“I’m sure I can find a chakram here somewhere.” I grin.
“Aknife,” she corrects, waving her arms. “Fine. You don’t listen to me, anyway. A chakram, a knife, a broadsword—snow above, why don’t you just go in full body armor?”
I laugh and the softest smile rises to her lips. If it were at all possible to capture a moment, tuck it safely away in my empty locket, I know that the magic it would emit would be far, far stronger than anything from that chasm.
After helping me out of the gown, Dendera leaves me to dress myself. I change quickly, pausing with my hand over the knife she set out for me, something borrowed from Henn.
The queen of Winter, armed. But if Dendera, master of all things proper, thinks it’s all right for me to take a weapon, just a small one, maybe . . .
I grab the dagger. It settles in my palm, a metallic weight that pulls up memories of an even deadlier weapon. As I slide it into my sleeve, I realize I missed an opening to askDendera where my chakram is. But if it’s still back in Winter, it can’t help me now.
Regardless, I have a weapon and I’m wearing my old clothes for the first time in months.
As I near the bedroom door, I can’t help but breathe easier. Suddenly Summer seems a bit less suffocating.
Without much prodding, Dendera and Nessa agree to remain in their room. I would have been happy to have them with me, but Conall and Garrigan look stressed enough at the thought of having to guard me in this kingdom, let alone Nessa too—she’ll be far safer in the room than parading around with us. So Dendera stays behind to keep watch over her while Henn, Conall, and Garrigan gather in the hall with me.
A few Cordellan soldiers stand at attention outside a room just down from ours, guarding the spoils of the Klaryns locked within. The door to the room next to it opens and Theron eases out, eyes closed, fingers digging small circles into his temples.
“Tell me you didn’t try any of Summer’s wine last night,” I say, and he winces up at me but manages a weak grin.
“They didn’t leave a bottle in your room too?” His grin broadens and he wipes a hand down his face. “I just didn’t sleep well. Thinking too much, I suppose.”
I almost ask him what he thought about, but I know. The treaty. Meeting Simon. Finding the keys. Everythingthat loops through my mind too.
Theron blinks through the strain as his eyes glide over my wardrobe. “Good,” he exhales.
I snort. “Thanks. That’s what every girl wants to hear.”
He shakes his head, shrugging toward the rest of the palace and somewhere in it, King Simon. The cacophony that greeted us last night has ebbed now, the halls empty of music or laughter or drumbeats. The quiet seems uncomfortable in this kingdom, more a pained, flinching silence than a relaxed, still silence.
“No,” Theron amends. “I just meant that no event in this kingdom will be . . . normal. Gowns aren’t the best idea.”
Henn’s pale eyes flash in the firelight from a basin not far away. “He means Summer has the same appreciation for personal boundaries that General Herod Montego did.”
I lurch back, blinking at Henn as he leans casually on the wall like he said nothing of great importance. His focus flicks around, surveying everything, and I realize hedidn’tsay anything of great importance—he’s just giving me the facts of our situation, simple and straightforward. But the name of Angra’s general leaves an itch on my skin, and I shiver.
Theron nods toward the room his men guard. “It’s also probably best if we don’t parade our goods around the kingdom. Unless you feel Summer will make a worthy ally for Winter.”
I bend closer. “And what of our other reason for being here?”
But Ceridwen appears at the end of the hall before he can respond, dressed so differently from the raider we met last night that I almost mistake her for one of Summer’s court ladies. Orange fabric wraps around her legs, twisting and folding up her torso to loop around her neck in two pleats. A leather corset hugs her stomach, matching the sandals that lace up to her knees.
She stops beside me, annoyance radiating off her before she even speaks. “My brother took his party outside the palace last night, and he has asked that you meet him in the city.”
Theron straightens. “Of course. Thank you, Princess,” he adds, stretching for formality through her apparent indifference. Well, not indifference, but . . . displeasure.
Ceridwen’s scowl hardens. “Come on. Carriages are waiting.”
Theron raises an eyebrow at Ceridwen’s tone, but she strides away without waiting for us to respond. The rest of us—Conall, Garrigan, Henn, Theron, a handful of Cordellan guards, and I—hurry after her, having to keep a near-jogging pace to follow. She leads us down fire-lit halls, the orange glow making the sandy walls of the palace warm and closed in. We rush down two sets of stairs and take three lefts before Ceridwen comes to a halt.
Luscious pink hibiscus flowers sit in vases on tables along the walls, leading to a wide archway that reveals the courtyard outside. The light of day shows a few of scraggly trees placed in strategic rows, stable hands running about, dust puffing up in clouds of orange. And beyond the wall, Juli rises, its buildings as dusty and sandy as the palace complex.
Ceridwen turns to us just inside the archway. “Prince Theron, if you will give me a moment with Queen Meira, I would like to congratulate her on reclaiming her kingdom. You will find the carriages awaiting you just beyond.”
Theron’s eyebrows pinch as he turns to me, putting his hand on my hip, but I squeeze his arm. I have reason to talk to Ceridwen too—and alone might be best. “I won’t be long.” I include Henn, Conall, and Garrigan. “I’ll be all right for a few moments.”
They seem unconvinced, but Henn’s attention flickers from me to the otherwise empty hall. “We’ll be just outside,” he tells me. Conall and Garrigan follow him and after a pause, Theron trails them with his own guards.
