He points to me, his beautiful face twisted in a grimace. “We’d be lucky if she could survive even a day of hard travel, much less a journey across the continent.”
The king looks around and suddenly seems to notice that the room is filled with staring courtiers. He waves a hand toward the door. “I’m sure you all have something to do.”
Nobody moves.
“Somewhere else.” His voice lashes out, and the room empties in moments.
Now I’m alone on the floor in the throne room with King Pallan, Elianna the Air Touched, and Prince Kaelen of Valourian staring downat me. Even the guards, but for Rackness, have disappeared, two of them dragging Flack between them.
When the doors close behind them, I decide that enough is enough. I won’t sit on the floor like a helpless supplicant. I’m going to face my fate on my feet. I scoot back far enough that I won’t bang my head into the prince’s jaw when I stand, then scramble up off the floor. I smooth my skirts down and resolutely ignore the drying dirt that showers down from my clothes, but I can’t prevent my cheeks from heating again.
“It’s not up to us,” the king finally says, shrugging. “The goddess will decide.”
The goddess?
What in Altarra is going on here? I don’t ask, of course. I’m too cowed by the day, the company, the setting.
I really wish I had the courage to ask, though.
All three of them stare at me.
Nobody says anything.
Finally, I blow out a shaky breath and drop into another curtsy, this one far more graceful than before. I learned to curtsy almost before I could walk—after all, grace is the coin of the courtesan’s purse, and my mother was among the best. When I raise my head, I see the prince staring at me, his head slightly tilted to one side, as if I’ve suddenly done something interesting.
“Your Majesty, I—” My voice shakes. I take a breath, willing myself to appear calm. “Your Majesty, I am afraid there has been a terrible mistake. If—”
“You’re accusing your king of making a mistake?” King Pallan demands.
“No! No, Your Maj—No. I … somebody, somebodynot you, clearly, made a mistake,” I babble. So much for calm. “I don’t know what’s happening, but it can’t be me Your Majesty was looking for.”
“Why is that?” The prince asks this with what seems to be sincere interest in a voice like liquid steel—hard but shockingly sensual. It’s a drastic change from his earlier contempt. This pings an awareness inside me that makes me nervous yet fascinated all at the same time.
When his lips quirk, I realize I’m staring at his mouth. Right. Heasked mewhyit was a mistake that I’m here. I look at him with disbelief and gesture down at myself, knowing what he sees.
What they all see.
A plague-thin person in ragged clothes, covered with filth and shivering with cold and fear. The scar on my face and the one on my wrist from the accident that took my mother when I was only four.
The brand on my wrist.
I shake my head. “I could never have anything to do with the fate of the entire continent. Just ask the Sister Superior. I can’t even be trusted to assist the patrons in the royal library!”
“Why not?” the sorcerer demands, as the storms of her calling swirl in her golden eyes. Her short fall of dark-brown hair swings around her chin when she turns her head.
I can’t believe I have to answer this. Isn’t it obvious?
“Because … because I’m nobody.”
The sorcerer turns a triumphant smile to the king. “You see? Even she admits it. She’s nobody, so—”
“So, she’s exactly the kind of person we need,” the king says, his gaze speculative.
Prince Kaelen’s focus on my face sharpens, almost as if he’s searching for answers to questions I don’t understand, but then he shakes his head dismissively. “When I volunteered to lead this quest—”
“Volunteered?” The king’s voice is melted butter over poison. “I must be misremembering the meeting during which Iassignedyou this task. Or do you forget so easily the consequences to your sister if you fail?”
Kaelen is facing me, so nobody else sees the furious rage that flashes over his expression, then vanishes so fast it could have been a figment of my imagination. He dons his bland courtier expression like a festivalgoer might a domino at a masquerade, leaving me wary of what hides beneath such studied indifference. “As you say, Your Majesty.”
