Yakim and Ventralli don’t know that we’ve found the magic chasm—and if Noam has his way, which he most likely will, they won’t find out until he can open it. Which means they still want Winter’s mines to search on their own—and maybe Summer will be willing to offer support in exchange for payment, even if they have their own access to the Klaryns. While we search their kingdoms for the keys, I could forge an alliance based on a clearly defined trade, not this open-ended, deadly game that Noam plays.
I have no control over whether or not I find the keys before Cordell, or if the keys are found at all, or if I’ll get answers on how to fix my magic—but even if the search turns up fruitless, at least Winter will come through this with something.
I will not return from this trip without a way to keep my kingdom safe.
Meira
THE CORDELLAN SOLDIERS who escorted us to the palace barely flinch when I dart out of the room. Only two people care, and their presence adds cool reassurance to my racing mind.
Conall says nothing, simply falls in behind me when I turn right, deeper into the palace. Garrigan closes in after him, just as silent, his face strained and questioning where Conall’s is stiff and determined. They both probably wonder what happened, but for once, their station stops them from asking.
I gather my skirt into my fists and keep walking, my back straight. I’m the queen, and I’m behaving exactly as a queen would—orchestrating political maneuvers.
Luckily the Jannuari Palace enhances my illusion of being queen more strongly than anything else. The whole place feels regal—if I focus on the shell of what it could be, not on the ruin that it is.
Before I even knew I was queen, Hannah showed me the palace through our shared connection to the magic. I saw the ballroom, the great square unfolding from the white marble staircase in a billowing cloud of such pure white that the entire room gleamed. She showed me the halls, each one taller than the last, lit by sconces that threw light onto the ivory perfection. Everything was white—carvings dug into the walls, sculptures in alcoves, moldings that danced in circles and squares along the ceiling. Everything was beautiful, and whole, and perfect.
All those images conflict with what I see now, creating a collage of old and new, whole and broken. The memories of white statues in every alcove and candles flickering on tables and the white-paneled walls mesh with the half-destroyed palace that exists now, holes gaping in the walls and rubble swept into piles.
A small flicker of longing sparks. Hannah showing me what Winter used to look like was one of the few good memories I have of her. Remembering it now . . .
I’ll find a way to get her back. At least, I think I want to get her back.
I yank open a door that leads to the basement. Garrigan and Conall follow me into the even more frigid air, the gray walls a startling contrast to the ivory halls above. We continue until we reach a hall, more stones forming a floor and walls that host heavy iron doors.
Like the mines that run under the Klaryn Mountains, a labyrinth of rooms winds deep beneath the Jannuari Palace, the stone floors worn smooth from years of tread, sconces caked in dust yet still able to be lit into twitching orbs of fire. These halls once held offices or storage or even dungeons, but most of the rooms now remain closed and unused.
Except for a few toward the end.
I hurry on, footsteps tapping lightly on the stones. Right, left, right again, until I reach a short hall with three doors, all locked tight.
Or . . . they should be locked.
One stands open on my right, catching me in a brief spurt of worry before I compose myself. We just got back from Gaos—the soldiers haven’t yet finished depositing our newest resources yet. It’s only them.
But when I step up to the door, everything drains out of me.
“Mather?”
He doesn’t rise from where he sits on the floor before a crate, a paper in one hand, quill in the other. The stones, still jagged clumps of rock coated in dirt, haven’t yet been polished into the multifaceted, brilliant pieces they’re meant to be. The sconces behind me reflect orange and yellow onto the spoils: eerie, dancing light that touches each piece and darts away.
I didn’t expect him to be down here. And seeing him sends ripples vibrating through me, because aside from Conall and Garrigan, who linger down the hall a few paces, we’re alone.
Mather looks up at me, his expression pinched like he expects me to be someone awaiting orders. But when he sees me, his face spasms. “You’re not a Cordellan.”
I frown. “Should I be?”
He collects himself, his eyes sweeping from my head to my feet so fast I could have blinked and missed it. “I—why are you down here, my queen?”
I scoff. This is the closest we’ve been to each other in months—and that’s what he says?
“Why are you down here?” I throw back.
“Helping. You shouldn’t be here—it’s dangerous.”
“Dangerous?”
“You could be crushed.” He gestures to the stacks of crates around him.
None are higher than my hip.
His focus drops back to the paper and he scribbles notes, his hand shaking ever so slightly as he writes.
“Dangerous,” I repeat. My jaw tightens. He stays quiet, feigning distraction, and the stillness lets the past hour—the past week, the past months—creep over me.
“You’re worried about me?” I snap. “You’ll have to forgive me, since the only interactions we’ve had in the past three months have been in meetings with a dozen other people. So you can see why I might be confused that you think of protecting Winter’s queen, when for the past couple of months, you’ve acted as though you didn’t give a damn about her. But don’t worry, I have plenty of other people in my life who have perfected the ability to pretend to care. You don’t owe me any favors.”