Page 122

“A man brought it to me,” Gilroy said wonderingly. A small smileplayed at his lips, as if he were recalling some forgotten joy. “A smiling man with a voice like summer. He told me it was important. He told me to bring it to the master of the house. But Lord Gideon is busy with the others, my lady. So I’ve been waiting for him. I’ve been waiting at the doors.”

I guided Gilroy to a chair at the side of the entrance hall and helped him sit. Absently he touched a white-gloved hand to his temple. “A beautiful man,” he murmured, “in a long fine coat.”

Shakily I held the paper up to the light and forced myself to read it.

To the most esteemed daughters of the House of Ashbourne—

You are warmly invited to what is sure to be the season’s most spectacular event: a weekend revel held in glorification of He Who Is All, in celebration of his vision for the new world. Dress is formal. Bring any guests you desire. But do not be late. When the road comes, you will take it. To ignore it or delay your crossing would be unwise.

The invitation had no signature, but of course I knew very well who had written it. I folded the paper into crisp thirds, stuffed it into my pocket, and knelt before Gilroy.

“You said Lord Gideon is busy with the others,” I said, my voice coming out much steadier than I felt. “What does that mean? Where is he?”

“You don’t understand!” cried a voice from somewhere deeper in the house—a woman, each word rough with agony. “He’ll find us!”

I left Gilroy sitting bleary-eyed in his chair and raced through the corridors, following the shouts to a terrible scene in one of the northern receiving rooms. Alastrina cowered in the corner, rippedbandages trailing off of her, a crazed look of grief in her eyes. Illaria stood between her and Madam Moreen, her hands up and her expression stern.

“You’re frightening her,” Illaria said firmly. “It’s the smell of the tonics. They remind her of that place.”

Madam Moreen looked to be at the end of her patience. “I understand, my lady, truly, but I can’t help the smell of my tonics, and since she won’t use any more of her magic,” she added crossly, throwing a glare toward Philippa, who sat near the hearth, “if Lady Alastrina keeps opening up her wounds, they’ll never heal, and they’ll get infected. The tonics will help prevent that.”

Past them, Talan sat in a chair with a fresh wound on his arm. One of his own bandages had been ripped open and hung off him in tatters. Gemma was hurrying to him with a fresh bandage, a cloth, a basin of water. Father was prowling back and forth behind them like an angry tiger, and Philippa—Philippa was still and quiet, a stricken expression on her face. She held her pipe in midair, as if she’d been interrupted just before taking a puff from it.

The look on her face chilled me. I tore my gaze away from her and went to Father.

“What’s going on here?” I demanded.

“Is the queen alive?” he asked tightly. I’d left him a note telling him where I’d gone.

“She is. It was a misunderstanding.” I avoided his keen gaze, took in the scene around us. “But this is… What’shappening?”

Talan looked up wryly from Gemma’s ministrations. “Alastrina fears I am not who I claim to be.”

“She was quiet, calm, wouldn’t talk to anyone but Illaria and occasionally Madam Moreen,” Gemma said. Though her movements were brisk and assured, her voice trembled. “About two hours ago, she lost her senses, started wrecking the furniture and pulling pictures fromthe walls. Screaming about a storm, though there’s not a cloud in the sky. We managed to sedate her, but a few minutes ago she rushed at Talan, screaming about Kilraith, and—”

Gemma waved her hand irritably through the air. Then she looked up at me and went very still. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“A storm.” Philippa rose quietly from her chair, staring at me. “There was a storm, wasn’t there?”

“Kilraith attacked the capital. I don’t know why, but Ankaret stopped him.” I hesitated, realizing that neither Ryder nor I had told any of them about her. “The firebird,” I explained quickly. “The creature I saw at Ravenswood. She fought him, vanquished him.” The invitation sat like a weight in my pocket. “But not forever, it seems.”

“She?” Father looked at me quizzically. “How do you know this creature’s name?”

In a rush, I told them everything, and when I had finished, both Gemma and Father looked furious. Philippa stared hard at the hearth, as if within its flames burned a message only she could see.

“You and Ryder kept all of this from us?” Gemma shook her head in disbelief. “This could have been helpful to know, Farrin.”

“I don’t see how anything would be different now if I’d told you,” I shot back, though guilt burned hot in my stomach. I couldn’t say for sure that this was true. “We thought the fewer people knew about her, the safer it was for everyone, including her.”

“This creature could be an informant of Kilraith’s,” Father pressed. “She could have been spying on you all this time, bringing information back to him.”

“She’s afriend. She fought Kilraith and drove him away from the capital.”

“Which only just happened, and even that we can’t rightly interpret,” Father pointed out. “These are Olden creatures. We can’t trust them, no matter what pledges of friendship they offer.”

“Certainly that’s true of Kilraith, but not Ankaret.” The desire to sit down on the floor and never get up was overwhelming. In my exhaustion, I was starting to disbelieve my own self, and as my doubt crept in, so did my grief.

Right at that moment, Talan hissed out a breath. “Ryder,” he murmured. He looked up at me sadly. The warmth of his concern brushed against me, unasked for but welcome, and as soft as the flutter of a butterfly’s wing.