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I chew on my lip, thinking of the best way to end this letter. Picking at the paint peeling from the pen, the answer comes up to me.

Alive because of you,

Rebel Princess.

As Inara instructed, I fold the letter two times. The parchment vanishes from my hands to be delivered to Bonar, but I still run my fingers through the air as if searching for the thread that might lead me to the letter as it travels to him.

I’m not sure how long it might take Bonar to answer or if he ever will, so I stand up in search of something to quench my thirst. I certainly don’t expect for a folded piece of paper to appear on the counter as I’m pouring myself a glass of orange juice.

The first lines have my heart clenching painfully inside my chest.

My Dear Rebel Princess,

I couldn’t have been more excited for you when I heard of your recently acquired title. It suits you. Even more than you might think. A girl who faced armed men with nothing but a dull knife.

Hearing that you’ve set a course and one with such an honorable goal brings nothing but joy to me. I’ll always hold you in great esteem. Don’t ever doubt it.

We might find ourselves in different parts of the empire, but I’m sure Evanae has planned for our paths to cross again. This desert is just too small.

Don’t ever stop fighting,

Nameless One.

I run the tip of my finger along the edge. I’ve found a home here in The Broken Sands, and no matter how far across the desert, I also have a friend.

Lara pulls me down into a chair with a much more serious look on her face than the occasion warrants, but I’ve learned not to argue with her when it comes to jars with mysterious substances that my sisters know more about than the empire around us.

“Close your eyes,” Lara says, pressing her tongue to her upper lip.

She starts on the lines of kohl, already having drawn her own. It’s still a few hours until everyone will gather in the hall we’ve cleared of old furniture and layers of dust, but Lara wanted to get started early before someone would inevitably ask for help. She proceeds to dig the earth from under my fingernails, cover them in layers of sparkling paint, and finds countless ways to pamper me up despite my protests.

As soon as she’s satisfied with her work, she urges me off the chair and down the hall to a room from which Mylena emerges in an emerald-green kaftan. It clings to her curves and shows her skin in the most strategic places, and the color feels like another of her insults directed at me.

Lara rolls her eyes as soon as Mylena disappears around the corner and passes me a folded kaftan of coal black gauzy fabric.

“Maker’s breath,” I mutter. “Where did you find this?”

“When I was still my father’s favorite daughter, he spared no expense on me. I haven’t even worn that one, but I thought it might suit you.”

It takes me a good fifteen minutes to shimmy into the kaftan. Lara’s shoulders are narrower than mine, and the fabric stretches tight over my chest, but when I look at myself in the mirror, I can’t deny the kaftan looks stunning. The fabric shimmers with golden thread and stars stitched into the hem, and I stare at myself until Lara pulls me back into the room. Her kaftan is also black but with a metallic thread woven into the fabric. Inara’s white kaftan is a stark contrast to ours, but is no less marvelous. The fabric streams down from the bodice with a kaleidoscope of vibrant flowers.

The fabrics shimmer under the candlelight as Lara pulls us all toward a large mirror with an old wooden frame. I don’t even have to force a smile to my lips as I see my reflection. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this happy.

We walk to the hall, already filling with men. Numair is yet to make his appearance, and there is no news if Valdus will be able to make it, but judging by Mylena’s dress, she certainly hopes so.

Inara and Lara drift away to welcome everyone who has come to celebrate our work and watch the first princess of the empire get a tattoo of the rising sun on the back of her neck.

Damen and Kyle emerge one after another, glancing around with unease. Their matching shirts of midnight blue shimmer with light of their own. Before I can wonder for too long about the fabric, Damen spots me and makes his way to me. “Neylan, just the woman I was searching for.”

I bow with a smile tugging on my lips. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I wanted to talk to you before…” he trails off, motioning at the chair set for me. “I wanted to make sure of something.”

“I’m all ears, Priest.”

“I’ve known the people of this town since they were born. I’ve crossed the paths of those in the rebellion so many times they became part of this family we all choose…” he doesn’t finish his thought, scratching the back of his head.

“But you don’t know me as you do them.”