The truth is, I’ve been willing such a vision for a moonscycle, ever since I ignited the Flarestone. Going against my better judgement, I’ve spent hours plucking at threads in the shimmering tapestry of my second-sight, trying to determine if the Outrealmers will come. But my powers remain capricious.
‘I’ve seen movement to the West and South, but the East remains dark to me.’ Unable to meet Astrophel’s gaze as I admit to these visions, I stare down through the translucent carriage floor. Meissa’s Southern Quarter sprawls beneath us.
Orthriel’s silent words settle gently inside my head.‘It was the same for Noelani towards the end. After Arden severed the Blood Bond, Oralia, and everyone belonging to it, became harder to read.’Orthriel is accompanying us to meet the Outrealmers, but journeying on the breeze. The muscles in my back and shoulders relax at the reminder of their presence. I raise my chin.
Astrophel picks an invisible speck of lint off his doublet. ‘The dove I received this morning only mentioned Xylian and Riverian envoys.’
‘No sign of…’ I can’t bring myself to speak of the Oralian delegation. Astrophel is already frowning at me.
‘No. The sand-rats didn’t answer the call. The Watchers waited, left one man behind at the Barrier, just in case, but…’ He laughs. A hollow, bitter sound. ‘Can’t say I’m surprised. They’re brutes. Not a drop of honour between them. The King thought the present Clanschief might act with a modicum of decency. If you believe the starscribes’ divinations, his father supposedly quashed uprisings by followers of Arden’s suprematist policies campaigning for the Partition Treaties to be overturned, who wanted to storm the Barrier and pillage our lands. But it seems Blayze Arcuri is cut from the same filthy cloth as the rest of his kind.’
My stomach hollows. If the Oralians haven’t come, then this is over before it’s started.
‘Yes, it does rather ruin things, doesn’t it?’ Astrophel’s lips twist into a taunting smile. ‘Perhaps now you’ll get a taste of how it feels when carefully laid plans are scuppered.’
I swallow, mouth dry, imagining the smug expression on my father’s face when I return to the palace empty-handed, then shake the image away.
There’s still time. They’ll come. They have to.
‘Probably for the best, anyway,’ Astrophel adds, straightening his cuff. ‘The idea of working alongside those vermin, even for a single rising…’ He shudders.
‘You can’t talk like that. There’s still a chance the Oralians will come, and I need to convince all the Outrealmers to trust me. Try to keep a civil tongue in your head.’
Astrophel works his jaw, narrows his eyes. ‘Don’t worry yourself about my tongue, Princess. I happen to be very good at using it. Haven’t you heard what they call me at court?’
‘If you won’t do it for me, do it for her,’ I whisper. ‘My mother’s always been fond of you. And if I can’t secure the Outrealmers’ support, she’ll… she’ll…’
Astrophel rakes a hand through his wind-tousled hair. ‘I don’t wish the Queen any harm. She’s always been kind to me, ever since I was a boy.’
‘One thing we agree on then,’ I mutter loud enough for him to hear.
His expression sours. ‘Ends don’t always justify the means, Leilani.’
His foot resumes its thud, thud, thud against the carriage door, and we sit in frosted silence as we edge ever closer to our destination.
*
WELANDATlast, veering west to avoid the Thronewood, and I follow Astrophel from the carriage. For all his fine talk of honour, he doesn’t offer me his hand as I dismount. He’s too busy patting down the zephyrsteeds, offering them lumps of honeyloaf.
I plant a tapered slipper, citrine-hued to match my gown, with a crunch on the frosted grass. This is the first time I’ve set foot outside Meissa, but unless the Oralian delegation makes an eleventh-hour appearance, it’s the closest to freedom I’m ever likely to get.
Rolling hills spread before me, dotted with small clusters of stone homesteads. The Opaline River weaves through the hills like a rainbow ribbon, widening to an oval pool on our right. The hills appear deserted. No sign of air-refugees seeking entry to Meissa, or perhaps the Watchers patrolling the wall have cleared them ahead of our arrival. The landscape is more idyllic than I’d imagined. But straight ahead, in the hollow between the two closest hills, dense plumes of smoke spiral the air and there’s a stench of burning. I lift my pomander to my face and tear my eyes away, trying not to think about what’s being burnt to create that revolting sickly-sweet odour. Trying not to let my mind drift to memories of another, smaller pyre.
Astrophel is still tending the zephyrsteeds.
‘You poor beasts have been ridden too hard,’ he croons in a low, soothing murmur, fingers drawing idle circles on their necks. I’m surprised by the tenderness in his voice, his touch. I’ve always considered the zephyrsteeds fearsome creatures, twice the height of a normal horse, and that’s before you take the span of their great grey wings, which wisp into diaphanous swirls of vapour at the tips, into account. But Astrophel looks more peaceable in their company than I’ve ever seen him. Almost pleasant for a change.
The zephyrsteeds’ chests shudder as they struggle to draw breath. Astrophel is right to be concerned. I told my father we didn’t need the carriage. We could easily have ridden here on horseback, or even walked. He refused to support my efforts to broker this alliance, but insisted on a show of power. Despite knowing the zephyrsteeds are delicate and shouldn’t fly, that they’re on the verge of extinction, soon to go the same way as the cragstalkers and iskselks if we don’t protect them from the permafrost and tainted air, he insisted they pull the vast state carriage. He’s petty that way – petty and ruthless.
Astrophel drifts closer to the edge of the pool. I follow. There’s a better view from here. We can’t glimpse the Barrier from this distance, but the latest dove preparing us for the arrival of the envoys came with the dawnrise, almost eight hours ago. Any moment now, we should catch sight of the Outrealmers cresting the hills, being led by Watchers towards the city gates.
Something splinters behind me. I glance over my shoulder. But there’s nothing. No one. I turn back to the hills, but my stomach remains knotted. The scent of smoke seems to thicken in the air.
‘Listen.’
I heed Orthriel’s silent instruction, but it’s several minutes before my mortal ears pick up the clatter of hoof-beats.
‘Look!’ I point to the crown of the nearest hill, where three Watchers astride grey mounts barrel towards us. Behind them, travelling more slowly, are four smaller white horses, each carrying a rider.
