If it were any other dream, they would support her. But they would never support this.
After she got in, after she hopefully became a drake pilot, maybe they would see her accomplishments and come around. But when it was just an idea, just a flame of aspiration she kept close to her heart, it was too easy for someone to blow out.
“I’ll tell them,” she mumbled to Reeve. “Not at dinner, but—after the queen leaves tonight. I’ll tell them.” Then she raised her voice, finding a smile for her friends. “And thanks, everyone. But we’reallgoing to get in. Maybe the gods will smile down on us, and the three next pilots of Valor are sitting right here, right now.”
Elara ignored the heavy gaze she could feel on the side of her face. Because if she looked at Reeve, she would have to acknowledge that she was lying to both of them.
CHAPTER THREE
FARON
THE ONLY LIEFARON HATED HAVING TO TELL WAS WHEN SHE PRETENDEDthe queen wasn’t the absolute worst.
Dinner had been served. Usually, her parents would wait for the whole family to be home before even setting the table, but not whenshewas here. When Aveline Renard Castell, the gods-blessed ruler of the island nation of San Irie, arrived in Deadegg to visit the Vincent family, they brought out the good plates and their best manners. Which was annoying, because she was, well, theabsolute worst.
And yet Faron was the only one who seemed to know that.
Four members of the Queenshield stood at ease in crisp, navy uniforms behind the chair where Aveline perched like a snake in a ball gown. Her deep blue quadrille dress was decorated with an off-the-shoulder lace bodice, complimenting her light brown skin, and her indigo head wrap sparkled with tiny stars that merged into the gold diadem that crowned her temples. At twenty-two, Aveline had gained some of the grace and sophistication she’d been lacking when Faron had met her six years ago, but all the poise in the world couldn’t undo everything that had happened since then.
“Dinner is wonderful, Mrs. Vincent,” said Aveline with a winsome smile. “I love salted cod.”
Salted codinstead of saltfish. It was small and petty of her, but Faronhatedthe pretentious way that Aveline had started talking since she’d ascended the throne. The girl she’d met years ago had spoken the almost incomprehensible dialect of patois that was common in the countryside and had known curses that would make even the rudest soldier stare at her in awe. She’d been a hero to Faron, almost like another sister.
Now she was this: formal and official, so snobby that it was as if she constructed her sentences to send the implicit message of being better than everyone around her.
Faron stuffed a huge piece of curry goat into her mouth to keep herself quiet.
“For the hundredth time, Your Majesty, please call me Nida.”
It was all Faron could do not to snort. As if nicknames and familiarity weren’t off the table for the queen, too.
“It would hardly be proper,” Aveline confirmed a moment later. “But I appreciate the offer.”
Faron’s mother smiled—only slightly frayed at the edges. Mama was forever torn between her maternal fondness for Aveline and her resignation that Aveline’s appearances rarely meant anything good for them. She’d made a pot of steaming curry goat and fluffy white rice. On the side was ackee and saltfish, blended together into a buttery, peppery, savory stew. The adults, Aveline included, were having light beer; Faron had been given pineapple juice, which she used to wash down her bitterness.
It didn’t work.
“All right,” Faron said once her mouth was clear, “you didn’t come here for dinner. Let’s be honest with each other, shall we?”
Aveline’s smile dropped like an anchor through the ocean. Her eyes were barren of warmth as they met Faron’s over the table. “It would not kill you to have even a modicum of respect for your elders, Empyrean.”
“And when have my elders ever respected me?”
“You think I don’trespectyou?” Aveline reined in her brief flash of human emotion. When she spoke again, her tone was smoothed of all edges. “Of course I respect you.”
“Youuseme.”
The queen laughed, and it was a cold sound. “You, of all people, donotget to accuse me of that.”
Faron opened her mouth to argue but thought better of it. They’d been having the same disagreements for years, and she could see everyone else in the kitchen shifting awkwardly as they prepared to have it out again.
“Just,” she said wearily, “tell me why you came, and get it over with.”
Not even a flicker of remorse passed through Aveline’s hard black eyes—but Faron hadn’t expected any. Their stories were parallel legends of too-large burdens placed on too-young shoulders, and Faron knew Aveline’s myth as well as she knew her own. Queen Aveline Renard Castell had been raised on a farm under the name Ava Stone, unaware that she was the heir to the throne, unaware that the people she thought were her parents were Queenshield soldiers, unaware that her life was a lie meant to protect her from a war that seemed endless. After the queens had been murdered by dragons in one of the lowest points of the revolution, the godshad sent Faron to retrieve Aveline, for San Irie could not win their freedom without the rightful heir to reclaim the throne.
But myths were lies by nature, transforming humans into symbols. The books didn’t mention the way Aveline’s cold expression had only grown colder when Faron had told her that it was the will of the gods that Aveline be crowned in Port Sol. That the Renard Castell bloodline continue its unbroken reign. That Aveline lead a shattered country through an unprecedented war at only sixteen.
They’d spent a year together, a year during which Faron had looked to the child queen for any guidance the gods could not provide. A year of defeats and victories, of fights and fire-forged bonds, of mistakes and machinations. And once the war had been won and Aveline had been crowned, Faron had gotten to go home to Deadegg. Her nightmare had ended, but Queen Aveline’s had just begun.
