Page 36

Keil’s breathing warmed my exposed skin, settling the goose bumps that had bristled the back of my neck. “It’s one of the most discreet ones I’ve seen,” he murmured. “Erik limited the scarring by administering at the same point each time. It should fade . . . but it will never completely disappear.”

My throat burned, my eyes turning glassy in the reflection. “I didn’t know.”

Didn’t know that Erik had left this mark on me. Didn’t know that while he’d coaxed me with the promise of a crown, he’d already permanently branded me as his prisoner.

“You shouldn’t have to hide it,” Keil said. “What happened to you . . . it’s nothing to be ashamed of. But the choice should be yours.”

I met his gaze in the reflection. I let you go, he’d said in the carriage, with this same regret on his face. But now something darker glimmered there, too. Something I’d seen in him in Daradon, when he’d noticed those bruises around my throat.

The promise of retribution against the person who’d wounded me.

I wished for Keil’s rage to spark my own. For my fury to burn away the cold, weary sadness lingering inside me. But my time in Erik’s cell had dampened the acute wrath that had sustained me during Rose Season, and now my anger felt fragile, tempered by a fear I couldn’t uproot. I felt fragile in a way I hadn’t experienced before.

So, with wet eyelashes and unsteady hands, I whispered, “Take it down.”

Keil set the handheld mirror on the table. Then, with a featherlight touch, he drew out my hairpins one by one.

My updo unspooled, and Keil gently separated the entwined locks until my hair created a barrier between his whispering breaths and my bare skin. His care reminded me of when he’d disentangled my earring during Budding Ball—except the emotion humming between us now transformed this moment into something more intimate.

Keil must have remembered that night, too, because his hand drifted down my hair as he finished, knuckles skimming along my spine.

And he whispered, just as he had on the night of Budding Ball, “You’re free.”

11

The city bustled in the heat of the lunch hour as we journeyed toward the person who’d translated Erik’s symbol. Or, rather, recognized the symbol.

I’d believed the distinction was important. That if the symbol had been used before, I could understand more about Erik’s plans and how the compass fit into them.

Now anticipation thrummed within me as I peeked through the curtain of our rented carriage, a slice of sunlight warming my cheek. The world outside was all flowing chiffons and glittering bronze pavement, rainbows shimmering through water fountain mist. A mouthwatering aroma filled the air, because food was everywhere, overflowing from carts and sizzling on grills, celebrated as freely as Verenians celebrated craftwork.

If you look for a piece of home wherever you go, you’ll never feel too far away. My heart wrenched as I remembered Father’s words from my first trip to Dawning, when I’d desperately missed Vereen. He’d bought me a Dawni lemon cream pie, and the flavor had reminded me so much of Verenian lemon cakes that I’d felt somewhat consoled.

Though this scene appeared cut from the fabric of a golden daydream, I experienced that same discomfort now. The sensation of being stretched too far on the string that connected me to my home.

I was searching for scraps of familiarity when I saw a syrup cake trailing alongside a woman whose hands were full with shopping bags. The display of Wielding—so ordinary here, and yet worthy of a death sentence in Daradon—had me sitting back, wide-eyed, at war with my homesickness.

When I caught Keil watching me, his expression fond and perplexed, I said in false explanation, “I expected it to be war-torn.”

“Other coastal areas have been hit harder, but we have extra defenses here, what with the palace being so close. The settlement, too.”

“Where Osana works,” I said, a slight question in my tone.

Keil nodded. “Ever since she resigned from the Imperial Guard.”

I startled. “Osana was a guard?”

“It’s how we met. She was assigned to accompany us on a few diplomatic excursions. She was good, too. Observant. Skilled with her specter.” He hesitated, his voice turning bleak. “She was only eighteen when Arun took an interest in her, believing she would make a talented apprentice.”

I winced. “Did she accept his offer?”

“She did. And after a month spent shadowing him, seeing exactly how he worked . . . she left the palace entirely.”

Do you know what your family did to the Wielders in that wagon? Osana had asked while crushing my neck. Maybe I should demonstrate.

Clearly, she didn’t recoil from bloodshed. So I didn’t want to imagine what she had seen from Arun to have fled so quickly.

“Now she helps run the settlement’s northern sector,” Keil continued, “where the Daradonian refugees reside.”