Less than a dozen people knew that Princess Emilia Torvaine of Rellmira had ceased to exist. After the Pravaran rebellion—so named for the province it sparked from—was decimated, my father had kept us from the public eye for fear of retribution. But five years later, my mother was assassinated on one of her rare trips to the Temple.
Heartbroken and furious that the assassin escaped, I’d decided that nothing was more important than protecting my family. Even if that meant giving up my crown, my position in line to the throne, and my name—as ordered by Father.
He’d hated the idea at first, but Renwell had convinced him it was where my talents truly thrived. Father insisted on keeping up the façade of my presence, effectively earning me the reputation of a recluse.
Which suited me fine... except I missed Everett and Delysia. I rarely spoke with them anymore. I wasn’t even sure if they would be awake at this hour or if they’d welcome me.
But I needed to try.
I passed by the double glass doors that led to my mother’s garden and stopped. When I closed my eyes, I could almost see her bright smile, her hand tugging mine out to the garden.Come look, sweetheart, I finally managed to grow a sunset lullaby lily! It’s almost as beautiful as you!
The memory faded as I stared at the dark, dead garden. Her bones lay somewhere beneath the untended soil. One of the fewwishes Father had granted her—to be buried in the place she loved best.
I pressed my hand to the cold glass. “May the gods find and keep your soul, Mother. May you never wander in the Longest Night. May my soul find yours again... one day.”
My throat tightened in the silence, but this wasn’t the time to fall apart. I swallowed hard and kept walking.
I checked the library first, smiling when I found my older brother surrounded by stacks of books and scrolls, his own messily penned notes scattered like pale leaves. A few candles lit the desk where he worked.
The palace library was modest compared to the great library in the Temple. But Father forbade us from going to the Temple after Mother died. So now, Everett did his best to add to the shelves with his own knowledge and a few smuggled books.
I slipped between the dark, looming shelves until I stood right behind him—Everett as oblivious as ever when nose-deep in a book.
“Merry Mynastra’s Tide, brother,” I whispered.
Everett leapt out of his chair as if it’d stabbed him. “Holy Four!” He twisted to face me. “Oh, I—I didn’t hear you come in.”
I smiled. “Of course not. You have so many books and papers around you that it deadened the sound of my footsteps.”
He gave a weary chuckle and raked a hand through his dark hair, which already stood on end. His fancy gold jacket was tossed over a chair, and his shirt was unbuttoned with a few splotches of ink on it.
“Did you come here just to frighten me?” he asked, a sad smile on his face.
Gods, I wanted to tell him about tonight. What I had done and what I was about to do. I wanted to ease my burden just a little by letting him in. To share secrets and worries as we once did. I had few friends before giving up my crown and none now.
But obeying Renwell mattered more than a fleeting comfort.
“Of course not,” I said lightly. “I came here to ask you a serious question.”
He leaned back against the desk and folded his arms. “Go on.”
“Do we throw bones into the water because that was Mynastra’s favorite thing to eat or because she honed them into weapons or?—”
Everett laughed. “You know the story.”
“But you tell it so well! Remind me,” I pleaded, my hands clasped in front of me—just as I had when we were young, and I would beg him to read to me. Stories always seemed to come more alive in his voice.
“Fine, fine. But you get the short version.” He breathed deeply. “Centuries ago, in the Age of Gods, the goddess Mynastra lived in the sea and the storms. One day, far out in the Niviath Sea, a ship carrying one hundred souls sailed into a massive storm. For days, their ship was tossed about on waves taller than palaces and chased by lightning that cracked the air like a thousand whips. The sailors begged Mynastra to save them, to calm the storm, but Mynastra was angry. She loved her storms and none of the sailors had given her a single thought before death started to take them.
“One of the sailors offered her recompense by way of the bones from his meal, saying, ‘You have given sustenance and a way of life. Take the bones of what is yours and let us keep our souls.’ Pleased with this, Mynastra accepted the bones and fashioned a belt from them, similar to the one she wore. She gave it back to the sailor, saying, ‘Wear it always. When you cry out to me, I will see you as one of my own and look kindly on you.’ Then the storm ceased, and forevermore, we offer bones to the goddess for her mercy.”
I smiled and clapped softly, despite the lump in my throat. “Excellent story, Ev.”
He dipped his head in acknowledgement, but the light faded from his blue eyes. “What are you really doing here, Kiera?”
I winced.
My mother and siblings had always called me Kiera—the name my mother confessed she wanted to give me, but my father overruled her with the name of his cruel mother.
