Page 83

Which could hardly be good news – I heard the unspoken thought in the bleak undertone below his words. I floundered towards him as if in a dream, holding out my hand. The wax of that carefully folded letter hadn't been broken yet; no one else was going to let me down easy, then.

My fingers trembled as I fumbled with the seal, too aware of Tared and Creon’s eyes on me. Perhaps I should have given the consuls every single title and qualification I held, I considered, useless thoughts that I couldn’t stop thinking all the same. Perhaps I should have aimed to sound impressive rather than like a lost, flailing child. That way, they might at least have thought a little longer before rejecting me – might not have laughed and written back the moment my message hit their desk.

Two hours. An embarrassment.

My eyes flew over the text as I unfolded the letter, words written in the quick, regular hand of someone who’d spent half their life with a pen between their fingers.

Emelin,

We’ve been hoping you would reach out to us. The White City is pleased and ready to welcome you. If it suits, watchmen will be waiting for you by the gate at sunrise tomorrow; no bargains are required, but please make sure no companions of yours approach the city walls too closely.

Sincerely,

Rosalind,

Consul of the White City

Chapter 17

‘Mind if I takea look at that letter again?’ Creon muttered as soon as I shut the door of Lyn’s wardrobe behind me – rather, her wardrobe chamber, as her collection of clothes from several full lifetimes occupied a full bedroom next to the one in which she was sleeping. ‘Something about it is bothering me.’

I handed him the folded parchment without question, running my gaze over the packed shelves and racks around us. In the pale alf light, the shimmers of silk and organza gleamed their invitations at me, making my hands itch with old seamstress habits – but no, I had to restrain myself on this occasion. I knew the impression I needed to make; arriving at the White City in an extravagant ball dress would only be slightly less foolish than arriving in layers of black and crimson.

What I needed was white. Pale gold. Eggshell blue. Sweet, innocent colours for this trip, dresses to underline my declaration of peace.

I stepped around a pile of ancient hatboxes and made for the shelves to my right, where a few promising glimpses of ivory had caught my eye. Behind me, I heard Creon sink onto the low footstool that even an adult Lyn would need to reach the highest shelves, followed by the rustle of fingers over parchment.

‘Do you have any idea what about it is irking you?’ I asked, rummaging through the piles without looking over my shoulder. It was still odd, conversing with him while I couldn’t see his face or his hands. ‘The tone of her writing? The name? The conditions?’

He let out a joyless laugh behind me. ‘What conditions?’

I pulled a face, cautiously freeing a simple linen dress from where it had been crammed away. A little outdated, with that silly row of buttons on the front, but then, perhaps I would look all the more harmless for it.

Draping it over the hat boxes, I turned and admitted, ‘I suppose they’re not imposing a terrible number of conditions, no.’

‘There’s exactly one of them,’ Creon said wryly, crossing his legs as he leaned back against the wall. ‘Namely, thatIdon’t come anywhere near them. Nothing about you – about the colour you’re bringing or any alf steel you might be wearing—’

‘I don’t think they know about alf steel,’ I said, heart twinging. ‘The White City sent a representative to Cathra to witness the experiment with the iron, and he didn’t suggest any better alternatives at the time.’

Creon let out a muttered curse, scanning the message again with restless wings and the smallest line between his brows. ‘They could at the very least have required a bargain.’

They could have. Hell, theyshouldhave. I didn’t recall much of the White City representative who had arrived in our village on that sun-drenched summer morning, but I was quite sure he had been the one expressing the gruff opinion that magic was a blemish on the face of our world, better to have eradicated entirely. Even if the consuls had heard of me before, even if they knew what I was trying to do …

Why wouldanyhuman with a grain of good sense throw their doors wide for me without even the slightest of security measures?

I didn’t want to think the thought that welled up in me as I turned to peruse another pile of clothing, fingers brushing unthinkingly over soft wool and exquisite embroidery. What was the sense in deluding myself with even the smallest spark of false hope? But it wormed its way into my conscious mind no matter how hard I tried to press it down, like water seeping in between my fingers—

Because if the consuls were so swift to trust me, they must have a reason to think well of me.

And therewerepeople in the city who knew me.

Was it that mad to think Valter and Editta might have spoken up in my defence? Or that they had at least not slandered my name too much? No pleading letter from my side, no matter how humble and genuine, would have persuaded anyone to let me in if the people who’d raised me were calling me a dangerous little monster and an embarrassment – would it?

The piles of linen before me blurred at the edges.

Damn it all. I squeezed my eyes shut, counted to five, and looked up again, blinking the last of the moisture away. I was being uselessly sentimental, I scolded myself. There might be other reasons for the consuls to be so unusually lenient; for all I knew, the truth might be far less pleasant and farmore dangerous. Walking through that gate full of dewy-eyed optimism would be silly at best and reckless at worst.

And I really couldn’t afford recklessness when there would be no one around to save me.