Page 17

“I see something in you,” he says, relaxing his hand.

“Here, the pressure can feel insurmountable. Suffocating. I know my talent. I know how to put on a show. But I can’t give the Crowns something they haven’t seen before, not the way you can.

The dust, the wings, the things you craft and the way you lure us into a story .

. .” He shifts on his feet. “That is why I relented. You are the missing piece, the spark we needed.”

Warmth blooms in my stomach. He believes that I’m resilient. Valuable. A spark.

I need him to believe it still.

“The trick is to be remembered.” I take his hand, folding it in both of my own.

This—it’s familiar. Touch is our language.

“My mistake last night was that I didn’t consider the ramifications for you or anyone else here.

I won’t be so thoughtless next time.” I want the words to be true, but guilt clings to my ribs, threatening to cave them.

It’s a promise I might not be able to keep.

My next apology isn’t for what I’ve done but for what I might do—and what it might cost him. “Copelan, I am sorry.”

He swallows, his thumb running a path along my hands. Butterflies skate across my skin from his touch, my heartbeat fluttering with them as he says, “Last night, in your room . . .”

Voices trail into the garden from around the bend, breaking apart the moment.

“. . . the seal, which will ensure . . .”

“. . . assuming we can retrieve . . .”

They’re meant to be hushed, but they bounce around the enclosure until I catch a glimpse of ivory locks swept up into a golden circlet.

Princess Aesir halts by the fountain, oblivious to our presence on the other side of the arbor. A slightly taller, broader figure accompanies her, and it isn’t until I see the hand resting on her waist that every muscle of mine locks in place—

That ring.

I blink. I must be mistaken. I’d thought that here, at the Gathering, I might overhear a familiar name or two, just enough that I could ascertain the happenings at home in my absence. But I never thought . . .

I shake my head. I’m seeing things.

Because it can’t be.

Not him. Not here.

But the large star of that burnished brass ring is unmistakable, and I know what I would find should I look closer at its engraving: a hawk in flight, its talons clutching a strand of lupine.

Then the figure angles just so, the prominent jut of his chin unmistakable.

My body reacts before I can make sense of it, my pulse surging into a painful beat.

He wasn’t at the Welcoming; I’d have seen him.

How . . . how is he here? I shrink back into the vines, wishing they would swallow me.

“We should give them some privacy,” Copelan says, until his eyes latch on to my trembling hands. “Vasalie?”

“Please,” I beg him, voice low. “Please stay quiet and don’t say my name.” It isn’t the same; I’d changed it, but I’d been so young. It’s different, but not different enough.

Copelan darts a gaze back toward the princess, still deep in a conversation I can’t make out. Then the softness I’d managed to pull from him shrinks as he turns that glare back on me. “If you want a second chance, you will tell me what’s going on. The truth,” he hisses.

I shake my head.

I can’t possibly tell him that the man speaking with the princess is my father.

My father. He is here, at the Gathering. I need to leave, hide—

“Ah! Copelan, is that you?” Princess Aesir calls, her chipper voice startling us both. I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Your Highness,” Copelan replies. “A pleasant surprise indeed.”

Numbness spreads up my hands as the two of them near. Copelan flicks a glance toward me. I mouth the word please. He shoves out a clipped sigh, then angles himself, blocking sight of me between the arbor and his body.

She’s close now, maybe five feet away. Just around the bend.

“Copelan, have you met General Stova?”

No—no. My chest constricts. My tunic is too tight.

He isn’t supposed to be here. Generals are almost never in attendance. He might have attended a Gathering once, but it was only because Emilia—a citizen of both Miridran and Brisendale on account of her familial ties—was invited to perform just after they married.

“I haven’t,” says Copelan, stretching out a hand. “It’s an honor, sir.”

“Copelan is our Master of Revels,” the princess muses. “He oversees all the entertainment, including the show last night. Impressive, was it not?”

And then I hear my father’s voice, rough as boots dragging against stone. “It was the talk of the evening.”

He offers nothing more.

“Goodness, and my father’s expression was priceless, no? You should have seen it, Maksim. Copelan and I had a good laugh about it this morning.”

Maksim.

Just how casual is he among his betters? But then—

Last night. Had he seen me? Would he have recognized me? I feel as if I’ve run a mile, my vision puckered with stars.

He should not be here.

My thoughts are frenzied, but then I note the way Princess Aesir’s slender hand comes to squeeze Copelan’s upper arm. I notice, too, how his shoulders tense the way they do when he lifts me, when he’s expecting to hold weight.

“Princess,” says the general, “it’s best we head inside.”

Yes, please go, I beg silently. And somehow, they do. After a short farewell, their footfalls recede, and Copelan and I are alone once more.

He glares at me. “Speak, or I will send you away.”

My voice is mired in my throat—or perhaps it’s a scream. I feel frozen, that familiar current of fear pummeling through my blood as yet another memory claws forth—roaring shouts, a loud, split-ting crack—but Copelan snags my wrist, yanking me back into the present. “ Vasalie. ”

“Stova,” I breathe. I haven’t tasted my family name in years. I never wanted to say it again.

“General Stova?” Copelan says, trying to understand. “What about him?”

I want to laugh, a wild hysteria bubbling in my windpipe. He’s the reason I had to flee. He is the reason I left home, alone, with no one to protect me. He is the reason Emilia isn’t with me.

She was the sunlight in my dreary world, and he is the terror who seizes the night.

“I—” I swallow, force out a response. “I knew him, once. Long ago.”

Copelan releases my wrist and folds his hands over my shoulders, his eyes meeting mine. But where I expect to see the same hardness evident in his voice, I find a hint of concern.

“Not here,” I plead. Not where anyone could overhear, especially someone employed by Illian.

His lips thin, but he backs away. “I will find you tonight before your banquet. Until then, I expect you in the Dance Hall, practicing. What do you plan to perform?”

“Something simple,” I say. “Whatever you wish. I will be careful.”

He heaves a sigh. “I know, because otherwise, I will let you go.”