The flames die, though they leave behind their mark: messages burned into Fia Drumera’s veil.
Nothing happens for a long time. Hours.
We sit in the heat of the noonday soon, needing more water, our bellies empty, and bodies so very tired.
But then, a spark of light catches my eye.
I glance up only to see the city gate opening, and a troop of guards in knee-length umber tunics with long curved swords come marching out onto the sands. They move in two lines.
Alexus holds his hand up for all of us to stay where we are. We freeze, watching and waiting, nerves rattling with anticipation as he walks close to the veil.
The guards step aside, one at a time, until a small figure is revealed draped in a golden gown.
She walks forward, a wind catching her long, black hair and whipping the skirt of her dress. Gold torques wrap her throat and wrists and ankles, glinting in the sunlight as she moves barefoot across the earth, her dark brown legs slipping from slits in her lovely dress. With every step, the sand sprays from her feet, and I swear I see small licks of fire at her heels. Everything about her radiates beauty and power and danger, like a deadly goddess floating across the sand.
She pauses before the veil, and without any fear or hesitation, traces her finger in an arch along the shimmering barrier, as though drawing an invisible door.
When the magick in that small little space vanishes, we see it happen, such a complex working. I think of the veils our village erected, how the Witch Walkers of Silver Hollow could barely hold it intact for minutes during the harvest supper attack, much less for centuries. And to carve from it? I cannot fathom that kind of control.
The woman appears young. Hel’s age, perhaps. But I know who we’re staring at, and she is over three hundred years old.
Fia Drumera—the Fire Queen.
59
ALEXUS
Fia’s men lead us across the city on horseback.
Raina rides with me, her head turning this way and that trying to take it all in. The City of Ruin is a vast place, filled with many streets, many homes, and many people, all nestled beneath Mount Ulra. I remember it well, one memory my mind didn’t lose, but it still feels new.
We are a spectacle, the rarely allowed visitors, and the queen is in our midst too, riding her white horse barefoot and without a saddle. Summerlanders flood into the street to see us—ten filthy travelers from the North and their beloved queen. From the looks on their faces, we Northlanders aren’t much to behold. Only a curiosity. But the queen? They toss flowers at the feet of her horse, their faces lit up with adoration.
The air here smells of sand and earth as always, but also of flowers and food and life. Children’s laughter drifts through the streets, along with occasional music and clamoring voices as we pass the market quarters. Magick is alive in the air, saturating my senses. There are enough magi inside these walls to fight a mighty war for Tiressia, something Fia has had to ask them to do many times. It isn’t what she wants. She only wishes for safety for her people, a common life away from war. Something she has never been afforded.
As we turn down a particular street, the palace comes into view, consuming all thought. Its golden dome shines so bright in the sunlight that I squint.
Raina grips my hand as we ride toward the white marble structure, its facade and tall columns seemingly glowing from within. There are so many gardens surrounding the main buildings. I remember lingering behind to admire the fragrant blooms when Colden and I last came here. The city of Ruin hasn’t changed. It’s as frozen in time as me, Colden, and Fia.
When we arrive at the palace’s main entry and dismount, the face of every person in our group appears taken aback by the beauty and size of Fia’s home. Except Joran. He stands at his horse staring at the palace with half a smile. I can’t pinpoint what it is about that look on his face. What it is he might be thinking. But it sets my teeth on edge.
I’m quickly distracted as Fia and a few guards approach. “This way,” she says with a soft smile, and motions for me and Raina and everyone else to walk with her up the stairs into the public building. It seems she isn’t fearful of being under the eye of her people. The respect they show her is a sign of her uniting leadership.
Much like at Min-Thuret and the School of Night and Dawn, the public areas are places of learning and study. Scholars and advanced students are quiet at work within the palace’s school while other people move in and out of the main library, some with books in hand, others with parchment tablets and pens made of kohl for writing.
We cross through courtyards and gardens, then to the living areas that eventually lead to ballrooms and even more courtyards.
A gaggle of people hurry toward us. Fia’s maidservants, I suppose.
“Please see everyone to a private room,” she says. But then she glances back at me and Raina, and then at Hel and Rhonin standing hand in hand. “Or perhaps some would like joint rooms?”
“I would like my own room, please,” Nephele says, lifting her hand, not at all afraid to speak up. Fia smiles, and I consider how this must feel for Nephele. She and Colden have a history that never included affairs of the heart, but Fia once meant everything to him.
“Consider it done,” Fia says. “My staff will get you settled and make certain you have all you need during your time here.” She glances at me, and I realize I’m about to part ways with my crew. “Alexus?” Fia says. “Come with me?”
I kiss Raina. “Go. I’m certain a bath is in your future. And rest. I’ll be up shortly.”
She doesn’t look worried. She looks tired but utterly amazed at the glittering palace surrounding her.
