime to write such things,but I am a queen. I am thequeen. I can say and writewhatIthink.

As the months passed,Coriane thought more andmoreofherchildhoodhome.The estate was gone,demolished by the Provos

governors, emptied of hermemories and ghosts. It wastoo close to the Lakelanderborder for proper Silvers tolive,eventhoughthefightingwascontainedtothebombed-out territories of the Choke.EventhoughfewSilversdied,despitetheRedsdyingbythethousands. Conscripted fromeverycornerof thekingdom,forced to serveand fight.Mykingdom, Coriane knew. My

husband signs everyconscription renewal, neverstopping the cycle, onlycomplainingaboutthecrampinhishand.

She watched her son onthe floor, smiling with asingletooth,bashingapairofwooden blocks together. Hewillnotbethesame,shetoldherself.

The nightmares returnedin earnest. This time they

were of her baby grown,wearing armor, leadingsoldiers, sending them into acurtain of smoke. Hefollowedandneverreturned.

Withdarkcirclesbeneathher eyes, she wrote whatwouldbecomethesecond-to-last entry into her diary. Thewords seemed to be carvedinto the page. She had notslept in three days, unable tofaceanotherdreamofherson

dying.The Calores are children

of fire, as strong anddestructiveastheirflame,butCalwillnotbeliketheothersbefore. Fire can destroy, firecan kill, but it can alsocreate. Forest burned in thesummer will be green byspring, better and strongerthan before. Cal’s flamewillbuild and bring roots fromthe ashes of war. The guns

will quiet, the smoke willclear, and the soldiers, Redand Silver both, will comehome. One hundred years ofwar, and my son will bringpeace. He will not diefighting. He will not. HEWILLNOT.

Tibe was gone, at FortPatriot in Harbor Bay. ButArven stood just outside herdoor, his presence forming abubbleof relief.Nothing can

touchmewhileheishere,shethought, smoothing thedowny hair on Cal’s head.Theonlypersoninmyheadisme.

The nurse who came tocollect the baby noticed thequeen’s agitated manner, hertwitching hands, the glazedeyes,butsaidnothing.Itwasnotherplace.

Another night came andwent. No sleep, but one last

entry inCoriane’s diary. Shehad drawn flowers aroundeach word—magnoliablossoms.

The only person in myheadisme.

Tibe is not the same.Thecrown has changed him, asyou feared itwould. The fireis in him, the fire that willburn all the world. And it isinyourson,intheprincewhowill never change his blood

andwillneversitathrone.The only person in my

headisme.The only personwho has

not changed is you. You arestill the little girl in a dustyroom, forgotten, unwanted,outofplace.Youarequeenofeverything, mother to abeautiful son, wife to a kingwho loves you, and still youcannot find it in yourself tosmile.

Stillyoumakenothing.Stillyouareempty.The only person in your

headisyou.And she is no one of any

importance.Sheisnothing.Thenextmorning,amaid

found her bridal crownbroken on the floor, anexplosion of pearls andtwistedgold.Therewassilveron it, blood dark from the

passinghours.And her bathwater was

blackwithit.

The diary ended unfinished,unseen by anywho deservedtoreadit.

OnlyElara saw itspages,and the slow unraveling ofthewomaninside.

She destroyed the booklikeshedestroyedCoriane.

And she dreamed of

nothing.

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ABOUTTHEAUTHOR

VICTORIA AVEYARDwas born and raised in EastLongmeadow,Massachusetts,a small townknownonly fortheworst traffic rotary in the

continentalUnitedStates.ShemovedtoLosAngelestoearnaBFAinscreenwritingattheUniversity of SouthernCalifornia, and stayed theredespite the lack of seasons.Sheiscurrentlyanauthorandscreenwriter,usinghercareerasanexcusetoreadtoomanybooks and watch too manymovies. You can visit heronline atwww.victoriaaveyard.com.

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