Arkadi’s job as a Blade was to see that never happened.
His mother had been explicitly clear about that, and Arkadi was not one to shirk the command of the Star Order’s high priestess of Urova.
The ceremony continued on to its eventual conclusion that saw their new Isar kneeling for the last time in his life. The tall man did so before the high priestess, who took the crown fromthe Master of Ceremonies with a prayer falling from her lips that echoed through the suddenly silent square. Her words, spoken into the voice amplifier, crackled through the speakers scattered about Constellation Square.
“Do you dedicate yourself to Urova and its people, even in the harshest of winters?” the high priestess asked.
“My road belongs to Urova,” Isar Rodian said. His voice was deep, with the accent of the far-north communities clinging to the syllables. Starfire flickered like molten gold in the palm of his one hand turned upward to the sky, a pinprick of rare magic that was proof of his right to rule.
“Then long may you reign.”
The crown came down on the Isar’s head, heralding a new bloodline into the rulership of Urova. Arkadi watched the Isar stand, aware of everyone else in the square kneeling or curtseying around him. He was a beat behind the crowd, his delayed motion catching the Isar’s attention.
Over the heads of other citizens, Arkadi locked eyes with Isar Rodian, gaze riveted by the powerful focus of the other man. For one second, it was as if they were the only two standing in the square. The moment crackled between them, burning like starfire, until Arkadi dipped his head and sank down to one knee, heart beating fast as a shiver of unexpected want danced down his spine.
He wondered if Tavi and the others invited to the celebratory ball tonight would mind one more ivoryan angling to gain the Isar’s attention.
Three
RODIAN
Lidiya, the experienced aide assigned to Rodian by the palace, subtly leaned toward him after the ivoryan he’d been speaking with walked away. The noble in question had been quite blatant in presenting her daughter to him, a girl who had just turned twenty, the country’s legal majority age, and who had been quite shy. “It might behoove the Isar to accept a dance or two.”
Rodian hid his grimace behind the glass ofikain his hand, sipping at the clear liquid. It burned pleasantly on his tongue, the fourth such drink he’d had that evening. The traditional alcohol could be drunk in various infused flavors, but Rodian had always preferred it plain. At this rate, he might empty a whole bottle. “I am not dancing tonight.”
For one, he didn’t knowhowto dance. No one had thought to ask him if he could. Everyone had been more focused on bringing him up to speed on Urova’s politics over the last few weeks. Something as mundane as dancing hadn’t crossed anyone’s mind until the coronation ball had been mentioned. Rodian never had any use for dancing at formal balls up northbecause they never had any. He wasn’t about to make a fool of himself before the country’s peerage, not when those same people would be needed to help implement his rule.
So every hinted request for a dance had been met with a polite smile and even more polite refusal. The men and women vying for his attention all evening had eyed the empty spot to his right where a consort would stand if he’d had one like hungry bears. But Rodian had never married, and so every single ivoryanin in Matriskav was coming out of the woodwork to fight for the prize of being his consort, wanting only power. Rodian’s heart was secondary to that, and he resented that fact with a bitterness he dared not show.
Lidiya straightened and inclined her head slightly at his request. She would not push him on it again, he knew. A decade his senior, she was an incredible teacher of Urovan law, especially in the face of their ruined reputation on the world stage. But she wasn’t a member of the ivoryanin. She would never be welcomed into their ranks. He needed someone who could help him navigate the deep waters of the royal court, and she could not do that.
So far, he felt as if he were drowning.
Rodian gritted his teeth through three more introductions of people whose names she knew he needed to remember but which slipped through his mind like water. When the notes of the next song filled the air, several matriarchs with their of-age children in tow headed his way, eyeing him like a tundra wolf might eye prey. Rodian attempted a quick escape out of the glittering ballroom for the veranda beyond the glass doors—and ran directly into an ivoryan heading inside.
“Oof!” The surprised cry had Rodian automatically reaching out to steady the man he’d nearly knocked over.
“My apologies,” Rodian said, mentally cursing himself as he waved off the palace guard who’d instantly moved his way at the collision. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Clearly,” the ivoryan drawled as he straightened his splendid long-vest. The deep blue brocade fabric of it was woven with a gold design depicting the Bear constellation in honor of the Midnight Star. The blue sash tied about his waist over the long-vest held gold fringe at the ends that looked soft to the touch. “Though you should never apologize.”
“Excuse me?”
The ivoryan looked up through a fringe of thick lashes from the perusal of his clothing, a smile quirking the corner of his full mouth. Rodian blinked, recognizing him as the figure in the crowd during the coronation who had been just a beat behind everyone else’s obeisance. The distance between them at that time hadn’t done the stranger justice.
Up close, he was taller than Rodian had expected, though not as tall as himself. The perfect tailoring of his clothes accentuated a lean body that had probably done nothing more strenuous than wallow in comfort for his entire life. His brown hair was surprisingly long, twisted up in a knot held in place by a pair of thin metal hair sticks tipped in jewels. His eyes were a startling pale blue, reminding Rodian of a glacier, with a depth to his gaze that was just as mysterious. The intelligence in them was at odds with his youthfulness, for he appeared to be barely past the country’s majority age.
“You are the Isar. One such as yourself should never apologize,” the ivoryan said with a lightness to his voice that belied the serious look in his eyes.
“If I am at fault for something, I would not hold back an apology.”
“Then they shall eat you alive.”
“They?”
The young man tilted his head in the direction of the ballroom Rodian wanted to escape. “Why, the ivoryanin, of course. We’re all searching for new roles after so many of us were massacred byrionetkas.”
“And are you on the hunt as well?”
