Ana stood and knelt by Shamaïra’s side. She took the woman’s hand, callused and wrinkled with time. Gently, she kissed it. “I mustn’t stay long,” she said. “If the Whitecloaks are hunting me, it isn’t safe for you if they track me here.” She hesitated. “But if you’ll permit, I’d like to say hello to an old friend.”
Shamaïra’s smile was tender. “She is out in the back garden, where the flowers grow.”
“I’ll be right back,” Ana said, and made for Shamaïra’s garden.
The cold air filled her lungs with the scent of snow and conifers. Out here in the garden Shamaïra kept behind her dacha, the snow remained untouched, a blanket of white over the sleeping earth. Farther back, the tall, jagged outline of the Syvern Taiga cut into the night sky.
A lovely trellis stood a little ways from the dacha, and the sight took Ana’s breath away: the wood, pale and completely uncovered even after the thickest of snowfalls, and the small winterbells that clung to it, white and lovely, the moon dusting them so that they seemed to glow in the night.
Ana knelt beneath the trellis, resting a hand on the untouched snow. The structure arched over her and the winterbells cocooned her, their soft leaves and velvet petals curling against her neck. For a brief moment, she let herself believe that magic had made this garden of vines and flowers that grew from the spirit of a little girl.
“Hello, May,” she whispered.
A small wind picked up, and all around her, the little winterbells seemed to stir, drawing the soft scent of snow.
It was when she returned here, Ana thought, leaning her head against the trellis and closing her eyes, that she always found herself and her purpose.
May had died to free dozens of other Affinites. She had only been ten years of age—and she’d spent most of her life indentured to her employer, working to clear the debt she’d accumulated from a contract she hadn’t even been able to read when she’d signed it.
Promise me, Ana,she’d whispered even as her ocean-eyes turned still,you’ll make it better.
Ana dipped her head. She knew, in her heart of hearts, thatthiswould always be the reason she chose to fight. That she’d meant what she said when she told Shamaïra she would sacrifice everything to protect her empire, to protect her people, to protect the most vulnerable of her citizens.
She fought so that not another Affinite would become exploited in this empire that had trusted her and another long line of monarchs to watch over their well-being.
She fought so that sometime, somewhere, another little girl could sit on snow-frosted ground and bring a flower to life with her bare hands.
It wouldn’t do if there no longer existed a world for her to rebuild after everything.
Ana drew a deep breath and touched a hand to the ground. “Wait for me,” she murmured. “I made you a promise, and I’m going to see it through.” She paused, and her breath misted in the cold before her as she added, “No matter what it takes.”
When she returned to the parlor, Shamaïra stood at the open window. The wind was as cold and sharp as knives; the fire in the hearth flickered as the Unseer turned to Ana. She held something in her hands. On the windowsill, a snowhawk spread its wings and took off into the night. “Little Tigress,” she whispered, and held out a scroll.
The parchment was damp with snow and soft between her fingers when Ana took it and unfurled it. Surprise bloomed in her stomach.
It was a portrait of her, in a scene that was all too fresh in her mind, and all too familiar.
The artist had painted her in the moment she’d stepped onto the wooden scaffold at Novo Mynsk and seized the Imperial Patrol with her Affinity. Her face was twisted with fury, her eyes crimson, her scarlet cloak sweeping behind her in a magnificent arc. In the background, a fire raged.
Red Tigress Rising,the gold-emblazoned title blared triumphantly.The Crown Princess lives. The rebellion begins.
Ana looked up. “Who made this?” she asked.
Shamaïra’s eyes were bright. “The people, Ana,” she said. “Your people.”
Ana closed her eyes and pressed the poster to her breast, letting this moment sink in.
She had fought for her people.
And now, her people were rallying behind her.
Seyin had tried to convince her that she wasn’t what the people needed, but here, clutched between her fingers, was the very proof that they were supporting her.
She’d ride for Goldwater Port. She’d speak with Yuri, show him this poster, recount to him how the people had supported her. How they would follow her. And she’d reassure him that their goalswereone and the same—that Ana’s ultimate goal was based on nothing more than a promise she’d made to a small girl, a friend. To make it all better.
“I’m going to Goldwater Port,” she said and clasped her hands over Shamaïra’s. “From the bottom of my heart, Shamaïra, thank you. Do not think that I have forgotten all the help you gave me. I owe you my life, and I’ll repay that with a life. When I return, when I am Empress, I promise you I will find your son.”
Shamaïra squeezed her hands. “Remember my words. Most of all, remember who you are. Who the people need you to be.” Her eyes grew hard as steel. “Take the valkryf, my child. The beast spends half its days stamping around in my stables; an old lady like me can hardly keep it entertained. You’ll need it more where you’re going.”
