But none of the refugees could be convinced to call her “my lady.”
Seraphina’s smile softened. “There is nothing to forgive. It is good to see the children play.” Her gaze skimmed across the hall, her heart constricting at the sight of so many youths. Her ancestors had been concerned with one thing and one alone—conquest. Power.
The Dawnspire’s stark halls were ill-suited for raising children.
Her smile turned rueful. “I only wish we had more things for them to play with.”
The woman chanced a glance upward, her eyes meeting hers for just a moment before she lowered her gaze once more. “We are grateful to be here, Your Majesty. And gratefulfor what we have. Thank you. My name is Zahra. My husband was a physician in Mysai. I…I know a little myself. If there is any use for me…”
“There is,” Seraphina reassured her quickly, grateful for a problem that was easy to solve. “Lady Reyla and Dame Florence are still preparing the infirmary so we can better care for our elderly and sick. I know they would be glad for another set of hands. Tell them I sent you.”
Zahra bowed again, clutching Khalid to her side, and hurried off.
Seraphina watched them go, unable to stop herself from wondering if Zahra’s husband had died years ago or if he had been left behind during the evacuation. Because there weren’t enough ships. Because there had been no way for her to evacuate them all.
The ache in her chest returned unbidden—the ache that expanded until it made it hard to breathe. If only she had known about Edmund’s alliance with Arath sooner. If only Aldric had told her about the blasted witchblade…
“Sera?” Duke Percival asked, his hand catching her arm. “Is all well?”
“Yes,” she lied, the word but a breath on her lips. “I just need a moment.”
Without daring to glance her godfather’s way, she turned away from the crowded hall and hurried down a side passage toward a small alcove that housed a large, iron-latticed window overlooking the drop.
She pressed her forehead against the cool, frosted glass, trying to ground herself. Below, the world fell away into a dizzying abyss ofmist and wind. Somewhere, far below, was the upper bailey, then the lower bailey, and then the river Frostrun connecting the Spire to the Stygian Sea to the west.
Somewhere, miles east, was Goldreach. Olivia. Tristan. Father Perero.
Treacherous Tiberius.
And somewhere, in the silence of her own heart, was the gaping hole where her Crow should be. She wanted to scream at him, to force him to look these widows in their faces and tell them why their husbands were not here.
But she also just wanted him. His advice. His stalwart presence at her side.
Did that…make her heartless? That she still wanted the man who had condemned Mysai?
Her hand fell to her left wrist, to where his dagger still lay, hidden beneath her sleeve. The metal was cold against her skin, a physical reminder of the man she had lost. Was that single blade all that was left of Aldric Hargrave?
Alyx shifted on her shoulders, letting out an excited chirp.
Seraphina sniffed once and glanced down at her usuru, studying the way the serpent stared at the frosted glass with bright eyes, as if tracking something through the mist. “What is it, girl?”
Then she heard it—a screech. High, piercing, and utterly familiar.
Her heart stopped.
She pressed her face to the glass, squinting against the glare of the sun off the snow-capped peaks. There. A speck of black against thewhite, growing larger by the moment. Black scales. Black wings. She would know that usuru anywhere.
“Soot,” she breathed.
Her gloved fingers fumbled at the latch of the window. The rusted iron groaned in protest before finally swinging open, letting in a blast of freezing air that whipped her loose hair back from her face.
“Soot!” she cried out, heedless of who might hear.
The black usuru folded his wings and shot through the opening, tumbling onto the stone floor in a flurry of scales and frantic chirps. Alyx unwound from her neck to drop down beside him.
Seraphina fell to her knees, her hands shaking. The serpent bore no harness, no scroll case. No message. “Soot,” she whispered, trying to scoop the usuru up into her arms. He must have been freezing. “Where is he? Where is he?”
Hope flared in her chest, tangled up with dread. What did this mean? That Aldric was truly dead? Or could it mean that he was…here?
