Lightfall, p.42
Lightfall, page 42
Someone said her name quietly from among the hedges, and she sat up, wiping her nose on her sleeve again. Ashe appeared through the dead foliage, kneeling at Cistine’s side and smoothing her palm over the packed earth. “He was a good man. I think in time, he would’ve been a great one.”
“If Rion had let him be, you mean.”
Ashe shook her head. “He would’ve chosen you. If he lived long enough to see Rion with us in Keltei, if he faced the choices I did, he still would’ve chosen you. He always did…he proved that in the end.”
Cistine followed Ashe’s gesture, sweeping her hand over the soil where the last piece of Julian was laid to rest. “I couldn’t keep carrying that part of him with me. It just felt like it was time to let go.”
Ashe’s hand covered hers gently on the mound, rough patches of her skin scraping against Cistine’s. Frowning, Cistine snatched Ashe’s wrist and flipped her hand over.
Her stomach plunged. There was a shape branded on Ashe’s palm like a slave mark. “What is this?”
“A Wingmaiden’s rune, apparently. You’re not the only one who’s allowed to swear unbreakable vows to wild things, you know.”
“Bresnyar made you his left wing?”
“I chose to be.”
Cistine blinked at Ashe’s steady calm. “You’re all right with this?”
“Better than all right. I always thought I was happy in the Cadre, but it was no more real than the love my parents claimed to have for each other.” Ashe drew the starstone gently along its chain, her gaze fixed on the sky. “This is happiness, right here, right now, after everything we’ve learned and fought for and won. Bres and Maleck are the ones I want to share it with.”
“And me?”
“Always you.”
Cistine laid her head against her friend’s. “I’m happy for you. And I’m glad you’re home.”
Ashe pressed a kiss to her hair. “It’s good to finally be here.”
They leaned against each other’s shoulders, waiting for the sun to set on Salvotor’s final day as a man of title, sharing the last of the daylight with the memory of Julian sitting beside them—three Talheimic wanderers in the wild north, watching the stars light up the night sky.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
THERE WAS RELIEF in escaping the courthouse chaos, visitors streaming constantly through its doors after the sentence came down. Already word traveled out to the territories of Salvotor’s fate, concluding the most influential trial in recent memory. Even within the city where opinions were divided on the subject, there was a tinge of liberation on the air—and nowhere stronger than in Kadlin’s house, where Tatiana, Quill, and Pippet joined her and Morten for supper two days after the trial ended. The household bustled with chattering servants still packing things for their departure, and Kadlin wore a wildcat’s grin.
“Good riddance,” she toasted over a platter of braised beef and potatoes, and they all raised their cups. “To sentencing the greatest stain on the Courts’ reputation in a century or more.”
“And to whatever comes after.” Morten flashed Tatiana a smile.
“Quill, I see that hand is working marvelously for you,” Kadlin remarked slyly as he spooned broth into his mouth.
“Oh, this?” He shot a fond look at the device. “It’s a gift. Watch this.”
He snapped his hand to the back of Pippet’s neck, and she squealed, scrunching up. “Cold!”
Tatiana rolled her eyes. “That’s exactly what I designed it for.”
Pippet pouted. “Why do you like it when I suffer?”
“Because I’m a cruel sister. You thought brothers were the worst?”
“She’s right, you know.” Kadlin nodded sagely. “Sisters are of the Undertaker.”
“Must we invite death to the table?” Morten stirred his soup moodily, and Tatiana shot him a fond smile.
One of the servants swept into the dining hall and spoke in a rapid whisper to Kadlin. She nodded and rose, a sliver of sadness in her smile. “Tatiana, might I borrow you for a moment?”
“As long as these three can behave in my absence.”
To a braiding of protests from Quill, Pippet, and Morten, she followed Kadlin from the room, pausing only once to look back at her father, her valenar, and her sister all tackling their portions at an inventor’s table. There was rightness to it, in the way of new beginnings.
They crossed the home to Kadlin’s gallery, and on the way she explained, “I received a private commission for a specially-enhanced blade. It was expensive enough to buy our crossing to Blaykrone.”
Tatiana whistled lowly. “Elite?”
“A Vassoran guard, actually, the very one who trained me: Branko. Do you know him?”
“In passing.”
“Well, if you pass him again, I hoped you might deliver it to him.” They entered Kadlin’s rooms, a cave of cloth-wrapped delicates and dismantled display mounts. “I’d do it myself, but as you can see, I’m up to my elbows in all this.”
“I can’t imagine.” Even in Hellidom, Tatiana had never owned so many things, and she left it all behind anyway when they raced into the wilds to find Cistine. She’d had precious little her whole life to move with her.
Perhaps that would change in Blaykrone, with her own house.
A harsh quiver of delight and nervous energy racked through her as they reached a writing desk on the far wall. Kadlin reached into the drawer and withdrew a cloth-wrapped parcel, laying its folds open to reveal a blade black as night. “Be sure to deliver this to Branko directly.”
Tatiana took the weapon, marveling silently at its strange weight—heftier on the blade than she was used to—then sheathing it in her belt. “Consider it done.”
Kadlin leaned against the desk, facing her. “There was something else I wanted to discuss with you, but you’ve been so absent lately.”
“I know, I know,” she grimaced. “Cabal duties.”
“It’s all right. That’s part of it, actually.” Kadlin waved a hand. “About the investigation…I think it’s time we laid it aside.”
Tatiana stared at her. “But my father’s schematics…”
“They’re long gone by now.” A sad smile crept over Kadlin’s face. “I’ve arranged to tell him. The night of that feast everyone’s discussing in the markets, we’re going to have one of our own…a farewell of sorts. I’m going to apologize to him, and stars willing, salvage our friendship despite my carelessness.”
“But—”
“Tati. It’s all right.” A hard note crept into Kadlin’s voice. “It’s over. The guild is leaving soon, and I don’t want my last days with your father marked by secrets. It’s time to let this go, do you hear me?”
Tatiana studied Kadlin while she rubbed her temples, a picture of dejection. “I was just going to say, maybe it doesn’t have to end when you leave. Maybe I can help sort it out after we reach Blaykrone.”
Kadlin’s head snapped up again. “We?”
“That’s assuming the thief wasn’t one of Salvotor’s spies, already snatched up in Bravis’s dragnet. You haven’t noticed anyone from the guild going missing, have you?”
“Tatiana!” Kadlin laughed. “You’re coming with us?”
“We all are. Me, Quill, Pippet...and my father.”
Kadlin pressed a palm to her mouth. “Stars…are you absolutely certain about this?”
“I’ve never been so sure of anything…well, except swearing the valenar oath with Quill,” she grinned. “With the trial over, all I want now is peace for my family. And Blaykrone might as well be home. I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather begin a new life.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
FOR THE HUNDREDTH time, Cistine reminded herself this was her choice. She’d talked with Mira for hours, taking her fears like battlefields, until all that remained was the decision itself; and knowing what hung in the balance, it was far easier to make.
She’d picked an armored, spidersilk dress for the feast and wore reinforced leggings beneath—a careful compromise. The modest neckline didn’t suffocate and the sheer sleeves allowed no chill on her skin; the thin chain around her hips could serve as a weapon if needed.
It was all about control. Tonight, in this dress, she had it.
She was focused so hard on keeping her eyes closed while Tatiana lined her eyelids with kohl that she nearly jumped when a knock came at her apartment door. “Are you two ready yet?”
“Perfection takes time, Thorne,” Tatiana sang back, patting Cistine’s cheek to signal they were finished. She opened her eyes to behold her friend dressed in a plunging dark blue gown, Atrasat marks curling along her arms and down her back in the form of a raven’s outstretched wings. She was a gleaming vision of night, a perfect complement to Cistine’s daylight glow.
She stood from the edge of her bed and gave a twirl. “What do you think?”
Tatiana backed away, tapping the kohl stick against her lower lip. “Flawless. How do you feel?”
Cistine smoothed her hands over the fabric. “Nervous. But I can’t think of a better way to celebrate Salvotor’s sentencing than in a dress.”
“An armored one, no less. It’s a spit in his face, and I love it.” Tatiana kissed her forehead. “We’ll be right there with you, Yani. Every step.”
Smiling, Cistine dragged her out into the hall where the rest of the cabal assembled: Aden looking just a shade uncomfortable in his silver-fletched emerald jacket and trousers, Pippet with her hand looped into his elbow, her dress a stunning sky-blue chiffon that made her look far older than she was. Ariadne and Saychelle were mirrored contrasts, dark hair and a pale dress, silver hair and a black gown. Ashe wore cream trousers stuffed into polished boots and a silk shirt with the sleeves rolled up, baring the day-old inkings on her arms: twists of fire on one, curls of shadow on the other; the same as Maleck’s, leaning against the wall beside her. Quill lounged on his other side, chewing a cinnamon stick, Faer roosting on the shoulder of his casual vest-and-shirt. And next to him, Thorne, dressed in a sleeker, more sophisticated version of his usual dark shirt and pants, the collar undone through several buttons, baring a slip more of his chest and star-charted inkings than Cistine could bear with dignity.
She swallowed and focused on his face instead, but that was worse. He wore a stunned expression like she put her knee into his groin.
“Cistine, you look…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “You look happy.”
“I am happy.” She grinned at them all. “And you all look wonderful.”
“Don’t we always?” Ashe pushed up from the wall, slinging a tooled brown leather jacket over her shoulder. “Ready, Princess?”
“I’m ready. Let’s show them Valgard and Talheim united.”
They followed chatter and distant music into the courthouse proper, where the stream of foot traffic thickened, almost bottling in the lower market and again near the steps to the fifteenth floor. Cistine’s heart thudded so loudly she was certain everyone could hear it when the tall doors of the feasting room came into view, a string quartet wafting from the other side. She slowed, letting the tide of people move past her. Even the cabal kept going, swept up in the crowd.
The last time she wore a dress in this courthouse, she was so sick she fled—and some dark voice warned her it could happen again. At any moment, she could lose control.
No. Not tonight. Tonight is ours.
She twisted the ultramarine betrothal ring around her finger with the pad of her thumb, anchoring herself in the moment. They were celebrating a new season of life, and Cistine was defining her place in the world, taking back every last piece the former Chancellor peeled away from her.
There would be no more running. Not for her.
She stepped up to the doors, and the Vassoran guards nodded in passing recognition. “Ready for the feast, Princess?”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I am.”
She pushed forward into brilliant ghostlight, the phosphorescent plants crushed inside jewel-studded chandeliers that multiplied their glow. Red tones flirted with amber; green and gold married in beautiful swathes against the tiles. Blue and purple danced along the walls, a dreamy echo of her birthday celebration a lifetime ago, the night a princess’s destiny forever altered. When Cistine Novacek decided to change the stars for her kingdom—and for herself.
Across the room, elite faces swiveled toward the steps. Eyes found her at the top: the princess. The emissary. The daughter of their new ally. The one who’d helped bring Salvotor to his knees and raise up a new face for their kingdom.
She lifted her chin, pressed her palms to her legs, and met their stares with a smile and a wolfish slide of teeth. She was just like them—a pretty thing wrapped over steel. Equal. Strong. And never to be trifled with.
She nearly jumped when Thorne’s hand slid into hers. “They’re not looking at that dress, you know. They’re searching for a queen.”
Cistine squeezed his hand three times. “Then let’s show them one.”
She tugged him down the steps to the floor, straight into the dance.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
SEVEN SONGS PASSED and Thorne could barely feel his feet anymore when Cistine declared her need for food. They wove toward the sitting tables dragged off to the sides of the feast, each with its own platter of stuffed boar, apples, and cheese. The cabal was already gathered around one; laughter perfumed the air, loudest of all from Sander and, to Thorne’s surprise, Tribune Njal, who took up the seat between him and Mira.
Cistine flopped down next to Maleck and toed off her flats. “It’s finally happened. I think I prefer boots over slippers.”
“Perish the day,” Ashe deadpanned. Cistine threw a shoe at her head, and she caught it, laughing.
“I’d forgotten what Stornhaz celebrations were like.” Saychelle sagged in her seat, head on Ariadne’s shoulder. “I’m too old for this excitement now.”
“Much to my relief.” Ariadne flicked her sister’s ear.
“You’re one to talk. Have you slept at all since the trial?”
Ariadne sipped her drink, brows peaking. “Here and there.”
“She does have ten years of catching up to do with the other girls,” Iri interceded with a glance around the dancing floor, where the visiting visnprestas celebrated the downfall of the man who stole their sister’s future.
“What’s that been like?” Cistine asked. “Seeing all your friends again.”
“Painful.” Ariadne’s lips twisted. “But also healing. The divide between us was not as deep as I thought. In fact, I’ve been meaning to speak with you about that.” She addressed the table at large, but her eyes were on Thorne, so he sat forward to pay her his full attention. “The visnprestas have a request to make of the Courts. They wish for training to defend themselves.”
Saychelle straightened, blinking. “That’s news to me.”
“Me as well.” Iri frowned. “But I won’t say I’m surprised. What happened at Nygaten was bound to shake the other temples.”
Ariadne nodded. “Not only that, but what happened to me…I am not the first, nor was I the last. There are many who do not know the law, or worse, do not fear it. As a woman who understands both the sacred and the sword, they want me to strategize a course for new acolytes to defend themselves and their temples. And to oversee their training personally, here in the city.”
“I thought the gods protected the temples,” Pippet said. “That’s what they teach us in school, anyway.”
Quill ruffled her hair. “Maybe the Order is catching on that the gods offer protection by gifting people like Ariadne with a talent for steel.”
“I think that’s wonderful!” Cistine squeezed Ariadne’s hand. “You must be so happy, having the chance to serve with your friends again.”
“I am, but not like I thought I would be. This doesn’t give me purpose, I already had purpose.” She turned her smile to each of them, lingering on Mira the longest. “I suppose that’s the answer to a question, isn’t it? The chance to use my blades and my knowledge to help others.”
Grinning, Mira raised her glass. “To prayers answered.”
“Whatever help you require, it’s yours,” Thorne added.
Ariadne’s smile was radiant. “Thank you, Chancellor.”
Tatiana flicked water at her. “Let us know any help we can be from Blaykrone.”
Quill nodded. “I’m ready to have my haunches handed to me dueling visnprestas. Besides, my current student hardly needs me anymore.”
“I’ll always need you,” Cistine yawned, helping herself to more apples.
Their words were a melancholy reminder that after tonight, things would change. Tatiana, Quill, and Pippet wouldn’t linger long. Ariadne might travel to the temples, perhaps even with Iri and Saychelle when they returned to Keltei. And there was little guessing whether Ashe and Maleck would stay or go, with a dragon who could carry them anywhere. The firm foundation of five warriors in the wilds was slowly breaking apart, everything Thorne leaned on for ten long years coming undone around him.
And yet Sander was here, and Mira, reclining in his embrace; Njal, who’d come to Thorne’s chambers the past two nights to discuss the needs of Eben; and Aden, on whom he’d come to rely again like brothers fighting their way back to one another across an impossible warground. And for the next full year, he had Cistine.
Life was changing, but that was no reason to give up hope. This was what it was to be Chancellor—to put the people’s needs before his own and make the most of the time he was given with the ones he loved.
Pippet pushed back from the table abruptly, clapping her hands. “Tonight has been so perfect. I want to make a picture of it!”
Quill narrowed his eyes. “I told you to leave that thing in your room.”
She swooped under her chair to retrieve her lightbox. “I know, but I didn’t listen. It could be worse, I could be gambling! Please, Quill?”
All it took was a bat of her eyelids, and he gave way.
“All of you, up!” Iri laughed, and they pushed back from the table with varying degrees of halfhearted protest. “I’ll take that box.”
“If Rion had let him be, you mean.”
Ashe shook her head. “He would’ve chosen you. If he lived long enough to see Rion with us in Keltei, if he faced the choices I did, he still would’ve chosen you. He always did…he proved that in the end.”
Cistine followed Ashe’s gesture, sweeping her hand over the soil where the last piece of Julian was laid to rest. “I couldn’t keep carrying that part of him with me. It just felt like it was time to let go.”
Ashe’s hand covered hers gently on the mound, rough patches of her skin scraping against Cistine’s. Frowning, Cistine snatched Ashe’s wrist and flipped her hand over.
Her stomach plunged. There was a shape branded on Ashe’s palm like a slave mark. “What is this?”
“A Wingmaiden’s rune, apparently. You’re not the only one who’s allowed to swear unbreakable vows to wild things, you know.”
“Bresnyar made you his left wing?”
“I chose to be.”
Cistine blinked at Ashe’s steady calm. “You’re all right with this?”
“Better than all right. I always thought I was happy in the Cadre, but it was no more real than the love my parents claimed to have for each other.” Ashe drew the starstone gently along its chain, her gaze fixed on the sky. “This is happiness, right here, right now, after everything we’ve learned and fought for and won. Bres and Maleck are the ones I want to share it with.”
“And me?”
“Always you.”
Cistine laid her head against her friend’s. “I’m happy for you. And I’m glad you’re home.”
Ashe pressed a kiss to her hair. “It’s good to finally be here.”
They leaned against each other’s shoulders, waiting for the sun to set on Salvotor’s final day as a man of title, sharing the last of the daylight with the memory of Julian sitting beside them—three Talheimic wanderers in the wild north, watching the stars light up the night sky.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
THERE WAS RELIEF in escaping the courthouse chaos, visitors streaming constantly through its doors after the sentence came down. Already word traveled out to the territories of Salvotor’s fate, concluding the most influential trial in recent memory. Even within the city where opinions were divided on the subject, there was a tinge of liberation on the air—and nowhere stronger than in Kadlin’s house, where Tatiana, Quill, and Pippet joined her and Morten for supper two days after the trial ended. The household bustled with chattering servants still packing things for their departure, and Kadlin wore a wildcat’s grin.
“Good riddance,” she toasted over a platter of braised beef and potatoes, and they all raised their cups. “To sentencing the greatest stain on the Courts’ reputation in a century or more.”
“And to whatever comes after.” Morten flashed Tatiana a smile.
“Quill, I see that hand is working marvelously for you,” Kadlin remarked slyly as he spooned broth into his mouth.
“Oh, this?” He shot a fond look at the device. “It’s a gift. Watch this.”
He snapped his hand to the back of Pippet’s neck, and she squealed, scrunching up. “Cold!”
Tatiana rolled her eyes. “That’s exactly what I designed it for.”
Pippet pouted. “Why do you like it when I suffer?”
“Because I’m a cruel sister. You thought brothers were the worst?”
“She’s right, you know.” Kadlin nodded sagely. “Sisters are of the Undertaker.”
“Must we invite death to the table?” Morten stirred his soup moodily, and Tatiana shot him a fond smile.
One of the servants swept into the dining hall and spoke in a rapid whisper to Kadlin. She nodded and rose, a sliver of sadness in her smile. “Tatiana, might I borrow you for a moment?”
“As long as these three can behave in my absence.”
To a braiding of protests from Quill, Pippet, and Morten, she followed Kadlin from the room, pausing only once to look back at her father, her valenar, and her sister all tackling their portions at an inventor’s table. There was rightness to it, in the way of new beginnings.
They crossed the home to Kadlin’s gallery, and on the way she explained, “I received a private commission for a specially-enhanced blade. It was expensive enough to buy our crossing to Blaykrone.”
Tatiana whistled lowly. “Elite?”
“A Vassoran guard, actually, the very one who trained me: Branko. Do you know him?”
“In passing.”
“Well, if you pass him again, I hoped you might deliver it to him.” They entered Kadlin’s rooms, a cave of cloth-wrapped delicates and dismantled display mounts. “I’d do it myself, but as you can see, I’m up to my elbows in all this.”
“I can’t imagine.” Even in Hellidom, Tatiana had never owned so many things, and she left it all behind anyway when they raced into the wilds to find Cistine. She’d had precious little her whole life to move with her.
Perhaps that would change in Blaykrone, with her own house.
A harsh quiver of delight and nervous energy racked through her as they reached a writing desk on the far wall. Kadlin reached into the drawer and withdrew a cloth-wrapped parcel, laying its folds open to reveal a blade black as night. “Be sure to deliver this to Branko directly.”
Tatiana took the weapon, marveling silently at its strange weight—heftier on the blade than she was used to—then sheathing it in her belt. “Consider it done.”
Kadlin leaned against the desk, facing her. “There was something else I wanted to discuss with you, but you’ve been so absent lately.”
“I know, I know,” she grimaced. “Cabal duties.”
“It’s all right. That’s part of it, actually.” Kadlin waved a hand. “About the investigation…I think it’s time we laid it aside.”
Tatiana stared at her. “But my father’s schematics…”
“They’re long gone by now.” A sad smile crept over Kadlin’s face. “I’ve arranged to tell him. The night of that feast everyone’s discussing in the markets, we’re going to have one of our own…a farewell of sorts. I’m going to apologize to him, and stars willing, salvage our friendship despite my carelessness.”
“But—”
“Tati. It’s all right.” A hard note crept into Kadlin’s voice. “It’s over. The guild is leaving soon, and I don’t want my last days with your father marked by secrets. It’s time to let this go, do you hear me?”
Tatiana studied Kadlin while she rubbed her temples, a picture of dejection. “I was just going to say, maybe it doesn’t have to end when you leave. Maybe I can help sort it out after we reach Blaykrone.”
Kadlin’s head snapped up again. “We?”
“That’s assuming the thief wasn’t one of Salvotor’s spies, already snatched up in Bravis’s dragnet. You haven’t noticed anyone from the guild going missing, have you?”
“Tatiana!” Kadlin laughed. “You’re coming with us?”
“We all are. Me, Quill, Pippet...and my father.”
Kadlin pressed a palm to her mouth. “Stars…are you absolutely certain about this?”
“I’ve never been so sure of anything…well, except swearing the valenar oath with Quill,” she grinned. “With the trial over, all I want now is peace for my family. And Blaykrone might as well be home. I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather begin a new life.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
FOR THE HUNDREDTH time, Cistine reminded herself this was her choice. She’d talked with Mira for hours, taking her fears like battlefields, until all that remained was the decision itself; and knowing what hung in the balance, it was far easier to make.
She’d picked an armored, spidersilk dress for the feast and wore reinforced leggings beneath—a careful compromise. The modest neckline didn’t suffocate and the sheer sleeves allowed no chill on her skin; the thin chain around her hips could serve as a weapon if needed.
It was all about control. Tonight, in this dress, she had it.
She was focused so hard on keeping her eyes closed while Tatiana lined her eyelids with kohl that she nearly jumped when a knock came at her apartment door. “Are you two ready yet?”
“Perfection takes time, Thorne,” Tatiana sang back, patting Cistine’s cheek to signal they were finished. She opened her eyes to behold her friend dressed in a plunging dark blue gown, Atrasat marks curling along her arms and down her back in the form of a raven’s outstretched wings. She was a gleaming vision of night, a perfect complement to Cistine’s daylight glow.
She stood from the edge of her bed and gave a twirl. “What do you think?”
Tatiana backed away, tapping the kohl stick against her lower lip. “Flawless. How do you feel?”
Cistine smoothed her hands over the fabric. “Nervous. But I can’t think of a better way to celebrate Salvotor’s sentencing than in a dress.”
“An armored one, no less. It’s a spit in his face, and I love it.” Tatiana kissed her forehead. “We’ll be right there with you, Yani. Every step.”
Smiling, Cistine dragged her out into the hall where the rest of the cabal assembled: Aden looking just a shade uncomfortable in his silver-fletched emerald jacket and trousers, Pippet with her hand looped into his elbow, her dress a stunning sky-blue chiffon that made her look far older than she was. Ariadne and Saychelle were mirrored contrasts, dark hair and a pale dress, silver hair and a black gown. Ashe wore cream trousers stuffed into polished boots and a silk shirt with the sleeves rolled up, baring the day-old inkings on her arms: twists of fire on one, curls of shadow on the other; the same as Maleck’s, leaning against the wall beside her. Quill lounged on his other side, chewing a cinnamon stick, Faer roosting on the shoulder of his casual vest-and-shirt. And next to him, Thorne, dressed in a sleeker, more sophisticated version of his usual dark shirt and pants, the collar undone through several buttons, baring a slip more of his chest and star-charted inkings than Cistine could bear with dignity.
She swallowed and focused on his face instead, but that was worse. He wore a stunned expression like she put her knee into his groin.
“Cistine, you look…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “You look happy.”
“I am happy.” She grinned at them all. “And you all look wonderful.”
“Don’t we always?” Ashe pushed up from the wall, slinging a tooled brown leather jacket over her shoulder. “Ready, Princess?”
“I’m ready. Let’s show them Valgard and Talheim united.”
They followed chatter and distant music into the courthouse proper, where the stream of foot traffic thickened, almost bottling in the lower market and again near the steps to the fifteenth floor. Cistine’s heart thudded so loudly she was certain everyone could hear it when the tall doors of the feasting room came into view, a string quartet wafting from the other side. She slowed, letting the tide of people move past her. Even the cabal kept going, swept up in the crowd.
The last time she wore a dress in this courthouse, she was so sick she fled—and some dark voice warned her it could happen again. At any moment, she could lose control.
No. Not tonight. Tonight is ours.
She twisted the ultramarine betrothal ring around her finger with the pad of her thumb, anchoring herself in the moment. They were celebrating a new season of life, and Cistine was defining her place in the world, taking back every last piece the former Chancellor peeled away from her.
There would be no more running. Not for her.
She stepped up to the doors, and the Vassoran guards nodded in passing recognition. “Ready for the feast, Princess?”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I am.”
She pushed forward into brilliant ghostlight, the phosphorescent plants crushed inside jewel-studded chandeliers that multiplied their glow. Red tones flirted with amber; green and gold married in beautiful swathes against the tiles. Blue and purple danced along the walls, a dreamy echo of her birthday celebration a lifetime ago, the night a princess’s destiny forever altered. When Cistine Novacek decided to change the stars for her kingdom—and for herself.
Across the room, elite faces swiveled toward the steps. Eyes found her at the top: the princess. The emissary. The daughter of their new ally. The one who’d helped bring Salvotor to his knees and raise up a new face for their kingdom.
She lifted her chin, pressed her palms to her legs, and met their stares with a smile and a wolfish slide of teeth. She was just like them—a pretty thing wrapped over steel. Equal. Strong. And never to be trifled with.
She nearly jumped when Thorne’s hand slid into hers. “They’re not looking at that dress, you know. They’re searching for a queen.”
Cistine squeezed his hand three times. “Then let’s show them one.”
She tugged him down the steps to the floor, straight into the dance.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
SEVEN SONGS PASSED and Thorne could barely feel his feet anymore when Cistine declared her need for food. They wove toward the sitting tables dragged off to the sides of the feast, each with its own platter of stuffed boar, apples, and cheese. The cabal was already gathered around one; laughter perfumed the air, loudest of all from Sander and, to Thorne’s surprise, Tribune Njal, who took up the seat between him and Mira.
Cistine flopped down next to Maleck and toed off her flats. “It’s finally happened. I think I prefer boots over slippers.”
“Perish the day,” Ashe deadpanned. Cistine threw a shoe at her head, and she caught it, laughing.
“I’d forgotten what Stornhaz celebrations were like.” Saychelle sagged in her seat, head on Ariadne’s shoulder. “I’m too old for this excitement now.”
“Much to my relief.” Ariadne flicked her sister’s ear.
“You’re one to talk. Have you slept at all since the trial?”
Ariadne sipped her drink, brows peaking. “Here and there.”
“She does have ten years of catching up to do with the other girls,” Iri interceded with a glance around the dancing floor, where the visiting visnprestas celebrated the downfall of the man who stole their sister’s future.
“What’s that been like?” Cistine asked. “Seeing all your friends again.”
“Painful.” Ariadne’s lips twisted. “But also healing. The divide between us was not as deep as I thought. In fact, I’ve been meaning to speak with you about that.” She addressed the table at large, but her eyes were on Thorne, so he sat forward to pay her his full attention. “The visnprestas have a request to make of the Courts. They wish for training to defend themselves.”
Saychelle straightened, blinking. “That’s news to me.”
“Me as well.” Iri frowned. “But I won’t say I’m surprised. What happened at Nygaten was bound to shake the other temples.”
Ariadne nodded. “Not only that, but what happened to me…I am not the first, nor was I the last. There are many who do not know the law, or worse, do not fear it. As a woman who understands both the sacred and the sword, they want me to strategize a course for new acolytes to defend themselves and their temples. And to oversee their training personally, here in the city.”
“I thought the gods protected the temples,” Pippet said. “That’s what they teach us in school, anyway.”
Quill ruffled her hair. “Maybe the Order is catching on that the gods offer protection by gifting people like Ariadne with a talent for steel.”
“I think that’s wonderful!” Cistine squeezed Ariadne’s hand. “You must be so happy, having the chance to serve with your friends again.”
“I am, but not like I thought I would be. This doesn’t give me purpose, I already had purpose.” She turned her smile to each of them, lingering on Mira the longest. “I suppose that’s the answer to a question, isn’t it? The chance to use my blades and my knowledge to help others.”
Grinning, Mira raised her glass. “To prayers answered.”
“Whatever help you require, it’s yours,” Thorne added.
Ariadne’s smile was radiant. “Thank you, Chancellor.”
Tatiana flicked water at her. “Let us know any help we can be from Blaykrone.”
Quill nodded. “I’m ready to have my haunches handed to me dueling visnprestas. Besides, my current student hardly needs me anymore.”
“I’ll always need you,” Cistine yawned, helping herself to more apples.
Their words were a melancholy reminder that after tonight, things would change. Tatiana, Quill, and Pippet wouldn’t linger long. Ariadne might travel to the temples, perhaps even with Iri and Saychelle when they returned to Keltei. And there was little guessing whether Ashe and Maleck would stay or go, with a dragon who could carry them anywhere. The firm foundation of five warriors in the wilds was slowly breaking apart, everything Thorne leaned on for ten long years coming undone around him.
And yet Sander was here, and Mira, reclining in his embrace; Njal, who’d come to Thorne’s chambers the past two nights to discuss the needs of Eben; and Aden, on whom he’d come to rely again like brothers fighting their way back to one another across an impossible warground. And for the next full year, he had Cistine.
Life was changing, but that was no reason to give up hope. This was what it was to be Chancellor—to put the people’s needs before his own and make the most of the time he was given with the ones he loved.
Pippet pushed back from the table abruptly, clapping her hands. “Tonight has been so perfect. I want to make a picture of it!”
Quill narrowed his eyes. “I told you to leave that thing in your room.”
She swooped under her chair to retrieve her lightbox. “I know, but I didn’t listen. It could be worse, I could be gambling! Please, Quill?”
All it took was a bat of her eyelids, and he gave way.
“All of you, up!” Iri laughed, and they pushed back from the table with varying degrees of halfhearted protest. “I’ll take that box.”
