QUINN
Morning tasted of pine smoke and the last of Shubre’s honeycakes. Dew misted blankets, boots, and even Branrir’s eyebrows. Mav’s warmth at my back stayed the early chill as we rode. The trail widened into something less wild, more worn—scored by carts and royal patrols.
“Have you ever been to the capital?” I asked.
Mav sighed. “No. I haven’t had much of a reason. Unless you were assigned to the castle regiment, the knights stayed in Verdelune until we were called on assignment.”
I angled my head enough to catch him from the corner of my eye. “You will hate it.”
“That bad?”
“It is not bad,” I said after a beat. “It is…polished. Everyone pretending they are not pretending.”
A pause. “You’re right. I’ll probably hate it.”
The forest exhaled at last, releasing us into light. One moment: sun-dappled pines; the next, we were confronted by it.
Aurillion.
The capital rose as a monument. Pale stone walls climbedimpossibly high. Lions flanked the entrance, manes like flame, eyes of polished amethyst. Above them, pennants snapped—royal purple, the golden lion encircled by twin laurels. The guards matched their city. A dozen stood at attention, gold armor polished to impractical brightness.
We slowed. Mav’s arms tightened around me. Thistle waited with Vesper draped about her shoulders like a living stole. Branrir rode a pace behind.
A guard stepped forward, visor lifted. “Papers.”
I withdrew the invitation from my pocket and handed it to the guard. Silver and indigo shifted beneath the vellum as he unfolded it. The guard leaned in; when his stare crossed the crest, a low hum rose and a light ran along the edges.
“Confirmed,” he said, stepping aside. “You may enter.”
With a flick of his hand, the portcullis shuddered to life. Gears growled as the massive gate began to rise, chains screaming against their pulleys.
On the other side, the world refined itself by another measure. Pale cobbles wove between buildings with high windows and ivy-draped balconies. Markets spilled bright into streets; bridges curved over narrow canals. People flowed in silk and velvet. The air smelled of roses, spices, and fresh-baked bread.
At the heart of the city, the castle stood, ambition incarnate—white buttresses, gold-inlaid domes, towers piercing the sky. From the tallest spire, a violet banner the size of a sail unfurled. At the base of the main stairs, an opal lion the size of a horse roared into eternity.
Breath left me.
As did comfort.
I had walked the castle halls, slept in those rooms, but all of that was before I was placed under the spell.
Mav’s voice brushed my ear. “Was that the kind of welcome you were expecting?”
“No,” I said truthfully. “It is far louder than I remember.”
Preparations were well underway for the Spring Jubilee. Along the castle promenade, Hedges tended to rows of topiaries, coaxing them into spirals. Tremors knelt to smooth the paths, palms pressed to the cobblestones as the earth settled beneath in seamless lines. Tempests cleared the clouds to a perfect blue and sent a soft breeze to dance through the banners.
Everywhere I looked, sleeves bore bands of color—blue for Tempests, brown for Tremors, green for Hedges—each stitched with a corresponding sigil: a cloud, a mountain, a leaf. Even from a distance, their gifts were made known.
Perhaps the identifiers were meant for order, yet as I watched, a chill sank low in my stomach. The display felt less like a celebration of magical ability and more like a classification—each person, neatly marked.
No one spoke, but I felt the others’ silence as keenly as my own. We shared a quiet understanding that, among all this color and ceremony, mine was the one magic that could never be worn in daylight.
“I don’t think they’ll make the Jubilee guests wear them,” Mav said after a moment. “The court’s too vain to let an armband ruin the cut of their formalwear.”
I attempted a weak grin. “A mercy, then.”
“What color do you think Twi—” He caught himself. “Yours would be?”
