Which is why Nessa’s words resonate so strongly in me.
“It’s a weapon we have, and we need all the weapons we can get.”
I was right. Nessa did see the missing piece—the magic has done a lot of good. I’ve pushed it away for so long, feared it for so long, but . . . maybe it can help me, even in its unpredictable state. It’s still magic; it’s still power.
I have to at least try.
My gown pulls taut over my knees as I kneel on the bed. The Lustrate’s key still sits on the quilt, silent and dark, and as I stare at it, everything I know about conduit magic rolls through my mind. How it came into me after Hannah died and Angra broke the locket. How it lay dormant inside of me until I knew it was there, a passive magic founded in choice. And back before that, how Hannah grewso desperate that she surrendered herself to it so she could learn how to save Winter.
I frown.
She asked the magic how to save Winter. And this magic is about choice—shechoseto ask about Winter.
A ready heart,the key-magic had said. Readiness is a type of choice, being prepared and accepting of things to come—is this what it wanted me to see?
Because . . . what if Hannah hadn’t asked how to save Winter? What if she had chosen to ask how to stop Angra, or the war, or how to defeat the Decay? Would she have gotten a different response?
What do I need to be ready to ask?
I lean back into the pillows, my chakram pressing against my spine. The hazy vacancy of sleep ebbs over me, the events of the past few weeks unwinding in this one night of release. But I push past it, reaching out to the magic. A soft, careful touch, the beginnings of a bridge between it and me, and across that bridge I send a single thought.
What is the right question?
My chest grows cold, the magic responding with gentle fingers of ice that spread through my body like growing designs of frost on a window. When it speaks, it’s not like Hannah’s voice, not clear words that ring in my head. It’s like the key-magic, my own emotions, waves of conviction that fill me with knowledge as if it had been there all along. I’m left with a heavy, persistent thought that rocks me into sleep.
When I’m ready to ask it, I’ll know.
Henn leaves for Winter the next morning. And, much to my relief, I find I don’t need to prepare to sign Theron’s treaty—because Giselle refuses to sign it “until another Rhythm does.” She says this without acknowledging that Cordell has signed and orchestrated it, and the blatant rift this puts between Yakim and Cordell makes our stay more than a little uncomfortable.
Without needing prodding from anyone, Theron agrees to head for Ventralli after only a few days in Putnam.
I know he hopes to get the Ventrallan king to sign the treaty and thereby sway Yakim—he still clings to his vision of peace. But as we leave Langlais Castle, our caravan banding together in another haphazard cluster of soldiers and people from three different kingdoms, I watch him from my group of Winterians. We haven’t interacted with each other beyond the necessary planning for travel, and even now, we both stay firmly with our groups.
Theron feels my eyes on him and turns. Even from as far away as he is, the air still feels tight and uncomfortable between us, emotions knotted up, words left unsaid.
Dendera swings up onto her horse beside me. When she and Henn finally admitted to their feelings, it seemed like the easiest thing in the world. One minute theyweren’tand the next minute theywere, and it was so right and so true that nobody batted an eye. Even now, seeing just Dendera,it feels like I’m only seeing half of her. Like her other part barrels fast for Winter.
It should be that easy. I want it to be that easy. I want to look at someone and know that every need and wish and desire I have matches his, not that my every need and wish and desire clashes with his. Unificationshouldbe the overall theme of a relationship.
So even though Theron watches me still, I turn to Nessa for something else to do, somewhere to look other than him.
After a few seconds, I feel him turn away.
Rintiero, Ventralli’s capital, sits hardly more than half a day’s journey north. Everything Sir taught me about Ventralli revolves around their love of art—color and life and beauty, art echoed through pain and imperfection. Their male-blooded conduit, a silver crown, belongs to their current king, Jesse Donati, a man in his early twenties. His wife, Raelyn, bore him three children—two girls and one boy, all under the age of three, which means they either really wanted children or a male heir as quickly as possible. Most likely the latter.
Ventralli’s affinity for beauty is clear when we reach Rintiero at sunset. Whoever designed this city built it to complement the setting sun as perfectly as the stars complement the night. We crest a series of hills that make up the Yakim-Ventralli border and guide us down into theRintiero Valley, giving an aerial view of a city that is more akin to a multifaceted jewel.
Rintiero curves in a crescent of spindly rocks and straight lines of docks that jut into the Langstone River, all of it capped with the deep, heavy blue of a sky about to sink into sleep. A chill blankets the air, the cold of a proper spring night. A soft, golden glow lights the streets—sconces probably, or streetlamps, but nothing like the violent flames of Summer’s bonfires or the steady light of Yakim’s lamps.
Four- and five-story buildings lean against one another or cling to cliff faces, all in the most vibrant colors I’ve ever seen. Teals stolen from the Langstone itself; the vibrant magenta of a court lady’s blush powder; creamy peach tones that would make any orchard owner weep. Interspersed among in the buildings are Ventralli’s guilds, at least a dozen domes made of glass, thick panes that reflect the unmatched beauty of the night sky.
The buildings flicker and pulse in the lights like they’re taking deep, calming breaths, and as we draw nearer to the city, I do the same. This kingdom instantly feels calmer than any of the others we’ve visited. The road isn’t clogged with peasants on their way home from work, the small outlaying villages aren’t dirty or rotten or poor. Everything is as it needs to be—whole, pretty, valued.
That must have been why Noam allied himself with Ventralli when he married Theron’s mother. It would appear that Cordell and Yakim have more in common with theirsimilar love for efficiency, but I’ve been in Ventralli for less than an hour and I canfeelCordell here.
We move through the winding streets of Rintiero and pass into a lush forest that wraps around the palace like a living wall. The complex itself is just as sleepy and calming as the city, and stable hands take our horses before servants lead us to rooms inside the palace. The rest of the crates from the Klaryns get locked away, a burden on our trip now that I know how useless they’ll be, but everyone seems to have absorbed the relaxation of Rintiero. Without a second thought, we all crawl into our various beds and drift off under reflections of stars.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
