The path from the fountain leads to a side passage into the palace and when I’m done soaking my feet, I carry my slippers and head that way rather than back through the crowded ballroom. The main corridor to the royal chambers is lit with flaming torches and more of the bobbing purple and green lamps. I flinch as someone steps out of the shadows into the shifting, multicolored light. 

I relax when I see it’s only a page, unclenching my fist from around my diamond vial and flexing my fingers. The page folds into a bow as soon as he sees the look of annoyance on my face.

“Why are you skulking there?” I snap. “You scared me. I might’ve roasted you alive where you stand. Don’t you know people have been going missing?”

Zori have mercy, I sound as crotchety as my great-grandmother Dowager Em. Before she died, the servants used to hide in alcoves or behind the drapes when they saw her coming.

The page bows again, so low his nose almost touches his knees. “My apologies, Princess! But his highness King Thede has sent for you.”

I sigh. I was so close to making it back to my room to wrestle my way out of this getup.

Father is in the royal master bedroom with Onyx, eating candied figs in front of a cozy fire. The room is larger and fancier than mine, hung with velvet draperies and tapestries depicting hunts and ceremonies from centuries ago. Thick rugs cover the tiled floor and the bed is large enough for six or seven people. The flickering firelight glimmers off a suit of ancient Lazulian armor and the shiny pate of Father’s head.

I stalk over to stand between him and the fireplace, my gown rustling with every step. “Yes?”

He puts a hand up as I attempt to lower myself into a curtsy and am nearly thrown off balance by my pendulous skirt.

“Don’t be silly, Thedra. It’s just us. Have you left the party so soon?”

“I was tired. And besides, you left.”

“Only just.” His gaze runs over my decadent ballgown. “What a masterpiece.”

“I suppose Godwin was making up for all the gowns she never got to sew for me. She practically groans every time I ask for another new cloak or tunic.”

His mouth twitches. “Well, she certainly outdid herself. Congratulations, by the way. Your mother would have been more than pleased.”

I know he means well, but I’m so tired of being congratulated I nearly sigh. I opt for silence, as this barely resembles a compliment. He can tell me Mother would be pleased, but can’t admit that he’s proud of me?

Father nods to Onyx. “I’ll speak with Thedra alone now.”

Onyx rises from the floor and glides toward the door, the emerald gems in his ears glinting in the firelight. He’s from one of the distant isles in the Sapphire Sea and he’s beautiful—my father doesn’t keep lovers who aren’t—with sun-burnished golden skin and different colored eyes of hazel and blue. In the doorway, he turns to give Father a look and Father beckons to him. Grinning, Onyx returns for a kiss on the lips.

He brushes past me, blushing. He can’t be older than twenty-three. Father’s eyes glow with affection. I bite my lip to keep from gagging.

When he’s gone, I ask, “Will you keep this one long?”

“Thedra,” he demurs. Then he shrugs. “Perhaps. He’s docile, affectionate. Unambitious.”

“You’re downplaying what he means to you. You’ve had lovers all my life, but never one with his own wing in the palace, or who wore Mother’s emeralds.”

He frowns gravely, as if he wonders why I have so little respect for his private affairs, but he waves an indifferent hand. “Go take them out of his earlobes, then. You’re welcome to all Mora’s jewels, if you want them.”

I say nothing, letting my silence serve as an answer.

He takes a leisurely sip of wine. “That’s right. You care nothing for gemstones, aside from the one that holds your lightning. I was surprised to see you wearing Mora’s lapis tonight.”

“I wanted to honor her.”

“And you did. She’d be proud, truly. But you’re seventeen, Thedra. You must marry and take the throne when you come of age next year. We’ve just come out of a five-year famine, with the moneybags repressing trade and Akina little more than a figurehead. Marry a royal or a noble, I beg you.”

I cross my arms, frowning. Although Lazul’s jewels could feed a country twice its size, they’re owned and regulated by a handful of noble families who brood over their wealth like a horde of dragons. They’d rather watch the populace starve than share what’s theirs.

“Akina could send us her greensmiths and make anyone who disagrees with her into a lawn ornament, but you want me to do things the old way. Save the country with an alliance through marriage.”

A hundred times my mother proposed making the rich of Lazul share their wealth by heavy taxation so we could afford to trade with Zelen and the Sapphire Isles for grain and citrus fruit, and with Dendronia for more of their cold-hardy cattle and blocks of frozen yak milk. But Dowager Em, last of the old line who ruled through blood rather than power, refused. She’d not have a robber queen in Lazul, she said. Keep the nobles happy and there is peace. Displease them and there is war.

Father scowls. “Akina is a diplomat, not a tyrant. She never turns important people to stone. Lord Woodbine excepted, of course. You could learn from her.”

I roll my eyes, and he sighs and slumps in his armchair, as if remaining upright throughout the revelry tonight and this conversation has drained all the life from him. He’s so dramatic. At least he didn’t have to survive being stabbed in the heart.

I walk to the table beside the massive fireplace and grab one of the candied figs he and Onyx were sharing.

Father frowns as the chain of the locket around my neck catches the firelight. “What’s that?”

I bite my lip. “The Speaking Jewel. Rothbart gave it to me.”

“Now, you see? Would a man give such a gift to the daughter of a woman he murdered?”

I shrug. A strange gift, if you ask me. “That doesn’t mean I was wrong to suspect him,” I say.

“When you’re queen, you’ll be free to look for treasonous plots behind every corner, although take my word that it will drive you mad.”

I take a bite of the candied fig in my hand so I don’t have to reply.

“I know you think I care only for myself,” Father says.

I glance at him, startled. The wine must have loosened his tongue.

“But I understand your lingering feelings for Dette,” he continues. “When I was your age, I wanted to marry the crown prince of Dendronia. But sometimes you must hold your own feet to the fire. It’s part of being a sovereign.”

My eyes widen. I’ve never heard this story.

“Grandmother wouldn’t hear of it,” he explains.

“Oh.” This makes sense. Dowager Em wasn’t exactly known for being merciful. Or flexible.

He turns the crystal goblet in his hand, studying the jewel red wine. “Same-gender unions had just begun to be more common, and it didn’t help that he’d lost his powers in an accident. A powered heir must share the throne in Lazul’s halls of jeweled stone, and all that. Ah well.” He shrugs, dismissing the love of his life with another wave of his hand. “He’s been dead since the Giant Wars.”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. For possibly the first time in my life, I feel a hint of empathy for him.

“I’ll take the throne if it’s what you really want,” I say. It’s noncommittal, but it’s all I can manage just now. Too much has taken place in the past twelve hours.

He sits up a bit straighter, giving me a doubtful look, as if he’s waiting for my conditions. “It is. I’m getting too old to make another heir.”

“You should know that when I’m queen, I won’t stand to see children starve in our streets. I know the royal family is in debt, but I’ll confiscate the estates of the corrupt, sell the crown jewels and every tapestry in the palace if I must.”

He frowns. “You think it will be so easy? That we wanted people to starve? That we had a choice?”

“I don’t think you tried hard enough if you didn’t.”

Father exhales through his nostrils and takes another sip of wine. “Well. That problem will be yours if you take the throne, and I wish you joy in solving it.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes.” He gives me a wry glance. “It was a pleasure visiting with you, too.”

I purse my lips, not wanting to return the lie just for courtesy’s sake. “I’m sorry they did that to you, Father.”

He looks back at the goblet of wine in his hands, saying nothing, but I recognize the remembered loss in his gaze. I’ve felt it myself.

My room is dark and cold now that night has fallen. The soles of my feet are still sandy from the garden paths and I brush them on the velvet mat inside my doorway. Henbane and Godwin are gone, but as my eyes adjust to the light, I see Neev’s slender form on the lounge in the corner of the room. She’s asleep with a throw draped over her legs. Her bare, slender feet peek out from beneath it.

I’m humiliated that she waited for me, like I’m a child who needs help undressing for bed. Why didn’t she help Dette out of her things instead? That question breeds an unwelcome thought. Perhaps Dette sent her away because Topaz came back with her to her room. But then wouldn’t the girl have just gone to her own room, rather than come back to mine?

I close the window and pull the lapis pins from my hair, and with a bit of maneuvering, I manage to unlace my dress and let it fall to the floor in a silken heap. I toss my chemise atop it.

Relieved of the weight of my dress, I let the cool night air wash over me after the heat of the dining hall and the fire in Father’s room. Then I drag a comb through my hair and splash water from a basin onto my face, grabbing a cloth to scrub the glitter off my cheeks.

“Your Highness?”

I turn and see Neev sitting up on the lounge, blinking blearily. She swings her legs over the side and the throw slips to the floor.

“If you were going to wait here for me all night, you could’ve closed the window and lit a fire.”

“I’d not presume, Your Highness. And I’m not cold.”

She adjusts the flame on an alchemical lamp to light her way out and blanches when she glimpses me in the sickly purple glow and realizes I’m naked. Her eyes linger on my body for a beat before she looks away.

Knowing she might have been looking at me like that for even a second makes heat bloom in my belly, ripe and insistent.

I step toward her. I can’t help it. It’s like she’s the moon, and I’m the tide.

I barely noticed her when Dette’s entourage arrived. Next to Henbane and Dette, she’s understated and quiet. Dette is like a showy day of early summer filled with vivid flowers and brilliant sky, while Neev is more subtle, a spring raindrop or moonlight on water.

Get a hold of yourself, Thedra. You had too much to drink.

I take a slow breath, trying to calm down before she looks at my face and realizes what I’m thinking. I slip on a robe and tie the sash around my waist, and she regains her composure enough to look at me again. I’m expecting her to leave, but she asks, “How’d the evening go, Your Highness?”

I blink, surprised by her interest. “I survived the nobles, as you see.”

“Did the goddess really heed your voice at the tombs?”

I think of the darting movement of Zori’s arm as she plunged the stone dagger into my heart, quick and merciless as a striking snake. “She awoke, but I don’t think Zori obeys anyone but herself.”

“What was she like?”

People have been congratulating me all night, but this is the first time anyone has asked what happened. “Why?”

She shrugs. “When I was a girl, I used to dream of meeting Thorne. I always left little offerings for her on the altars around Zelen. I wanted her favor in case we ever met, so I might ask a gift of her.”

“Oh? What would you have asked for?”

“That’s a secret for Thorne.” There’s a playful tilt to Neev’s mouth. It feels like she’s flirting with me, and a shiver runs down the back of my neck. I haven’t had this reaction to another girl since Dette...

I turn my back to her and pour a cup of water from the ewer beside my bed. Beryl refilled the ewer last night, and the water tastes a bit stale, but it’s cool and it soothes my wine-parched tongue.

“I hope you meet her one day then,” I say, turning back to her. “Thorne, I mean. And I hope she’s kinder than Zori.”

“Zori was unkind?”

I take another sip of water, considering. “She was fearsome, and she spoke nonsense, as deities do in stories.”

Neev shifts slightly and I catch a hint of her perfume over the lingering scent of the burnt-out cinnamon candles on my dresser. She smells of blooming jasmine and sugared rose petals. Light and sweet. It occurs to me that if she doesn’t leave, I’m going to ask her to stay for a drink. Or something equally foolish.

“You’re free to go,” I say again, reconstructing the barrier between us with effort. “I’m sure you’re tired.”

She takes a few compliant steps back, sensing my change of mood. “Goodnight, Your Highness.”