Page 46

CALLYN

The guards and advisers keep trying to convince the queen to withdraw deeper into the palace, but she refuses. Nora has taken little Sinna into the corner, and now they’re curled up behind a series of guards while my sister braids the princess’s hair. I can hear Nora telling the same silly stories I once told her , and if the world weren’t falling apart around us, it might make me smile.

The queen has moved a bit down the hallway, to where a slit in the stone wall allows for a bit of view of the training fields beyond, but we can’t see much. I followed her over here, the king’s final order still echoing in my ears.

Stay with her. Help her.

Not the guards, not the advisers. Not even the queen’s sister.

Me.

I don’t know how to do that. I don’t even know if I’m the right person to do that.

The queen hasn’t said a word since the king walked through the door, and her eyes haven’t left that narrow slit in the wall. He’s barely visible, and we only catch occasional glimpses when he steps into view. I can tell from the shadowed movements that he’s not alone, but I can’t tell who’s with him. The screeching from the scravers is loud and intense, but at least the sound of breaking glass has ceased.

I wonder if the king’s final words to her are echoing in her thoughts, too.

Whatever you want. Whatever you need. I will always yield for you.

She inhaled to give an order, but he cut her off with a kiss. Was she going to send him out? Or was she going to send the guards out?

Did he spare her the choice, or did he make it for her?

It makes me think of Alek, the way he stood there with a sword in his hand, looking at me like I’d betrayed him—but then he sent me back to the palace, unharmed. He left it up to me to tell the queen.

A mercy? Or a warning?

Did he yield for me ?

My heart thumps, and I press a hand over my chest, my fingers falling against the pendant. It feels warm against my skin, and I feel those sparks and stars in my veins, just like when I healed Alek.

The queen gasps, and I look, and it seems that the fighting has slowed—or maybe there just aren’t enough fighters left. To my surprise, she grabs hold of my hand.

“What’s happening?” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper.

“His magic is waning, I think.” Her breath almost hitches, but she catches herself, and slowly exhales. “The scravers are able to get closer.”

I want to ask how long his magic will last—but I don’t think I want the answer.

“Is he sacrificing himself for my people?” says the queen, and her voice is so quiet and broken that I can’t tell if she’s asking me or if she’s asking herself .

But then she turns to look at me. “Am I supposed to allow this?”

My breath catches, because much like the king’s final order to me, this is so unexpected.

But all of a sudden, the last few months snap into new focus. The way the queen called for dinner and poured glasses of wine for me . The way she stood at that window and talked about her husband.

The way she stayed in my bakery, for days , instead of returning to the palace.

The way I haven’t seen her with one single friend in the entire time I’ve been here.

Her people might hate the king and his magic, but she doesn’t.

Emotion wells up in my gut. I didn’t see the full scope of the conflict here. I didn’t realize.

Her eyes have filled, and when I blink, I realize mine have, too.

“We can help them,” I whisper to her. “We can. I . . . ?I have—”

But I can’t finish that sentence, or maybe my words are lost to the air.

Either way, it doesn’t matter, because the queen has gripped tight to my hand, and she’s opening the door.

I’m not prepared for the cold or the wind. Every flower in the garden is frosted over and wilting. The stone walls of the palace have a thin layer of frost, every piece of metalwork glinting with ice. Threads of blood have turned to ice everywhere, in streaks on the field, along the pennants strung below the windows, on the armor of fallen soldiers.

But there, just between the gardens and the training fields, the king is fighting scravers, practically hand-to-hand. Lord Tycho and that other soldier are by his side. A large scraver with red-and-purple feathers seems to be the worst of the aggressors, because his movements are quicker than lightning, and he darts away, moving in to swipe with claws. The air is humming, and it takes me a moment to realize it must be magic. Is it the scravers? The king? Lord Tycho?

“Do you feel it?” says the queen.

“Yes,” I breathe. The pendant at my chest seems to be vibrating, and I press my hand over it.

The hum in the air goes stronger, until it presses in against me, and I can barely breathe.

That red-and-purple scraver lifts his head, and he looks right at me and the queen.

My heart seems to stop. Panic floods my chest, those sparks and stars threatening to overtake my vision. We’re unarmed. We have nothing.

But we have magic.

—Magesmith , says the scraver.

Without warning, he leaps away from the king, and aims directly at us.

Light explodes in my eyes. For an instant, the world goes completely silent, or maybe that hum of magic just swells to a volume that drowns out everything else. It’s more than what happened when I defended Alek. I don’t know if this is my magic, or if it’s the queen, or even if it’s the king—just that it overwhelms every sense I have. Maybe it’s all of us. I don’t feel the cold, I don’t feel the wind, I don’t feel the impact. I just see blinding, vivid white, and it seems to go on for an eternity.

And then it ends, snapping away so hard that I’m thrown back against the palace wall. The queen strikes the stone beside me.

When I blink, I realize the scraver has been thrown back—and far, too. At least a hundred feet. They all have, because the king and the other men have found their feet, and they’re now standing with us, weapons drawn, ready to defend.

The scravers are rising from the field. My breath catches, because I still don’t know what happened.

But a shriek echoes from overhead, and the ones remaining on the field look up. The red-and-purple one shrieks right back at them, and I think maybe more have arrived to lend their strength to the attack. But then his wings snap wide, and he launches into the sky. The others quickly follow.

But a voice drifts back to us as the cold wind swirls away, ice melting almost as quickly as it formed.

— We know where to find you, magesmith.

The queen sucks in a breath and looks up at the king—but something in my gut warns that the scraver was talking to me .

King Grey is looking at the queen. “Lia Mara. Are you well? Is Sinna—”

“Sinna is fine,” she says in a rush, talking over him. She grabs his hands, looking at the stripes of blood on his forearms. “Grey—Grey, you’re hurt—we need—”

“I’m fine.” He takes hold of her hands and presses them between his own. “Lia Mara. I’m fine .”

She looks at their hands, and that seems to settle her. “I heard him. They’ll come back.”

The king’s face is grim, and he glances at the door to the palace. “And this will embolden the Truthbringers.”

Queen Lia Mara pulls a hand out from between his, and she presses it to his cheek. “We’ll stand against them,” she whispers.

I expect him to lean in and kiss her, the way he did earlier—but he doesn’t. A muscle in his jaw twitches, and something about it makes my gut clench.

But he looks to me. “The queen and I must check the wounded. Return to Sinna, Callyn.”

I glance at the queen, and she nods.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I say. And then I turn for the door, ready to do my duty.