“Your Royal Highness,” Sawyer said.
Eimarille smiled, holding the pose long enough for the press to get the picture, before stepping closer. “Prime Minister. It’s lovely to see you again.”
Sawyer straightened up, giving her a respectful nod at her words. The man was the second prime minister appointed by King Bernard to oversee the Ashion parliament. He was head of the Ashion government in the absence of a monarch, a position that would eventually become obsolete once Eimarille took Bernard’s crown, throne, and court. Ashion would have no need for its own form of government when she was queen.
“We here in Ashion are always pleased when you grace us with a visit.”
He lied well, but Eimarille knew half the bloodlines in Ashion would rather see her dead, treating her as a traitor to a throne none of them had the right to. The Clockwork Brigade certainly had its sympathizers, especially here in Amari. While many in the western border provinces had bent well to Daijalan propaganda over the years, the eastern provinces and the whittled down military had not.
It was why Eimarille had traveled east so many times over the years on a progress that saw her visit large cities and small towns across Ashion. Putting a human face to a name most people only ever read about in broadsheets could sway public opinion more than quoted statements from an article.
Eimarille went through the formalities of greeting with polite enthusiasm. She bent to accept a bouquet of flowers from a prettily dressed young girl who curtsied to her. She smiled through the accolades and respect given to her by select members of the Ashion parliament who had joined the prime minister for the occasion. Their faces and names were familiar to her through reports provided by Daijalan spies and official messengers.
Terilyn remained to her right and a step behind, ever a faithful shadow as the royal guards escorted them off the arrival platform and down to where the motor carriages awaited. Theirs carried miniature flags of Daijal and Ashion at the front over the headlamps, while the Daijalan royal crest was painted on each door.
The motor carriage windows were nearly wrapped all the way around, providing a mostly unobstructed view of the streets they drove down after leaving the airfield behind. The route was lined with well-wishers, the sidewalk impossible to see beneath the feet of the crowd in places.
Landing in the western airfield meant it took some time to make it across the Serpentine River via Hollows Bridge and to the eastern half of Amari. The palace they were driven to had stood for two decades, and it was nothing like the one she remembered from her childhood. She supposed that was for the best. Eimarille had no desire to rule in the memory of her mother’s shadow.
The motor carriage drove through the open gates into the royal grounds. The fountain in the center of the courtyard bubbled away, with some birds preening in the higher pools. Servants and guards lined the main entrance to the palace, all bowing or curtsying when Eimarille was helped out of the motor carriage. The last time she’d been here was two years ago with Wesley. He hadn’t been fond of the palace or the city, preferring New Haven and the adoration of its citizens.
Here, though, in this eastern city, was a place where Eimarille was adored more and more. The older generations remembered when the Rourke bloodline once ruled. Eimarille had been told more than once—usually as an insult behind a smile—that she was the spitting image of her mother, save for her eyes.
Alasandair had their mother’s eyes.
The thought flitted through her mind, a distant recollection. With it came an old curiosity. Eimarille had always wondered if the child Ophelia had been pregnant with and died with would have had eyes like their mother’s or their father’s.
Eimarille pressed her lips together, offering up a smile to the steward in charge of the palace employees instead of the frown that pricked at the corners of her mouth.
“Welcome home, Your Royal Highness,” the steward said.
And it was home, this city—this country, even. She’d been born here, after all. Raised within these city walls for her childhood before Innes stole her away from beneath the North Star’s guidance. Ashion was a country without a queen, but not for too much longer, if Eimarille had anything to say about it.
They were escorted through the palace to the royal family wing. Along the way, they passed a veritable army of workers preparing the palace for the ball tomorrow night that would officially welcome Eimarille’s presence in the city.
Eimarille and Lisandro took introductions of their assigned personal servants in a blue-and-gold parlor, while Terilyn stalked the private rooms on silent feet with guards at her side. Her Blade was ever resourceful when it came to securing their safety, and Eimarille let the Urovan take as long as she liked to be satisfied.
When Terilyn slipped back into the parlor, long black hair falling loose down to her waist, expression serene, and no weapon in hand, Eimarille let herself relax. Moments later, the servants were dismissed to handle their travel trunks and bring tea and a light meal while Eimarille saw to Lisandro’s comfort.
“I want to see my room,” Lisandro demanded.
Eimarille raised an eyebrow at Terilyn, who smiled down at her son and offered up her callused hand to him. “I know just the one you’ll like,malynshka.”
The Urovan endearment was one Terilyn offered no one else, and Lisandro always delighted in it. He let go of Eimarille to take Terilyn’s hand, chattering at her all the while about what he’d seen on the drive through the city. Terilyn glanced at Eimarille, sharing a sweet smile over her son’s head that was just for her.
Eimarille was glad she had taken the trip alone with just Lisandro and Terilyn for company. Wesley could bed whichever mistress he pleased in her absence, and Eimarille would get to sleep beside the only person she’d ever loved before her son came into her life.
The bedroom Terilyn led them to was decorated in soft greens and pale browns, the wallpaper an intricate design above the wainscoting. It had clearly been decorated with her son in mind, with one set of doors opening up onto a nursery filled with toys, including a large clockwork horse that would rock back and forth on its own if wound up. Lisandro gasped in delight before scampering into the nursery to play.
Eimarille and Terilyn stood just past the doorway, both of them watching as he explored. After a moment, Terilyn reached into the inner pocket of her day jacket and pulled out a folded slip of paper, handing it to Eimarille.
“I will need to meet with the Blades here in the city tonight. They may have information regarding our missing inventor,” Terilyn said.
Eimarille unfolded the piece of paper and reviewed the address typed on it, along with a time. Beneath it were a few handwritten sentences in Urovan that Eimarille could read only because Terilyn had taught her the language growing up.
She was unsurprised the missive had been delivered to them. Blades were deft at getting in and out of places without being seen. They’d done so during the Inferno, after all.
Eimarille held no ill will toward the people who had murdered the governing body of Ashion. She used to as a child, but that was before Innes had explained it had all been for the greater good, that he’d done it for her, his favorite child. Blades dedicated their lives to the Twilight Star. The ones who had followed his orders on that long-ago night did so because they believed in his cause, not simply for a king’s money.
