His thick brows are lowered. “There was an infiltration in the palace yesterday. A woman pretending to be one of the chosen was discovered to be an assassin.”
I gasp. “The Dahaka?”
My father gives a tight nod and looks conflicted, like he’s a second away from hauling me back to the tavern, the king’s reaction and repercussions be damned. I must admit the sight of so many guards has my pulse ratcheting—reading about the rebel militia and venturing into their war zone are two different things. “Remember what I said,” he says urgently. “If there’s trouble, run.”
“I will, I promise,” I say softly.
Several men dressed in the smart livery of the Imperial House step through the portal to gather our trunks, followed by the hard-faced runecaster who emerges to greet my father and verify my identity. I stare openly at the glowing alchemical markings on his neck; I’ve never seen an actual imperial runecaster this close before. How powerful is he with all those runes? I gulp and lower my eyelashes, but the man barely takes notice of me.
Then I can only give my father a quick hug, and Laleh, who reappears at the last second. I’m ushered toward the waiting portal. A round of cheering takes over the crowded village square as Parvi and Fatima pass through. My palms prickle and flare again with a deep rush of heat, and I stumble. I feel the runecaster’s attention flutter briefly toward me, but he looks irritated instead of suspicious, as though I’m wasting his precious time.
The crone from the alley flickers in my mind.Setareh sar lokkar, beware the lie.
I feel bile rising in my throat and force it back.
“Get ahold of yourself, Suraya,” I whisper fiercely. “She’s not real.”
I repeat the words like a mantra and practically lunge through the swirling portal. A sticky, nearly webby coolness passes over my skin, tugging on the fine hairs all over my body, before releasing me with a noiseless—and thankfully painless—pop on the other side.
Kaldari, at long last.
***
The air feels different here. Less dry, more fragrant.
Desert air has a thinness to it, but the Kaldarian atmosphere is lush, almost too much for my Coban-hardy senses. But I breathe it in and slowly acclimate. There are dozens more guards milling about, I notice, and all on horseback, armed to the teeth. Are they expecting another attack from the Dahaka?
One of the attendants approaches to escort me to a waiting carriage where Parvi and Fatima are already seated, their heads bent together in hushed conversation. They glance up at my arrival and then resume talking. I try not to let their aloofness affect me; perhaps they’re just as nervous as I am.
Taking the opposite seat, I smooth my hair into place and peer out the window as the coach starts forward. On our left side, a glistening river weaves through a verdant valley, leading toward the citadel that’s visible on the right side and splitting the green fieldsthat border the walls of the capital. Mesmerized by the view, and the changing colors and contours of the landscape, I can hardly contain the rush of delight in my chest as the Kaldarian palace finally comes into view.
Sands...
The midday sun glitters along its walls, making me squint even as I try to absorb every single detail, from the lavish gardens to the fountaining pools to the statues crowning the entrance. Regal columns tipped with spires rise alongside the perimeter as my carriage joins a long procession of others, and then my view is obscured as we ride through a marble arch leading into an expansive courtyard.
Once through, my jaw goes loose. It’s glorious. Elaborate cupolas rise above me like suspended bubbles, and my eyes devour every engraving, every swatch of jeweled color, and commit them to memory. The central tower seems to be made entirely of gold, while stained-glass art and exquisite murals flatter its facade. The painting in my workshop simply hadn’t done it justice, the sheer opulence far beyond what any prosaic copy could capture.
My coach comes to a halt, and a footman accompanies all three of us down the steps. The courtyard is bustling with activity as people rush back and forth, welcoming the procession of incoming carriages.
And standing stoic around the perimeter is another line of guards. I try not to let the ominous sight of them affect me.
A group of young women—other chosen, I presume—stand together nearby, seemingly unruffled by all the glamour. From their rich clothes, I’m guessing they must hail from Veniar or Eloni, wealthier cities than Coban. One with reddish hair is proudly wearing the crest of Regulus, and the brunette near her is garbed in ornate armor. Antares, obviously. I try to school my expression to appear as casual as they do, but I can’t quite keep my delighted wonder from creeping to the surface.
You can take the girl out of the desert...
Parvi and Fatima wander toward them with no care for me, but I honestly don’t mind. I chuckle and press my palms to my cheeks to keep from grinning like a loon. I want to soak up every single second of this, so I can relate it all to Laleh in full detail and savor it for the rest of my life.
As I look around again, an untidy mop of wavy brown hair catches the sunlight, snagging my attention. It belongs to a man perched precariously on a high stone wall bordering one of the gardens, who is also observing the arrivals with interest.
As though he senses my attention, our gazes collide, and I recoil from the blast of derision in his gaze as it sweeps me from head to toe. I sense the sneer before it curls over his full lips as if to imply,You don’t belong here. Despite my earlier self-deprecating thoughts, I bristle at the overt contempt. Who in Oryndhr does he think he is?
Dressed in plain, homespun brown trousers with a dark navy tunic and scuffed black boots, he could be a groom or a gardener. I lift my chin in as haughty a manner as I can manage, mimicking the affected air of the nearby women, and stare him down. To my irritation, the man suddenly grins and winks before somersaulting off the wall. I swallow a scream and lurch forward, hands aloft, before he lands deftly in a neat crouch at its base. He rises and sends a mocking bow in my direction. Mortified, I lower my arms and will my hammering heart to calm. What had I been about to do? Catch him somehow?
Now that we’re on the same level, I can see the man is strong and lean, with wide shoulders that lead to a defined chest and long, muscled legs. His tunic and trousers hug his frame like someone has lovingly crafted every stitch just for him. Sands on fire, but the man is fit... and clearly knows it. My gaze returns to his face, and he arches a brow at my ogling. My cheeks burn.
Way to be suave, Suraya!
I toss my head and turn away, but the effect is immediately spoiled as a gust of wind snatches my veiled headpiece and sweeps it intothe air. Cursing, I abandon all attempt at being haughty, hike up the length of my tunic, and chase after Laleh’s gift... right into an incoming contingent of galloping horses.
