Dawn was fast approaching.
Ana stood out on the balcony, looking over the moon garden. The Iron Shrine, where she would be crowned, looked ominous against the coming light. The moonlilies in the garden closed up, one by one, as pink bled across the sky, eating away the night.
She had seen so many sunrises in the seven years she had just been Ana. Too many for her liking, to be honest. She would watch them with Di from the cockpit, sipping warm tea as she sat on his lap.
“Far above the crown of stars,” Ana had once recited. She had been fourteen, and she had finally seen someone die—it had been an accident, but the face of the man haunted her every time she closed her eyes. Di sat up for hours with her when she couldn’t sleep, watching the screens in the cockpit shift and change. “Do you believe in the story? That a single girl could drive the Dark away?”
“It is improbable,” Di had replied, his fingers patiently weaving her hair into a braid. “But I do like the sentiment.”
“Of a girl shining? She’d be burning.”
“No, I like the sentiment of hope.”
Hope.
She had waited for a week to feel like the girl of light—the Goddess. But perhaps she was waiting for the wrong thing. She had been waiting for power, for control, but what if the Goddess’s only power was hope?
How strong was a power like that?
Sunlight broke over the horizon, warming her face, her smooth cheek and her scars.
Last night, a skysailer had left the docks with a stolen exit code. She hoped it was Di and Jax. Robb had tried to come see her this morning, but the Messiers at the door wouldn’t let him in. Not even when she asked.
So she was rather glad for the Royal Captain’s stalwart guard this morning. It meant the Messiers had to get through at least one body before they killed her, although she hoped Viera could hold her own if she tried. The captain kept her collar up higher than normal today, hiding the bruises Ana saw anyway underneath.
Ana reached for the pendant at her throat—then she remembered it wasn’t there. She’d given it to Di last night, though she could still feel the ghostly weight of it against her chest.
Far out in the square, she heard her name being chanted—
Ananke. Ananke. Ananke.
—with a conviction that could hold up the stars.
But she was not the Goddess, and she did not know how she could be. She clung to a small part of her that was still Ana, who’d kissed an iron boy, and who cared for him deeply, and if that was love—if wanting him to be safe, and happy for the rest of his life . . . if that was love . . .
It felt a lot like hope.
“Your Grace, are you ready?”
Ana turned around, smoothing out her dress to make sure no one could see the dagger hidden underneath. It was Viera’s, borrowed without question. Siege had taught her never to go into a fight empty-handed, and she’d be damned if she would start now. If the kingdom expected her to shine, it’d be from the blade at her hip.
“Yes,” she told her Royal Captain. “I think I am.”