“She should have never gone with you to begin with,” Meleri snapped.
“I didn’t know it was her until the automatons attacked. She wore a veil and didn’t speak to me until we were on the train. Even then, she used an accent.”
Meleri closed her eyes, trying not to think of all the horrible ways Caris could have been injured or killed last night. “The moment you knew it was Caris beneath the veil, you should have sent her back to the airship. How am I to trust you’ll keep her safe when you let her fight?”
Blaine moved away from the corner, a simmering sort of anger in his eyes. “I have done nothing but try to keep her safe since you brought me to Ashion. You forget who I was.”
“Your bloodline died in the Inferno.”
Blaine sketched a mockery of a bow to her, the crispness of his Ashionen accent fading a little into the rolling burr of his E’ridian one. “Yet here I am.”
“You would’ve stayed in E’ridia if given a chance.”
“I came back because I knew my duty. Ialwaysknew it, even while living in Glencoe. I have done my duty by staying by Caris’ side. You’re teaching Caris to know hers, but keeping her blind to the truth helps no one, least of all her.”
“She is too important to risk.”
Blaine stepped closer to the desk, planting his hands on it and leaning forward so he could look Meleri in the eye. She stiffened but refused to draw back. “Caris cast magic holding a wand, but she didn’t channel the aether through it. The clarion crystal at the tip never glowed. You must know what that means.”
Meleri drew in a sharp breath, lips parting in surprise as her heart lurched. She’d wondered—for years—if Caris had any magic to her. But the girl had come to Amari with no wand, despite her exquisite skill with cutting clarion crystals. There’d been no indication of magic from her, not a hint.
Until now.
Meleri’s hopes soared at that revelation before they were promptly choked off by the realization of who was to arrive tomorrow at the height of the social summer season. As Meleri’s ward for so many years and a noble in her own right, Caris would be obligated to appear at any party she was given an invitation to on behalf of the crown princess.
Blaine straightened up, never blinking. “I’ll guard her, but you would do well to let her know the truth of her bloodline. She needs to know.”
Meleri swallowed dryly. “Not yet. It isn’t safe.”
“It never will be. Would you rather a living queen that Ashion can rally around or a name on a memory wall bearing a bloodline that was never meant to be hers?” Blaine smiled tightly before turning to leave. “I know my preference, Your Grace.”
Blaine left, closing the door quietly behind him. Meleri let out a shuddering breath, cognizant of the dangerous road that lay ahead and all the pitfalls beneath her feet.
Six
EIMARILLE
The royal airship juddered upon anchoring, but Eimarille barely noticed it in the suite she, Terilyn, and her son were in. Eimarille had never been fond of courtiers, and none had journeyed with them to Ashion. She’d taken a contingent of her staff, royal guards, and that was it. Servants bustled about, readying them for departure once the crew allowed it, but Eimarille’s focus was on Lisandro.
“Come here, darling. Let me fix your collar,” Eimarille said.
Her four-year-old son tore himself away from the port window to return to her side. His shorts and tiny button-down short-sleeved shirt were a deep navy and a crisp white. Eimarille knelt to be on his level, expertly straightening his shirt collar before smoothing down his blond hair.
Lisandro took after her more than Wesley, and his temperament was certainly more hers than his father’s. He was a sweet child, with the spark of starfire in his soul that Eimarille had felt since the moment he was placed in her arms.
Eimarille smiled before brushing a quick kiss over his forehead. “There we go. Now, remember not to let go of my hand.”
“Yes, Mother,” Lisandro said in that high, sweet voice of his.
Eimarille straightened up, carefully smoothing out the skirt of her gown. The deep blue silk was picked through at the hem with golden embroidery depicting the six star god constellations. The delicate white lace shawl Terilyn draped over her shoulder was dedicated to Innes alone in its making.
“We’ll be ready to depart shortly,” Terilyn said.
Her lady-in-waiting had opted not to wear a gown for this trip and instead wore a tailored pale blue suit with a day jacket fitted with morning tails. Eimarille could easily pick out the places where tailoring hid her lover’s weapons only because she knew the spots Terilyn preferred to carry her knives and derringer. Terilyn preferred ease of movement whenever they came to Ashion, and Eimarille would never fault her for that.
Eimarille took Lisandro’s hand in hers and drew him close to her side. Terilyn coordinated with the royal guards before ushering her charges out of the suite. The moment they came abovedeck and reached the gangplank, the crowd waiting for them in the private hangar came to life with a roar. The flash of camera bulbs went off for the tintype photographs that would run in the evening broadsheets.
Sawyer Clark, Prime Minister of Ashion, was decked out in a smartly tailored suit, top hat, gloves, and cane. He bowed deeply to Eimarille as she and her son stepped off the gangplank to the arrival platform.
