My sister looks up at me with sly eyes, the corner of her mouth curling. I remember that expression so well, on my mother’s face when she would best my father in a discussion at the dinner table.
It hasn’t really struck me until now that we’re on our ancestor’s land. That this world was our mother’s home for much of her life.
“Perhaps we’ll cross through Elam,” I say.
Alexus lifts his eyes. “We will. It’s the first province between here and the desert.”
Raina’s eyes sparkle at that. In fact, her whole face lights up, even though we both know there won’t be time to linger in our mother’s village. There may not be time to do anything more than ride straight through.
With that thought, I nod at the scrying dish in my sister’s lap. I hate asking her to check the waters. Hate watching her bleed. But she sets to the task without a shred of hesitance.
Careful not to waste what water we have, she pours just enough from the canteen into the dish she stole from the inn. After slicing the sharp edge of her dagger across the end of her finger, she holds her hand over the water and lets a pearl of blood drip into the bowl.
55
FLEURIE
The Eastern Territories
City of Quezira
Min-Thuret Temple, Rite Hall
* * *
I’m not sure how much longer I can fail.
I try so hard to only open the portal a matter of a few miles, up to the ruins, or into the crowded city streets, or down to the market quarter. But the prince is wise to me. I’m certain that’s why Bronwyn and Thresh are escorting me through Min-Thuret at midnight, across the courtyard and gardens I remember well.
To Rite Hall.
We walk along the cloisters until we reach the massive doors. They groan through the night as Thresh and Bronwyn open them. I’m unchained, but the iron collar remains intact when I’m not practicing portaling the prince. But even if it weren’t, the greatest curse I bear is that I am forever trapped. My gift has a limit I never could break, no matter how hard I tried. If the collar were gone, I could portal away from here, but I would shortly be drawn back.
I’m tethered to Quezira, to the Eastern lands my father called home. And I forever will be.
With a deep breath, I step into the ritual room, my stomach twisting to the point of pain. A memory of my last time here swells inside my mind, putting pressure behind my eyes. Anger pulses inside me like a heartbeat, and I taste my old fury, bittersweet.
And the prince. He stands across the hall on the other side of the ritual circle, his red shadows swirling over the etched marble floor, the moon cradling the sun. The symbols stand for the Order of Night’s vow to protect the Order of Dawn. More importantly, for me, they represent a man from a very long time ago who was willing to give his everything for a woman who was his only light.
I close my eyes. So many memories. My mind is awash with them.
Again, I take a deep breath and blink my eyes open to gaze upon the prince. Just beyond him lies the altar and that godsdamn throne. If he only knew how many times he kneeled there, to his own disgust.
He wears a sleeping tunic and pants, his hands tucked inside the pockets, his bare feet shoulder-width apart. He seems unfazed about being here, and that rattles me to my core.
I open my mouth to try and tell him a string of truths that have done nothing but haunt me since I was taken from Quezira to the cliffs. I just want to tell him his name for gods’ sakes, in hopes that might shake him awake. But as ever, it’s a foolish attempt. My father’s invisible torque tightens around my throat, clamping off my speech, the magick so instantaneous and responsive, it’s as though he cursed me yesterday, not three centuries ago.
The doors to Rite Hall close, and a look over my shoulder reveals that I am alone with the prince, standing there in my nightgown and robe.
“I thought you might want to chat now that your voice has returned. And what better place than your father’s old ritual room.” He waves one hand around the fire-lit hall, and I notice that his palm is bandaged, as though he’s performed an offering, the kind only my father ever required.
I narrow my eyes, forlorn and amazed. He truly doesn’t remember anything, even now, even in this room of all places. If so much as a flicker of recollection exists in him, I cannot see it.
“I was sleeping,” I tell him. “This couldn’t wait until morning?”
He runs his thumb and forefinger back and forth along his smile lines that aren’t as deep as I remember. “But I wasn’t.” A long, dark lock of hair tumbles into his eyes. “All I could do was toss and turn, wondering why we keep failing with portaling, so I came here to discuss it with your father.”
Cold, phantom fingers walk up my spine. I cringe, drawing up my shoulders as I look around, a reflexive and permanently engrained reaction.
