Consciousness returned badly.
Pain first.
Then cold.
Then the realization that someone was touching my hair.
I opened my eyes.
A woman screamed.
I screamed back.
Mostly because it seemed appropriate.
She stumbled away from me so quickly that a silver basin struck the floor and overturned.
Water spread across white marble.
Three other women froze.
I froze.
Nobody moved.
One of them held a comb.
Another had a folded piece of black silk over her arms.
The third was holding my left foot.
I looked at her.
She looked at me.
Slowly—
she released it.
"Where am I?"
Nobody answered.
That was encouraging.
I tried to sit up.
Pain exploded through the back of my skull.
"Ah."
My hand went there automatically.
Bandages.
Memory returned.
Not gently.
The Ntruba.
Arrows.
Blood.
Silver hair against dark earth.
Mother's hand.
Empty.
My breath stopped.
No.
For several seconds, I couldn't see the room anymore.
Only white flowers.
Blood between my fingers.
Her eyes.
You were always mine.
I squeezed mine shut.
Don't.
Not here.
Not yet.
If I started—
I didn't know if I would stop.
"Dama?"
My eyes opened.
One of the women had spoken.
Young.
Maybe sixteen.
She looked terrified.
Not of me.
Of whatever would happen if she failed at whatever she had been ordered to do.
I knew that look.
The Golden Veil had been filled with it.
"How do you know my name?"
The girl glanced toward the door.
"The king told us."
My stomach turned.
Of course.
"Where is my mother?"
Silence.
I already knew.
Still, some stupid part of me waited.
Maybe I had been wrong.
Maybe someone had reached her.
Maybe my magic had—
"Where is she?"
The girl's eyes dropped.
"I am sorry."
My chest hurt.
Actually hurt.
As though someone had reached inside and closed a fist around my ribs.
I looked away.
There was a window across the chamber.
Blue sky.
Sunlight.
No forest.
No Ntruba.
No Mother.
"How long?"
"A few hours."
Hours.
Mother had been dead for hours.
The thought did not fit inside my head.
"Her body?"
Again—
silence.
I looked at them.
"Where is my mother's body?"
The oldest woman finally spoke.
"The royal guard recovered her."
Recovered.
A neat word.
Clean.
As if Crena were misplaced property.
"What did they do with her?"
"I don't know."
I believed her.
Unfortunately.
I pushed the blanket away.
Metal clinked.
I looked down.
A chain circled my ankle.
There it was.
For one ridiculous second—
I laughed.
The women stared.
"Of course."
I lifted the chain.
Gold.
Naturally.
Even captivity had to coordinate with Gonaro's decorating scheme.
The cuff was padded inside so it wouldn't damage my skin.
That made me angrier than if they'd simply used iron.
Someone had cared enough to make imprisonment comfortable.
"Take it off."
No one moved.
"Take. It. Off."
"We can't."
"Can't or won't?"
The girl with the comb swallowed.
"The key belongs to Captain Rasef."
"I don't know who that is."
"The king's guard captain."
"Excellent. Invite him."
No one moved.
"Now."
The oldest woman stepped forward.
"My lady—"
"No."
She stopped.
"Do not call me that."
"We were ordered to prepare you."
"For what?"
No answer.
I looked down at myself.
Someone had already removed my old clothes.
My mother's blood was gone.
That realization hit me harder than expected.
I grabbed the edge of the sheet.
"Where are my clothes?"
"They were soiled."
"Where?"
"Disposed of."
I stared at her.
Disposed.
My last physical trace of Mother.
Gone because someone had decided blood was inconvenient.
Something warm moved beneath my skin.
The flowers in a vase beside the bed suddenly opened.
All of them.
The women gasped.
I stared at the flowers.
They had been buds seconds ago.
Wonderful.
Not now.
I forced myself to breathe.
The petals remained open.
Nobody said anything.
Good.
Maybe they would all develop a healthy respect for silence.
"What are you preparing me for?"
The oldest woman hesitated.
"An audience."
"With whom?"
She looked almost confused.
"His Majesty."
Of course.
I laughed again.
This day had become so terrible that laughter had apparently replaced screaming.
My father had sent men after us.
His men had killed my mother.
And now he wanted an audience.
How civilized.
"Get me my clothes."
"We were given garments for you."
"I don't want them."
"We have orders."
"So did the man who shot my mother."
That ended the conversation.
Good.
They bathed me anyway.
Not because I agreed.
Because there were four of them and one of me was chained to a bed.
I could have fought.
I considered it.
Then rejected the idea.
Not because they would win.
Because none of these women were my enemy.
Servants.
Probably as free to refuse orders as the women of the Golden Veil had been.
So I sat in furious silence while blood and dirt disappeared from my skin.
Mother's blood vanished last.
It had dried beneath my fingernails.
I watched a servant scrub it away with a soft cloth.
Red.
Pink.
Gone.
My throat closed.
"Stop."
Her hand froze.
"I can do it."
She handed me the cloth.
I cleaned the rest myself.
Slowly.
When there was nothing left—
I stared at my hands.
Clean.
I hated them.
They had known how to close wounds.
How to stop fevers.
How to identify poison.
They had even made a dying tree bloom.
And they had failed Mother.
I curled them into fists.
The pendant was gone.
That brought my head up.
"My necklace."
The servants exchanged looks.
"My necklace."
"The king has it."
Everything inside me went cold.
"What?"
"It was taken when you arrived."
"No."
I stood.
The chain jerked tight around my ankle.
"No."
The youngest servant stepped backward.
I pointed toward the door.
"Bring it back."
"We cannot."
"Then find someone who can."
"My lady—"
"Don't."
My voice cracked.
I hated that.
I swallowed.
"The pendant belonged to my grandmother."
That wasn't entirely why I wanted it.
The ticking.
The stopped time.
The voice.
My Qarin.
Somewhere out there.
Mother had told me to find him.
And now Idias had the only object that had connected me to him.
Not for long.
They dressed me in gold.
I almost refused on principle.
The dress was beautiful.
Which made me hate it more.
Soft cream silk fell to my ankles beneath a sleeveless outer robe embroidered with tiny golden suns. A wide belt rested around my waist, set with polished amber and topaz. Someone draped a sheer scarf over my shoulders.
Then came jewelry.
"No."
The servant paused with a necklace.
"No jewelry."
"We were ordered—"
"Tell whoever ordered it I developed an allergy to unnecessary wealth."
She looked confused.
"An allergy?"
"Very serious."
The youngest servant covered something suspiciously close to a smile.
I liked her slightly more.
They left the necklace.
Small victory.
Someone brushed my hair.
That was worse.
Mother had brushed my hair.
Usually while complaining that I had inherited every knot known to humanity.
I stared straight ahead.
Don't cry.
Not here.
Not for him.
Eventually the door opened.
Four royal guards entered.
Golden armor.
Blue cloaks.
Swords.
The captain carried a key.
"Stand."
I remained seated.
His expression changed.
"Lady Dama."
"No."
He frowned.
"I haven't even said anything."
"You were about to."
"I was going to ask you to stand."
"And now I've saved us time."
His jaw tightened.
Interesting.
Maybe irritating armed men was hereditary.
"His Majesty is waiting."
"He can continue."
One guard looked horrified.
The captain didn't.
He had probably met my father before.
Nothing shocked him anymore.
He crossed the room and unlocked the chain.
Good.
The instant the cuff came free, I considered driving my knee into his throat.
I did not.
Mother had taught me patience.
Plants had reinforced the lesson.
I stood.
"Where is my pendant?"
"With the king."
"I want it."
"You may ask him."
"I wasn't asking."
His eyes hardened.
Neither did mine.
Eventually he stepped aside.
"Walk."
I did.
Because there were four swords.
And because I wanted to meet Idias.
Not because I wanted a father.
I already had a parent.
She was lying dead somewhere because of him.
I wanted to see the man whose blood had spent nineteen years haunting my life.
And I wanted him to look at me and know exactly what his choices had made.
The Golden Palace was obscene.
There was no kinder word.
It rose across the highest hill of Gonaro as though someone had captured sunset, hammered it flat, and wrapped an entire fortress in it.
Sandstone walls glowed beneath the afternoon sun.
Gold filled the carvings.
Lions.
Falcons.
Suns.
Kings.
So many kings.
Generations of men immortalized in stone while the people who built the walls beneath them probably died anonymous.
We passed beneath a massive horseshoe arch into a courtyard.
White marble.
Blue mosaics.
Turquoise tile.
Fountains.
Actual fountains.
Water poured continuously from golden lion mouths into enormous reflecting pools.
I stopped walking.
The captain looked back.
"What?"
I stared at the water.
Not drinking water.
Decorative water.
Enough to supply half a poor district during the dry season.
Lotus flowers floated across it.
Because apparently water needed decorations too.
"Nothing."
We continued.
Date palms lined the path.
Flowering citrus perfumed the air.
Jasmine covered carved screens.
Servants moved quietly through shaded galleries carrying trays overflowing with fruit.
Dates.
Pomegranates.
Figs.
Grapes.
Food.
So much food.
I thought about women at the Golden Veil counting copper for medicine.
Families in the eastern district watering soup so everyone could eat.
Children waiting outside bakeries for burned bread.
Gold covered everything.
Gold on pillars.
Gold on doors.
Gold stitched through carpets.
Gold hammered over domes.
I had spent nineteen years wondering what Mother's stolen wages might look like.
Apparently—
they looked like a palace.
My hands curled.
We crossed another courtyard.
Then another.
By the time we reached the central structure, I understood something about Idias without meeting him.
The man did not simply enjoy wealth.
He needed everyone else to see that he possessed it.
The palace wasn't a home.
It was an announcement.
Mine.
The same word Mother had used when describing him.
Possession.
Always possession.
Perhaps the Golden Palace wasn't decorated excessively after all.
Perhaps it was simply honest.
Two enormous doors opened.
The Hall of the Golden Sun waited beyond them.
For one heartbeat—
I forgot to hate it.
That annoyed me.
The throne room was magnificent.
Not pretty.
Not elegant.
Magnificent.
A midnight-blue dome stretched impossibly high overhead.
Thousands of tiny golden stars glittered across it.
At the center burned an enormous golden sun.
Its rays spread outward.
Every one of them pointed toward the dais.
Toward him.
Subtle.
The man was clearly famous for it.
Columns lined both sides of the chamber, pale stone wrapped in gold bands and crowned with carved palm leaves. Scalloped arches connected them overhead in mosaics of emerald, blue, crimson, and gold.
Braziers filled the air with cedar and myrrh.
Sunlight passed through lattice screens and shattered into patterns across the floor.
And that floor—
black marble.
White marble.
Lapis.
Turquoise.
Gold.
Together forming one enormous sun.
A golden ray stretched from the entrance directly toward the throne.
My path.
Of course.
People filled the chamber.
Nobles.
Priests.
Generals.
Foreigners wearing clothing I didn't recognize.
Servants.
Guards.
Everyone turned toward me.
I hated them immediately.
Not individually.
That would require effort.
Collectively worked fine.
At the far end rose seven broad steps.
And above them—
three thrones.
My attention went first to the woman.
I knew immediately she had to be Queen Keila.
She sat to the right of the central throne in a chair shaped like a blooming golden lotus.
Dark skin.
Rich and warm beneath the palace light.
Short black hair cut unevenly close to her head.
Not fashionable.
Deliberate.
Her gown was deep purple with restrained gold embroidery.
Restrained being relative in this building.
Hazel eyes found mine.
Something moved through her face.
Shock.
Then understanding.
Then—
pain.
Not jealousy.
That surprised me.
She looked at me like she knew exactly why I was here.
Like she was sorry.
To the left sat a young man.
Maybe a few years older than me.
Prince Akalen.
I assumed.
Dark-skinned like his mother.
Short black hair.
Broad shoulders beneath a deep-blue tunic.
A single emerald ring.
And green eyes.
His father's eyes.
Except—
not his father's expression.
Akalen looked horrified.
He wasn't staring at my body.
Or my hair.
He was staring at the bruises around my wrists.
Interesting.
Then I looked at the central throne.
And knew.
No introduction required.
No herald.
No crown.
I knew.
My father.
King Idias Al-Gonari sat beneath an enormous golden sun.
He was bigger than I expected.
Tall even seated.
Broad.
Muscular.
Bronzed skin glowing beneath the gold surrounding him.
Bald head.
Heavy black beard braided with gold rings.
Emerald robes layered over black silk.
Gemstones everywhere.
Rings.
Bracelets.
Belt.
Dagger.
Necklace.
A walking treasury.
But it was his eyes that held me.
Dark green.
I had seen them before.
Not literally.
In myself.
Not the color.
Mine belonged to Mother.
But something around their shape.
The brow.
The angle.
My stomach turned.
I found other pieces.
The line of his jaw.
Mine.
The shape of his mouth.
Mine.
His hands resting against the throne.
The fingers looked disturbingly familiar.
Blood was inconvenient.
Dama
Consciousness returned badly.
Pain first.
Then cold.
Then the realization that someone was touching my hair.
I opened my eyes.
A woman screamed.
I screamed back.
Mostly because it seemed appropriate.
She stumbled away from me so quickly that a silver basin struck the floor and overturned.
Water spread across white marble.
Three other women froze.
I froze.
Nobody moved.
One of them held a comb.
Another had a folded piece of black silk over her arms.
The third was holding my left foot.
I looked at her.
She looked at me.
Slowly—
she released it.
"Where am I?"
Nobody answered.
That was encouraging.
I tried to sit up.
Pain exploded through the back of my skull.
"Ah."
My hand went there automatically.
Bandages.
Memory returned.
Not gently.
The Ntruba.
Arrows.
Blood.
Silver hair against dark earth.
Mother's hand.
Empty.
My breath stopped.
No.
For several seconds, I couldn't see the room anymore.
Only white flowers.
Blood between my fingers.
Her eyes.
You were always mine.
I squeezed mine shut.
Don't.
Not here.
Not yet.
If I started—
I didn't know if I would stop.
"Dama?"
My eyes opened.
One of the women had spoken.
Young.
Maybe sixteen.
She looked terrified.
Not of me.
Of whatever would happen if she failed at whatever she had been ordered to do.
I knew that look.
The Golden Veil had been filled with it.
"How do you know my name?"
The girl glanced toward the door.
"The king told us."
My stomach turned.
Of course.
"Where is my mother?"
Silence.
I already knew.
Still, some stupid part of me waited.
Maybe I had been wrong.
Maybe someone had reached her.
Maybe my magic had—
"Where is she?"
The girl's eyes dropped.
"I am sorry."
My chest hurt.
Actually hurt.
As though someone had reached inside and closed a fist around my ribs.
I looked away.
There was a window across the chamber.
Blue sky.
Sunlight.
No forest.
No Ntruba.
No Mother.
"How long?"
"A few hours."
Hours.
Mother had been dead for hours.
The thought did not fit inside my head.
"Her body?"
Again—
silence.
I looked at them.
"Where is my mother's body?"
The oldest woman finally spoke.
"The royal guard recovered her."
Recovered.
A neat word.
Clean.
As if Crena were misplaced property.
"What did they do with her?"
"I don't know."
I believed her.
Unfortunately.
I pushed the blanket away.
Metal clinked.
I looked down.
A chain circled my ankle.
There it was.
For one ridiculous second—
I laughed.
The women stared.
"Of course."
I lifted the chain.
Gold.
Naturally.
Even captivity had to coordinate with Gonaro's decorating scheme.
The cuff was padded inside so it wouldn't damage my skin.
That made me angrier than if they'd simply used iron.
Someone had cared enough to make imprisonment comfortable.
"Take it off."
No one moved.
"Take. It. Off."
"We can't."
"Can't or won't?"
The girl with the comb swallowed.
"The key belongs to Captain Rasef."
"I don't know who that is."
"The king's guard captain."
"Excellent. Invite him."
No one moved.
"Now."
The oldest woman stepped forward.
"My lady—"
"No."
She stopped.
"Do not call me that."
"We were ordered to prepare you."
"For what?"
No answer.
I looked down at myself.
Someone had already removed my old clothes.
My mother's blood was gone.
That realization hit me harder than expected.
I grabbed the edge of the sheet.
"Where are my clothes?"
"They were soiled."
"Where?"
"Disposed of."
I stared at her.
Disposed.
My last physical trace of Mother.
Gone because someone had decided blood was inconvenient.
Something warm moved beneath my skin.
The flowers in a vase beside the bed suddenly opened.
All of them.
The women gasped.
I stared at the flowers.
They had been buds seconds ago.
Wonderful.
Not now.
I forced myself to breathe.
The petals remained open.
Nobody said anything.
Good.
Maybe they would all develop a healthy respect for silence.
"What are you preparing me for?"
The oldest woman hesitated.
"An audience."
"With whom?"
She looked almost confused.
"His Majesty."
Of course.
I laughed again.
This day had become so terrible that laughter had apparently replaced screaming.
My father had sent men after us.
His men had killed my mother.
And now he wanted an audience.
How civilized.
"Get me my clothes."
"We were given garments for you."
"I don't want them."
"We have orders."
"So did the man who shot my mother."
That ended the conversation.
Good.
They bathed me anyway.
Not because I agreed.
Because there were four of them and one of me was chained to a bed.
I could have fought.
I considered it.
Then rejected the idea.
Not because they would win.
Because none of these women were my enemy.
Servants.
Probably as free to refuse orders as the women of the Golden Veil had been.
So I sat in furious silence while blood and dirt disappeared from my skin.
Mother's blood vanished last.
It had dried beneath my fingernails.
I watched a servant scrub it away with a soft cloth.
Red.
Pink.
Gone.
My throat closed.
"Stop."
Her hand froze.
"I can do it."
She handed me the cloth.
I cleaned the rest myself.
Slowly.
When there was nothing left—
I stared at my hands.
Clean.
I hated them.
They had known how to close wounds.
How to stop fevers.
How to identify poison.
They had even made a dying tree bloom.
And they had failed Mother.
I curled them into fists.
The pendant was gone.
That brought my head up.
"My necklace."
The servants exchanged looks.
"My necklace."
"The king has it."
Everything inside me went cold.
"What?"
"It was taken when you arrived."
"No."
I stood.
The chain jerked tight around my ankle.
"No."
The youngest servant stepped backward.
I pointed toward the door.
"Bring it back."
"We cannot."
"Then find someone who can."
"My lady—"
"Don't."
My voice cracked.
I hated that.
I swallowed.
"The pendant belonged to my grandmother."
That wasn't entirely why I wanted it.
The ticking.
The stopped time.
The voice.
My Qarin.
Somewhere out there.
Mother had told me to find him.
And now Idias had the only object that had connected me to him.
Not for long.
They dressed me in gold.
I almost refused on principle.
The dress was beautiful.
Which made me hate it more.
Soft cream silk fell to my ankles beneath a sleeveless outer robe embroidered with tiny golden suns. A wide belt rested around my waist, set with polished amber and topaz. Someone draped a sheer scarf over my shoulders.
Then came jewelry.
"No."
The servant paused with a necklace.
"No jewelry."
"We were ordered—"
"Tell whoever ordered it I developed an allergy to unnecessary wealth."
She looked confused.
"An allergy?"
"Very serious."
The youngest servant covered something suspiciously close to a smile.
I liked her slightly more.
They left the necklace.
Small victory.
Someone brushed my hair.
That was worse.
Mother had brushed my hair.
Usually while complaining that I had inherited every knot known to humanity.
I stared straight ahead.
Don't cry.
Not here.
Not for him.
Eventually the door opened.
Four royal guards entered.
Golden armor.
Blue cloaks.
Swords.
The captain carried a key.
"Stand."
I remained seated.
His expression changed.
"Lady Dama."
"No."
He frowned.
"I haven't even said anything."
"You were about to."
"I was going to ask you to stand."
"And now I've saved us time."
His jaw tightened.
Interesting.
Maybe irritating armed men was hereditary.
"His Majesty is waiting."
"He can continue."
One guard looked horrified.
The captain didn't.
He had probably met my father before.
Nothing shocked him anymore.
He crossed the room and unlocked the chain.
Good.
The instant the cuff came free, I considered driving my knee into his throat.
I did not.
Mother had taught me patience.
Plants had reinforced the lesson.
I stood.
"Where is my pendant?"
"With the king."
"I want it."
"You may ask him."
"I wasn't asking."
His eyes hardened.
Neither did mine.
Eventually he stepped aside.
"Walk."
I did.
Because there were four swords.
And because I wanted to meet Idias.
Not because I wanted a father.
I already had a parent.
She was lying dead somewhere because of him.
I wanted to see the man whose blood had spent nineteen years haunting my life.
And I wanted him to look at me and know exactly what his choices had made.
The Golden Palace was obscene.
There was no kinder word.
It rose across the highest hill of Gonaro as though someone had captured sunset, hammered it flat, and wrapped an entire fortress in it.
Sandstone walls glowed beneath the afternoon sun.
Gold filled the carvings.
Lions.
Falcons.
Suns.
Kings.
So many kings.
Generations of men immortalized in stone while the people who built the walls beneath them probably died anonymous.
We passed beneath a massive horseshoe arch into a courtyard.
White marble.
Blue mosaics.
Turquoise tile.
Fountains.
Actual fountains.
Water poured continuously from golden lion mouths into enormous reflecting pools.
I stopped walking.
The captain looked back.
"What?"
I stared at the water.
Not drinking water.
Decorative water.
Enough to supply half a poor district during the dry season.
Lotus flowers floated across it.
Because apparently water needed decorations too.
"Nothing."
We continued.
Date palms lined the path.
Flowering citrus perfumed the air.
Jasmine covered carved screens.
Servants moved quietly through shaded galleries carrying trays overflowing with fruit.
Dates.
Pomegranates.
Figs.
Grapes.
Food.
So much food.
I thought about women at the Golden Veil counting copper for medicine.
Families in the eastern district watering soup so everyone could eat.
Children waiting outside bakeries for burned bread.
Gold covered everything.
Gold on pillars.
Gold on doors.
Gold stitched through carpets.
Gold hammered over domes.
I had spent nineteen years wondering what Mother's stolen wages might look like.
Apparently—
they looked like a palace.
My hands curled.
We crossed another courtyard.
Then another.
By the time we reached the central structure, I understood something about Idias without meeting him.
The man did not simply enjoy wealth.
He needed everyone else to see that he possessed it.
The palace wasn't a home.
It was an announcement.
Mine.
The same word Mother had used when describing him.
Possession.
Always possession.
Perhaps the Golden Palace wasn't decorated excessively after all.
Perhaps it was simply honest.
Two enormous doors opened.
The Hall of the Golden Sun waited beyond them.
For one heartbeat—
I forgot to hate it.
That annoyed me.
The throne room was magnificent.
Not pretty.
Not elegant.
Magnificent.
A midnight-blue dome stretched impossibly high overhead.
Thousands of tiny golden stars glittered across it.
At the center burned an enormous golden sun.
Its rays spread outward.
Every one of them pointed toward the dais.
Toward him.
Subtle.
The man was clearly famous for it.
Columns lined both sides of the chamber, pale stone wrapped in gold bands and crowned with carved palm leaves. Scalloped arches connected them overhead in mosaics of emerald, blue, crimson, and gold.
Braziers filled the air with cedar and myrrh.
Sunlight passed through lattice screens and shattered into patterns across the floor.
And that floor—
black marble.
White marble.
Lapis.
Turquoise.
Gold.
Together forming one enormous sun.
A golden ray stretched from the entrance directly toward the throne.
My path.
Of course.
People filled the chamber.
Nobles.
Priests.
Generals.
Foreigners wearing clothing I didn't recognize.
Servants.
Guards.
Everyone turned toward me.
I hated them immediately.
Not individually.
That would require effort.
Collectively worked fine.
At the far end rose seven broad steps.
And above them—
three thrones.
My attention went first to the woman.
I knew immediately she had to be Queen Keila.
She sat to the right of the central throne in a chair shaped like a blooming golden lotus.
Dark skin.
Rich and warm beneath the palace light.
Short black hair cut unevenly close to her head.
Not fashionable.
Deliberate.
Her gown was deep purple with restrained gold embroidery.
Restrained being relative in this building.
Hazel eyes found mine.
Something moved through her face.
Shock.
Then understanding.
Then—
pain.
Not jealousy.
That surprised me.
She looked at me like she knew exactly why I was here.
Like she was sorry.
To the left sat a young man.
Maybe a few years older than me.
Prince Akalen.
I assumed.
Dark-skinned like his mother.
Short black hair.
Broad shoulders beneath a deep-blue tunic.
A single emerald ring.
And green eyes.
His father's eyes.
Except—
not his father's expression.
Akalen looked horrified.
He wasn't staring at my body.
Or my hair.
He was staring at the bruises around my wrists.
Interesting.
Then I looked at the central throne.
And knew.
No introduction required.
No herald.
No crown.
I knew.
My father.
King Idias Al-Gonari sat beneath an enormous golden sun.
He was bigger than I expected.
Tall even seated.
Broad.
Muscular.
Bronzed skin glowing beneath the gold surrounding him.
Bald head.
Heavy black beard braided with gold rings.
Emerald robes layered over black silk.
Gemstones everywhere.
Rings.
Bracelets.
Belt.
Dagger.
Necklace.
A walking treasury.
But it was his eyes that held me.
Dark green.
I had seen them before.
Not literally.
In myself.
Not the color.
Mine belonged to Mother.
But something around their shape.
The brow.
The angle.
My stomach turned.
I found other pieces.
The line of his jaw.
Mine.
The shape of his mouth.
Mine.
His hands resting against the throne.
The fingers looked disturbingly familiar.
Blood was inconvenient.
My entire body tightened.
The guard pushed lightly between my shoulders.
"Kneel."
I did not.
He pushed harder.
My knees hit marble.
Pain shot upward.
I looked back at him.
He immediately stepped away.
Coward.
Silence filled the hall.
Idias stared.
No greeting.
No question.
Just stared.
I understood suddenly why Mother hated being stared at.
It wasn't admiration.
It was inventory.
My hair.
Skin.
Eyes.
Face.
Body.
Calculations moving behind those dark-green eyes.
He rose.
The entire room seemed to react.
Nobles lowered their heads.
Servants went still.
Even the guards somehow became straighter.
Idias descended.
One step.
Then another.
No hurry.
Why would there be?
The world waited for him.
Seven steps.
Then he stood in front of me.
Huge.
His shadow fell across my knees.
I looked up.
I would not look down.
Something shifted in his expression.
Amusement.
He circled me.
Once.
Slowly.
Like a horse being examined before purchase.
My skin crawled.
He stopped behind me.
Touched my hair.
I jerked away.
Several guards reached for their swords.
Idias raised one hand.
They stopped.
He moved in front of me again.
Then hooked two fingers beneath my chin.
I wanted to bite them off.
Patience.
Mother taught me patience.
Plants taught me patience.
Vesra taught me exactly how useful patience could become when mixed with poison.
Idias tilted my face toward the light.
His gaze settled on my eyes.
Then my hair.
His thumb moved against my jaw.
"Remarkable."
I said nothing.
He leaned closer.
"You look like Snow."
Everything inside me went still.
Not Crena.
Snow.
The name customers used.
The name men used when they paid for access to her.
The name he had called the woman he'd violated.
I pulled my chin from his grip.
"Her name was Crena."
The entire throne room became silent enough to hear the braziers crackle.
Idias looked at me.
Behind him, Akalen's eyebrows rose.
Queen Keila's gaze sharpened.
Idias smiled.
Slowly.
"Ah."
I hated that sound.
"She gave you her tongue as well."
"She gave me everything worth having."
His smile didn't disappear.
But something behind it cooled.
Good.
"Where is she?"
I stared at him.
Was he serious?
The captain behind me shifted.
Idias looked past me.
"Where is Snow?"
No one answered immediately.
That was the first moment I realized—
he didn't know.
Interesting.
Dangerous.
The captain stepped forward.
One knee touched the golden floor.
"Your Majesty."
Idias's expression changed.
"Where?"
The captain hesitated.
"Dead, Your Majesty."
Nothing happened.
No gasp.
No grief.
Idias simply became still.
Terribly still.
The kind of stillness animals had immediately before attacking.
Queen Keila's eyes closed.
Akalen looked toward the kneeling captain.
I watched my father.
Waiting.
Nothing.
Then:
"Explain."
The captain swallowed.
"During the pursuit through Ntruba, Your Majesty, they refused orders to stop."
I laughed.
I couldn't help it.
Every eye came toward me.
Idias's did too.
"They refused orders to stop."
My voice sounded wrong.
Too calm.
"You chased us with dogs."
"Dama," Akalen said quietly.
My head snapped toward him.
First time he'd spoken.
He knew my name.
Idias held up one hand.
Akalen stopped.
The king looked back to the captain.
"I ordered both brought to me alive."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Then why is one dead?"
The captain glanced toward the guards.
One man near the back went pale.
Oh.
I knew that face.
Not personally.
But I remembered armor.
A bow.
The ridge.
The arrow.
My entire body tightened.
Idias noticed.
Of course he did.
He followed my gaze.
"You."
The archer stiffened.
"Forward."
The man obeyed.
Slowly.
His face had lost all color by the time he reached us.
He dropped to one knee.
"Your Majesty."
"Did you fire?"
The man's throat moved.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Did I order you to kill them?"
"No, Your Majesty."
"Did I order them both alive?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The guard began breathing faster.
"Then explain why Snow is dead."
"Your Majesty, they were fleeing and I intended only to—"
Idias moved.
Fast.
Far too fast for a man that size.
Steel flashed.
I flinched.
The sword entered above the guard's shoulder.
Cut downward.
Through armor.
Through flesh.
Through ribs.
The man collapsed before my mind understood what I had seen.
Blood spread across the golden sun.
Someone screamed quietly.
Maybe one of the courtiers.
Nobody else moved.
The guard twitched.
Once.
Twice.
Then stopped.
I stared.
Idias pulled the blade free.
Blood ran down the gold-inlaid steel.
He looked at the corpse.
"Did I ask for your excuse?"
Obviously—
no answer.
Idias waited.
Then nodded.
"No."
He wiped his sword against the dead man's cloak.
Like removing dirt.
My stomach turned.
He looked toward the remaining guards.
"When your king commands alive—"
No one breathed.
"—you do not reinterpret him."
Every guard bowed.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
I stared at the corpse.
The man had killed Mother.
I should have felt satisfaction.
Something.
Anything.
I didn't.
His death changed nothing.
Mother was still dead.
The guard was another body.
Another person destroyed because Idias had decided people were pieces.
The king sheathed his sword.
Then looked at me.
"Snow wasn't supposed to die."
My nails dug into my palms.
"Her name was Crena."
He ignored that.
"She was finally going to be mine."
My vision went red.
I stood.
Guards moved immediately.
Two hands grabbed my arms.
I barely noticed.
"Yours?"
Idias's eyebrows rose.
"You mean after nineteen years of having men buy her?"
"Dama," Akalen warned.
I looked at Idias.
"After she spent nineteen years trapped because of you?"
His face darkened.
"Careful."
"Why?"
My grief burned through whatever sense I possessed.
"You'll kill me too?"
Queen Keila whispered something.
Maybe my name.
I didn't care.
"She died running from you."
"She died because that fool disobeyed me."
"No."
I shook my head.
"Then why did you order your men to shoot arrows at us?"
Idias stared.
"I ordered them to stop you."
"With arrows."
"They were instructed to miss."
I looked down.
At the dead guard bleeding across the golden sun.
Then back at my father.
"Your instructions seem to have a reliability problem."
A sound came from the left.
I looked.
Akalen had covered his mouth.
Was he—
No.
Surely not.
His green eyes had widened with what looked suspiciously like the desperate effort not to laugh.
Queen Keila turned her face away.
Her shoulders moved once.
Oh.
Good.
Apparently insulting the king was a family bonding activity.
Idias noticed too.
His gaze flicked toward his wife.
Then his son.
Then me.
Slowly—
he smiled.
Not warmly.
Something much worse.
Interested.
"You are not afraid of me."
I looked at the corpse.
"That would be stupid."
His smile widened.
"Yet you insult me."
"Fear and good judgment are separate skills."
Akalen coughed.
Poorly.
Idias ignored him.
"You know who I am?"
"Unfortunately."
"I am your father."
The words struck differently than I expected.
Not painful.
Not meaningful.
Just offensive.
I stared up at him.
"No."
The smile vanished.
The entire room froze.
Even Akalen stopped pretending to cough.
Idias stepped closer.
"What did you say?"
"My father?"
I looked around the room as though considering.
"No."
His jaw tightened.
"You carry my blood."
"Blood isn't parenting."
"Careful."
"Mother raised me."
"Dama."
"Mother fed me."
His eyes hardened.
"She taught me."
I took another step despite the guards holding me.
"She protected me."
My voice broke.
I hated that.
"She died protecting me."
Silence.
"You contributed blood."
I looked directly into his eyes.
"Congratulations."
Akalen made another strangled noise.
This time Queen Keila didn't hide the faintest movement at the corner of her mouth.
Idias stared at me for so long that I became aware of my heartbeat.
Then he laughed.
One deep sound.
Utterly unexpected.
I didn't like it.
At all.
He turned toward his throne.
"Release her."
The guards hesitated.
"Your Majesty?"
"I said release her."
Their hands disappeared from my arms.
Idias climbed the seven steps.
I remained standing.
He returned to his throne but did not sit.
Instead, he looked down at me from beside it.
"The bastard children I've found have begged."
My stomach tightened.
"Some for recognition."
He gestured vaguely.
"Some for titles."
Another step.
"Money."
He touched the golden throne.
"Position."
His gaze returned to me.
"One kissed my feet."
"How embarrassing for both of you."
Akalen's cough returned.
Idias's mouth twitched.
"But you."
His gaze traveled over me again.
"You walk into my hall wearing clothes I provided, surrounded by my guards, standing beneath my roof..."
His eyes narrowed.
"And behave as though I should earn something from you."
"You should."
Silence.
"What?"
"My respect."
That landed.
Good.
Idias sat.
Slowly.
"And how would I earn that?"
"Invent a method of resurrecting my mother."
The room went completely silent.
My chest tightened.
I hadn't meant to say it.
Or perhaps I had.
Idias studied me.
Something almost human crossed his face.
Gone before I could identify it.
Then he leaned back.
"You will remain here."
"No."
"It wasn't a request."
"Then why phrase it like information?"
His expression hardened.
"Your mother hid royal blood from me for nineteen years."
"She protected me from you for nineteen years."
"You are Al-Gonari."
"No."
"You are my daughter."
"No."
"You will be recognized."
"No."
Each answer made his face colder.
Delightful.
"You don't understand your position."
"I understand it perfectly."
I gestured around me.
"You found another possession."
His eyes narrowed.
"That is not what you are."
"Really?"
My voice dropped.
"Because that's what Mother said you did."
Something changed in Queen Keila's face.
Akalen looked at his father.
Idias became still.
I continued.
"People. Women. Kingdoms."
I looked around at the gold.
"Everything has to belong to you."
"Enough."
There it was.
Not loud.
Worse.
Everyone in the room flinched.
Except me.
I wanted to.
Refused.
Idias tapped one finger against the throne.
"Take her to the western apartments."
Two guards approached.
"And double the guard."
My stomach sank.
Prison.
Just prettier.
"She is not to leave the palace."
"No."
Idias looked at me.
"You may continue saying that."
I hated the satisfaction in his voice.
"It changes nothing."
A guard reached for my arm.
I stepped away.
"I can walk."
He stopped.
Good.
I turned.
Then remembered.
"My pendant."
Idias's gaze sharpened.
"What?"
"The pendant your men stole."
A servant approached him carrying a small golden tray.
There.
Silver.
Moonstone.
Mine.
No.
Nayira's.
Idias picked it up.
The moment his fingers touched it—
something strange happened.
Not visibly.
I felt it.
A wrongness.
The stone dimmed.
Just slightly.
Idias frowned.
Interesting.
"What is it?"
"Mine."
"That isn't an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
He studied the stone.
"Riedanan."
I said nothing.
His eyes lifted.
"It belonged to Snow."
"Crena."
"To her mother?"
My heart stumbled.
How much did he know?
I kept my face still.
His smile returned.
Correct answer.
He knew I'd reacted.
Damn.
"I'll keep it."
"No."
"Until you decide to be cooperative."
"Give it back."
"Dama."
That was Akalen.
I looked toward him.
He gave the smallest shake of his head.
Wait.
Why was he helping me?
I didn't know.
But I understood the warning.
Not here.
Not now.
Patience.
Mother taught me patience.
I looked back at Idias.
"Fine."
His eyebrows lifted.
He clearly hadn't expected that.
Neither had I.
I smiled.
"Keep it."
His eyes narrowed.
"You'll give it back eventually."
"And what makes you certain?"
"Because it's mine."
The words tasted terrible.
But this time—
they were true.
I turned.
The guards followed.
As I walked along the golden ray toward the doors, I felt three sets of eyes on my back.
My father's.
My brother's.
The queen's.
I didn't look back.
I had lost my mother.
My freedom.
My pendant.
And apparently gained a father, brother, and stepmother before lunch.
Worst birthday imaginable.
And technically—
it wasn't even my birthday yet.
But one thought kept moving beneath the grief.
Quiet.
Cold.
Patient.
Idias believed he had captured me.
Madame Vesra had believed the same thing.
People kept making that mistake.
And while the guards escorted me deeper into the Golden Palace—
I began counting doors.
Windows.
Servants.
Corridors.
Guard rotations.
Plants.
Poisons.
Every turn.
Every staircase.
Every possible way out.
Because Idias Al-Gonari had made one very important mistake.
He thought he had brought his daughter home.
He hadn't.
He had brought an herbalist into a palace full of gardens.
And I had no intention of staying.
The western apartments were apparently where Gonaro kept prisoners it didn't want to admit were prisoners.
There were no bars.
That would have been vulgar.
Instead, I received three enormous rooms, a private bathing chamber, a balcony overlooking the western gardens, silk bedding, carved furniture, enough food to feed twelve people—
and six armed guards outside my door.
Luxury.
How liberating.
I walked directly to the balcony.
Two guards stood below.
Another patrolled the wall beyond the garden.
The drop was three stories.
Climbable.
Probably.
Assuming I wanted to introduce my skull to the courtyard.
I didn't.
Yet.
I turned back.
Two doors.
Main entrance.
Servants' entrance.
Four windows.
One balcony.
Decorative latticework along the eastern wall.
A ventilation opening near the ceiling.
Interesting.
I walked toward the table.
Lunch waited beneath silver covers.
Lamb.
Rice.
Flatbread.
Dates.
Roasted vegetables.
Pomegranate.
A tiny bowl of honey.
I stared at it.
Mother loved honey.
My appetite disappeared.
I covered everything again.
Then I noticed the flowers.
Of course there were flowers.
Someone had arranged white desert lilies beside my bed.
I approached them.
One was wilting.
Without thinking, I touched the stem.
Warmth moved through my fingers.
The flower straightened.
I pulled my hand away.
"No."
The lily remained offensively healthy.
"We are not doing this right now."
Apparently the flower disagreed.
A knock came from the door.
I froze.
Three knocks.
Polite.
Interesting.
Idias didn't strike me as someone who knocked.
"Go away."
The door opened.
I stared at it.
"Why bother knocking?"
Prince Akalen stepped inside.
"I thought it polite."
"It becomes less polite when you ignore the answer."
He stopped.
"Fair."
The door remained open behind him.
Two guards stood outside.
Akalen glanced at them.
"Wait in the corridor."
"Your Highness—"
"Corridor."
They obeyed.
The door closed.
I immediately looked at his waist.
Sword.
He noticed.
Slowly, Akalen removed it.
He placed the weapon on a table near the door.
Then his dagger.
Then another dagger.
I raised an eyebrow.
He hesitated.
Reached beneath his robe.
Pulled out a third knife.
I stared.
"Anything else?"
"No."
"You're certain?"
He thought about it.
Then removed a tiny blade from his boot.
I blinked.
"Royalty seems stressful."
"For several reasons."
Despite myself—
I almost smiled.
Almost.
Akalen noticed.
Thankfully, he had enough survival instinct not to mention it.
He remained near the door.
Didn't approach.
Didn't stare.
Didn't call me sister.
That helped.
For several seconds neither of us spoke.
Then—
"Dama."
My chest tightened.
Just my name.
Not Lady Dama.
Not Princess.
Not bastard.
Not Snow's daughter.
Dama.
I looked at him.
"Yes?"
His throat moved.
"I wanted to say I'm sorry."
My expression hardened.
"For which part?"
He didn't flinch.
Good.
"Your mother."
That hurt.
Immediately.
I turned toward the balcony.
"I didn't know."
"Apparently that's popular in this family."
He accepted that.
"I didn't know you existed."
"Neither did your father."
"That doesn't make it better."
No.
It didn't.
Akalen looked toward the untouched food.
"You should eat."
"Don't."
He stopped.
"Don't what?"
"Tell me what I should do."
"I'm not ordering you."
"It sounded remarkably similar."
He nodded once.
"Then I won't."
That surprised me.
Most men I'd known became offended when corrected.
Akalen simply adjusted.
Dangerous trait.
I might accidentally like him.
Unacceptable.
He looked at my wrists.
The bruises remained dark.
His jaw tightened.
"You were chained."
"Gold chains."
I lifted one wrist.
"Apparently iron would have clashed with the furniture."
His mouth twitched.
Then the humor disappeared.
"My father shouldn't have done that."
"Your father shouldn't have done quite a lot of things."
"I know."
I studied him.
That answer came too quickly.
Not defensive.
Not reluctant.
He knew.
Interesting.
"How much?"
Akalen frowned.
"How much what?"
"How much do you know about him?"
His face changed.
Careful now.
"Enough."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the safest one."
"For whom?"
He didn't respond.
Ah.
There it was.
I leaned against the table.
"You're afraid of him."
Akalen looked toward me.
"I'm cautious around him."
"That's fear wearing expensive clothing."
That earned me a brief laugh.
"You're very determined to insult everything expensive."
"I've had a difficult day."
"Understandable."
Silence settled again.
Not uncomfortable.
Just uncertain.
Then I asked the question that had been bothering me.
"Why did you say my name?"
His eyebrows drew together.
"In the throne room."
Understanding crossed his face.
"When I told you to stop."
"You called me Dama."
"That's your name."
Simple.
As though there were nothing remarkable about it.
Maybe there shouldn't have been.
But there was.
"My father called Mother Snow."
Akalen's expression darkened.
"I know."
"You didn't."
"No."
"Why?"
He stared at me as though the answer were obvious.
"Because her name was Crena."
Something inside me cracked.
Tiny.
Dangerous.
I looked away before he could see it.
"Right."
A moment passed.
Then another.
"Did you know her?"
"No."
"Did your mother?"
"I don't think so."
I nodded.
That should have been reassuring.
Instead, it made everything worse.
Mother had spent nearly twenty years trapped beneath the shadow of a family who hadn't even known she existed beyond one man's obsession.
Akalen spoke carefully.
"I know what my father did to her."
I went still.
"How?"
His face tightened.
"He wasn't particularly careful about what he said after you left."
Of course.
"What did he say?"
"Dama—"
"What did he say?"
Akalen's eyes met mine.
Then dropped.
That told me enough.
"Never mind."
"I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing for him."
He blinked.
"I'm not."
"It sounds like it."
"I'm apologizing because I don't know what else to say."
That—
was unexpectedly honest.
I studied him.
"You don't have to say anything."
"I feel like I should."
"Silence is allowed."
He nodded.
So we stood there.
Quietly.
And for once—
someone didn't try to fix my grief.
I liked him a little more.
Damn it.
Another knock.
Akalen glanced toward the door.
Before either of us answered—
it opened.
I sighed.
"Apparently doors are decorative too."
Queen Keila entered.
Alone.
Akalen straightened.
"Mother."
"Akalen."
Her gaze moved to the weapons piled near the door.
Then to him.
Then to me.
One eyebrow rose.
I pointed toward him.
"His idea."
"I thought it might make her more comfortable."
Keila's mouth twitched.
"Four knives?"
"Apparently."
"You forgot one."
Akalen frowned.
His mother reached toward his collar.
Pulled a narrow blade from beneath it.
I stared.
Akalen stared.
Keila handed it to him.
"You've carried that since you were seventeen."
"I forgot."
"Clearly."
She looked at me.
"My son is occasionally an idiot."
"Mother."
"That seems normal."
"Thank you."
"That wasn't a compliment."
"I know."
Keila smiled.
It changed her entire face.
Not dramatically.
Just enough to reveal the woman underneath the crown.
Then the smile faded.
She approached slowly.
Stopped several feet away.
"I won't stay long."
"Everyone keeps telling me what they're going to do today."
Her gaze softened.
"Then would you prefer I leave?"
I blinked.
That was new.
"You'd actually leave?"
"If you asked."
"Why?"
Confusion crossed her face.
"Because these are your rooms."
I looked around.
"Technically they're your husband's prison."
Keila's eyes hardened.
Not at me.
Interesting.
"I won't argue with that."
Akalen looked toward his mother.
I noticed.
There was history there.
A lot of it.
Keila's gaze returned to me.
"I wanted to see you without him present."
"Why?"
Her answer came immediately.
"Because I wanted you to know I don't blame you."
I frowned.
"For what?"
"Existing."
Oh.
That shut me up.
Keila continued.
"You may hear things."
Her voice remained calm.
"From courtiers. Servants. Nobles who believe cruelty becomes intelligence if they whisper it."
Akalen's expression tightened.
Keila didn't look at him.
"They'll say you're an insult to me."
My stomach twisted.
"That your presence humiliates me."
She took a breath.
"That your mother was my husband's mistress."
"No."
Keila stopped.
"She wasn't."
"I know."
"She didn't choose him."
"I know."
Something in her voice made me stare.
She knew.
Not vaguely.
Not as court gossip.
She understood.
Keila's hazel eyes held mine.
"Crena did nothing to me."
Her voice lowered.
"Idias did."
There.
No jealousy.
No hatred.
No woman blaming another woman for the actions of a man.
Just disgust.
Directed exactly where it belonged.
At him.
I thought about the throne room.
Keila hadn't watched me when Idias spoke about Mother.
She had watched Idias.
When he'd said Mother was finally going to be his—
Keila's expression hadn't been jealousy.
It had been revulsion.
The queen hated him.
Maybe not simply hated.
Feared.
Endured.
Survived.
Suddenly her chopped hair made me wonder.
Her careful movements.
The way Akalen watched his father's moods.
The hidden knives.
The answer formed quietly.
This palace had more prisoners than me.
"I don't want your crown," I said.
Keila blinked.
Akalen looked startled.
"I don't want his name. I don't want Akalen's throne. I don't want money."
"Dama—"
"I want my pendant."
My throat tightened.
"I want Mother's body."
Silence.
"And then I want to leave."
Keila stared at me.
"I can get you Crena's body."
Everything stopped.
"What?"
Akalen looked at his mother.
"Mother."
Keila didn't move.
"Idias ordered her prepared for burial in the royal crypt."
Rage hit so quickly I became dizzy.
"No."
"I assumed you'd say that."
"She hated him."
"I know."
"She would never want—"
"I know."
Keila's voice sharpened just enough to stop me.
Then softened.
"I haven't allowed them to move her."
My breath caught.
"Why?"
"Because she isn't his."
The room went silent.
Mother's words came back.
You were never his.
Keila held my gaze.
"Whatever Idias believes, death does not give him a claim he never possessed in life."
I couldn't speak.
Not safely.
So I nodded.
Once.
Keila understood.
"Where would Crena want to be buried?"
Riedana.
Immediately.
The answer hurt.
"Home."
Keila waited.
"Riedana."
Something flickered across her face.
"Then we'll find a way."
We.
That word was dangerous.
Hope was worse.
I looked between them.
The prince.
The queen.
My half brother.
My father's wife.
Two people I should have wanted nothing to do with.
And somehow—
neither felt like the enemy.
That was inconvenient.
Very inconvenient.
Unfortunately, Idias remained committed to being one.
I learned that before sunset.
A servant arrived carrying a scroll.
Royal seal.
Gold wax.
Naturally.
I considered throwing it from the balcony.
Akalen stopped me.
"You should probably read it."
"Why?"
"So you know what he's planning."
Annoyingly sensible.
I broke the seal.
The parchment smelled faintly of cedar.
I read.
Then read it again.
Then looked at Akalen.
"Is he insane?"
Akalen considered.
"That's a complicated question."
Keila held out her hand.
I passed her the scroll.
She read.
Her face went blank.
Which I was beginning to understand meant she was furious.
"What?" Akalen asked.
She handed it to him.
His eyes moved down the page.
"Oh."
"Yes," I said. "Oh."
Idias intended to formally recognize me as Dama Al-Gonari, daughter of the king.
There would be a ceremony.
New clothing.
Tutors.
Court instruction.
An official position.
And—
eventually—
a marriage.
My marriage.
To someone useful.
Obviously.
I laughed.
Akalen winced.
"Dama—"
"No, this is wonderful."
I took the parchment back.
"I've always wanted to discover who I'll marry through administrative correspondence."
Keila closed her eyes.
"He won't arrange anything immediately."
"Comforting."
"You have time."
That made me look at her.
Time.
Yes.
I did.
And apparently—
time liked me.
Or at least one mysterious man connected to it did.
My fingers moved instinctively toward the place where my pendant should have rested.
Nothing.
Idias had it.
Fine.
One problem at a time.
I looked down at the scroll.
Royal blood.
Riedanan blood.
Healing.
Beauty.
Magic.
Marriage.
Every word translated easily.
Useful.
Mother had been valuable because men desired her.
I was valuable because a king could trade me.
Different room.
Different clothing.
Same cage.
The Golden Veil had used locked doors.
The Golden Palace used titles.
Golden chains were still chains.
I folded the decree.
Very carefully.
Then tore it in half.
Akalen stared.
Keila didn't.
I tore it again.
And again.
Until King Idias's plans became expensive confetti.
"Well," Akalen murmured.
I dropped the pieces.
"I'm leaving tonight."
His head snapped toward me.
"Dama."
"No."
"You don't even know the palace."
"I've been learning."
Keila stared.
"How much?"
"Western balcony has two guards below it, one rotating patrol every six minutes, servant corridor behind the bathing chamber, kitchen deliveries every two hours, garden gate changes guards after evening prayer, and the western wall is lowest near the old aqueduct."
Akalen slowly looked toward his mother.
Keila looked at him.
Then both looked at me.
"What?"
Akalen blinked.
"You've been here approximately four hours."
"I was busy."
Keila smiled.
Actually smiled.
"Your mother raised you well."
The grief came again.
Fast.
Sharp.
I swallowed it.
"Yes."
She did.
And I was going to survive long enough to prove it.
The palace physician kept sleeping poppy in the third cabinet.
That was insulting.
Not the sleeping poppy.
The lock.
Three pins.
Poorly maintained.
Mother had taught me herbs.
Vesra had taught me locks.
An unusual education.
Remarkably practical.
Click.
The cabinet opened.
"Embarrassing."
I took only what I needed.
Sleeping poppy.
Dreamleaf.
Dried lavender.
A little resin from the smokevine.
Nothing lethal.
I wasn't murdering some exhausted guard because his employment options were unfortunate.
I mixed everything in the physician's empty preparation room.
Crushed.
Measured.
Combined.
Too much poppy could stop breathing.
Too much smokevine caused vomiting.
Dreamleaf amplified both.
Balance mattered.
Interesting word lately.
I prepared two things.
Incense.
And tea.
The tea went to the guard stationed nearest my rooms.
Not directly.
That would be stupid.
I left it where the kitchen servant collecting trays would mistake it for the evening refreshment.
Seven minutes later—
the guard drank it.
Nine minutes after that—
he sat down.
Two minutes later—
he was asleep.
"Sorry."
I took his keys.
The second guard was harder.
Incense.
I lit it inside my room and began complaining loudly that something smelled wrong.
He opened the door.
"What's burning?"
"Apparently your future."
He frowned.
Then inhaled.
His eyes narrowed.
"What—"
He hit the carpet.
I caught his head before it struck the floor.
"Very sorry."
I dragged him inside.
Heavy bastard.
I exchanged my cream-and-gold dress for a servant's robe I'd stolen from the laundry.
Then looked at my hair.
Problem.
Platinum-white hair wasn't exactly inconspicuous.
I considered cutting it.
My hand froze around the knife.
Mother loved my hair.
No.
Not today.
I twisted it tightly against my head and covered everything with a brown servant's scarf.
Good enough.
I entered the corridor.
Walk.
Don't run.
People notice running.
Servants notice confidence less than fear.
So I carried an empty basket and walked like I belonged there.
Down one staircase.
Left.
Past kitchens.
Right.
Courtyard.
Servant corridor.
Prayer bells began ringing.
Perfect.
Guard change.
I slipped through the western garden.
Plants surrounded me.
Ntruba saplings.
Aloe.
Desert roses.
Medicinal sage.
Mint.
Jasmine.
A vine reached toward my sleeve.
I glared at it.
"Not now."
It retreated.
I stopped.
"...Thank you."
Apparently I was negotiating with vegetation.
Excellent.
Mother would have found this hilarious.
I reached the old aqueduct.
Climbed.
Nearly fell.
Swore.
Climbed again.
Dropped onto the other side.
And ran.
The temple found me before the harbor did.
Or perhaps I found it.
I'm still not sure.
I turned down an alley to avoid royal soldiers—
and there it was.
Small.
Ancient.
Built from pale sandstone rather than gold.
No guards.
No jeweled doors.
Just an arch covered in vines.
I entered.
Cool air touched my face.
The noise of Gonaro disappeared.
My steps slowed.
Something about the place felt—
familiar.
Impossible.
I'd never been here.
Plants grew around a circular altar.
Medicinal herbs.
Some I recognized.
Some I didn't.
A shallow basin occupied the center.
Clear water.
Above it was carved an ancient symbol.
A circle divided into two halves.
One flowering.
One bare.
Growth.
Decay.
Life.
Death.
Balance.
My breath caught.
Warmth moved beneath my skin.
Every plant around the altar turned toward me.
Not dramatically.
Slowly.
Leaves shifting.
Flowers opening.
Stems bending.
Toward me.
"Oh, come on."
A voice came from behind me.
"Interesting."
I spun.
An elderly woman stood beneath an archway.
Black robes.
Silver embroidery.
A priestess.
Her eyes moved over me.
Then stopped on mine.
All humor disappeared from her face.
"Those eyes."
Wonderful.
"Please don't."
She stepped closer.
"Who was your mother?"
"I really don't have time."
"Child—"
"I need clothes."
That stopped her.
I pointed toward her robes.
"Preferably something like those."
She stared.
"You entered a sacred temple to steal priestly garments?"
"When you say it like that, it sounds disrespectful."
"It is disrespectful."
"Then I'm borrowing them."
Her mouth opened.
Soldiers shouted outside.
We both froze.
The priestess looked toward the entrance.
Then at me.
Understanding crossed her face.
"Royal guard?"
"Unfortunately."
She studied me once more.
My eyes.
My hidden hair.
The plants still leaning toward me.
Something changed in her expression.
Decision.
"This way."
I blinked.
"What?"
"Unless you'd prefer to explain yourself to them."
I followed.
Immediately.
She led me into a small chamber and shoved folded clothing into my arms.
Black layered robes.
Loose trousers beneath.
A long tunic.
A wide sash.
An outer cloak with a deep hood.
Silver thread decorated the cuffs in patterns of stars, flowering branches, falling leaves, and circles endlessly folding into one another.
"Change."
"You're helping me?"
"Change."
Fair.
Minutes later, I stared into a polished bronze mirror.
Black robes.
Silver embroidery.
Hood.
Veil.
Only my eyes remained clearly visible.
Priestess.
I stared.
Mother would have laughed herself unconscious.
Can priestesses poison people?
Apparently—
we were about to find out.
The old woman stepped behind me.
Our eyes met through the mirror.
"Those robes belong to the Order of the Living Measure."
My blood went cold.
"What?"
She looked at the plants.
Then at me.
"Nothing."
That was absolutely not nothing.
But soldiers shouted again.
No time.
I tightened the veil.
"I'll return these."
The priestess smiled strangely.
"I think perhaps they have already returned."
I stared.
"What does that mean?"
"Go."
Why did every older woman in my life insist on speaking in riddles?
I ran.
By the time I reached Gonaro's harbor, the sun was touching the horizon.
And the royal guard had beaten me there.
Naturally.
Soldiers searched wagons.
Ships.
Travelers.
One guard pulled back women's veils.
Another inspected cargo.
Wonderful.
I moved through the crowd with my head lowered.
Priestesses apparently received considerable respect.
People moved aside.
Nobody questioned me.
I reached the docks.
Needed a ship.
Any ship.
One was already preparing to depart.
Large.
Three masts.
Dark hull.
Cargo being hauled aboard.
Sailors shouting.
No royal guards nearby.
Perfect.
I walked aboard as though divine authority had personally invited me.
Nobody stopped me.
Even better.
I slipped below deck.
Found stacked crates.
Crawled behind them.
And finally—
finally—
sat down.
My entire body shook.
I pressed both hands against my face.
Mother was dead.
That truth remained.
Nothing about escaping changed it.
I had no money.
No pendant.
No idea where the ship was going.
No idea how to reach Riedana.
No idea who my Qarin was.
No idea whether Nayira still lived.
But—
I was free.
Again.
The ship moved.
I felt it.
Wood groaned.
Water shifted against the hull.
Gonaro began falling behind.
A laugh escaped me.
Small.
Broken.
But real.
"I escaped."
"You know, most passengers pay."
My eyes opened.
Slowly.
A woman stood on the other side of the cargo hold.
Sword at her hip.
Boots.
Dark trousers.
Weathered coat.
Several knives.
Very amused expression.
I stared at her.
She stared at me.
I looked around.
Crates.
Barrels.
Weapons.
A suspicious number of weapons.
Then back at her.
"This isn't a merchant ship."
"Very observant."
My stomach sank.
"You're pirates."
Her eyebrow rose.
"Less observant. The flag was something of a clue."
I hadn't looked at the flag.
Obviously.
My fingers slipped toward the satchel hidden beneath my robes.
The woman looked down.
"If you're reaching for poison, I'd recommend the blue bottle."
My hand stopped.
She smiled.
"The green one won't work on me."
What.
Slowly—
I withdrew my hand.
"How did you know?"
"You smell like dreamleaf, smokevine, lavender, fear, palace incense, and approximately three separate poisons."
I stared.
She sniffed.
"Possibly four."
"That's unsettling."
"I get that often."
Her gaze moved upward.
To my eyes.
The amusement vanished.
Completely.
She stepped closer.
I reached for the blue bottle.
She stopped.
"Silver."
"What?"
"Your eyes."
I didn't answer.
Then her attention dropped.
Something had slipped free from beneath my borrowed robes.
Not the pendant.
Gone.
A sprig of temple herb I'd shoved into my satchel without realizing it.
The little green stem had bent outward.
Toward her.
Pir stared at it.
Then at me.
"Well."
I was exhausted.
"What?"
"Today just became considerably more interesting."
"No."
She blinked.
"No?"
"No more interesting."
I stood.
"I have had enough interesting for one day."
Her mouth twitched.
"If you're planning to sell me, kill me, ransom me, marry me to someone, or explain another ancient secret my mother neglected to mention, please form an orderly queue."
For one second—
silence.
Then the woman burst out laughing.
Not polite laughter.
Actual laughter.
She bent slightly, one hand braced against a crate.
I waited.
Eventually she recovered.
"None of those."
"Wonderful."
"Though I'm definitely explaining an ancient secret."
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Of course she was.
"Why wouldn't you be?"
She leaned casually against the mast support.
"Captain Pir."
She extended her hand.
I looked at it.
Then her.
Then the hand.
"No."
Pir lowered it.
"Trust issues?"
"My mother died this morning."
Her smile disappeared.
"I escaped a brothel, discovered my grandmother was a mythical immortal creature, learned I apparently have a magical soulmate, watched my mother get shot, met my murderous father, discovered I'm a princess, got imprisoned, escaped a palace, robbed a temple, and accidentally boarded a pirate ship."
Pir stared at me.
I inhaled.
"So yes."
I folded my arms.
"I've developed a few."
"Fair."
That single word softened something.
Barely.
Pir looked at me again.
Really looked.
My silver eyes.
The herb.
The priestess robes.
Something she could apparently smell in my blood.
Then she smiled.
"It's good to meet another Jinnblood."
I froze.
Another.
Not a Jinnblood.
Another.
"Another?"
Pir's grin returned.
"Oh, sweetheart."
My entire body went rigid.
"No."
Her smile vanished.
"Bad word?"
"Extremely."
"Noted."
Immediate.
No argument.
Interesting.
Pir pushed away from the mast.
"You don't know much, do you?"
"I learned Jinn exist approximately six hours ago."
Her eyebrows climbed.
"Oh."
"Yes."
"Oh."
"Everyone keeps saying that."
She walked toward the stairs.
Then looked back.
"Come on."
"Where?"
"Deck."
"Why?"
"Because if we're discussing the secret magical civilization your blood comes from, we may as well have fresh air."
I didn't move.
"Where is this ship going?"
Pir smiled.
"Riedana."
My heart stopped.
"What?"
"Riedana."
Mother's homeland.
Nayira.
Answers.
Home.
Pir watched my face carefully.
"Judging by that expression, I'm guessing that's useful."
I swallowed.
"Very."
"Then come."
I followed her upstairs.
The evening air struck me.
Salt.
Wind.
Freedom.
Behind us—
Gonaro burned gold beneath the setting sun.
The domes of the Golden Palace remained visible high above the city.
Beautiful.
Distant.
I touched the empty place at my throat.
Mother should have been beside me.
The pain came again.
I let it.
Just for a moment.
Then I looked forward.
Nothing but ocean.
Darkening blue.
Endless.
Somewhere beyond that horizon waited Riedana.
My grandmother's history.
The Jinn.
My blood.
And perhaps—
the man from my dreams.
Pir came to stand beside me.
She didn't touch me.
I appreciated that.
"You and I," she said, "have quite a lot to talk about."
I sighed.
"Naturally."
Far beyond Uniyani—
beyond mortal seas,
beyond the boundaries human maps had forgotten,
beyond the veil separating one world from another—
stood Klysium.
And somewhere within it—
a clock stopped.
Not slowed.
Not broke.
Stopped.
One tick remained suspended between moments.
Then another.
Then—
silence.
A man lifted his head.
For twenty years, he had felt her only faintly.
A presence without a place.
A soul beyond his reach.
Then her blood awakened.
For the first time—
the bond pulled in a direction.
Toward the mortal world.
Toward the sea.
Toward her.
Kasa opened his eyes.
And smiled.
"I found you."