Page 37 of The Starlit Ring (The Chronicles of Liridin #1)

W e arrived late to breakfast, pink-cheeked and fuming.

Ria needled me about Marius the entire walk to breakfast. It didn’t matter what I said—nothing could reassure her that I wasn’t out to steal her betrothed. Admittedly, a part of me couldn’t stop thinking about him, but the suspicion hurt.

Prince Marius didn’t even like me. He might make me blush, but he had no interest in me beyond my skills as an artificer.

Ria could be offended all she wanted; it didn’t change the fact that I was no one to him.

She was engaged to him. Poised to one day rule over these glorious, mystical lands; lands that I would likely never see again.

Now a servant, I’d be lucky to leave the palace more than once or twice a year.

Ria would be expected to tour the realm after their marriage.

She would get to see the embassy of the sea, the long, winding bridge to Liridin, all the strange and wondrous things that crept through verdant forests and drifted through a spectacular, turquoise sea.

And I would fold laundry and scrub chamber pots and long for something else. Something I would never get.

As a princess, my movements were limited.

I might be very lucky one day and marry a man of high standing.

Probably not a prince, given the doubts surrounding my parentage, but someone of repute, nonetheless.

Perhaps he would take me on a tour of his lands.

We’d visit the mountains, or the sea, or the cliffs, or whatever spectacle was closest. He might dote upon me, enjoy my company as we traveled.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. And that was only if I returned to Olmstead and faced Father’s wrath.

But what if… What if I simply didn’t marry?

What if I worked in a forge? What if I just designed swords and buttons and trinkets, and imbued them all with their own special powers?

So what if my spells didn’t hold as long as they should?

I could learn. And if I couldn’t, then I’d just charge a reduced rate.

The thought nearly dumbfounded me.

There was no way King Amonrew would allow that.

But… What if I didn’t return home? What if I left the palace, stayed in Tocchia, and just… did as I pleased?

Princesses didn’t get to become artificers. It was too much to hope for. But as the morning wore on, my hands tingled in excitement. Something like hope blossomed in the depths of my heart, pushing away the fears that festered there.

I was startled from my thoughts when the eastern door flew open with a bang, and two winged men I’d never seen before marched in, their faces tight. Barely contained fury glinted in their eyes.

They stalked through the palace and into the great hall, stopping at the Royal table, where Toral and Halin sat. Guards trailed behind them, hands on the hilts of their weapons.

A hush fell across the room as Toral and Halin rose, their expressions grim. Those massive, shiny wings moved gracefully even in a crowded space.

“There’s an urgent matter,” said one of the messengers. Only now did I notice the tear in his trousers, the slight discoloration of the black fabric. Blood? Or something else? “In Rylerian. ”

“I assumed so,” said Toral. A line of worry creased his forehead. “Speak.”

“Three messengers were shot from the sky just this morning,” said one of the strangers. “No messages. No bodies. They fell, and disappeared.”

“Fuck,” said Toral.

“Eloquent,” commented an already drunk noble, leftover from the festival.

Toral shot him a dirty look.

I frowned. Liridin should be nearly impervious to attack. I was no strategist, but the only way for a regular human to access the island was to traverse the narrow, winding bridge that appeared and disappeared seemingly on a whim. It would be awfully difficult to storm.

No, the Sky Kingdom would be most vulnerable to attacks from within.

I’d never visited, but Zellia told me that it was terribly hard to gain access.

The bridge, though beautiful, was steep and seemingly endless.

Plenty who crossed it felt as if they were journeying into the mouth of hell itself, maddened by thirst and the sunlight, blinding against glittering white stone.

Outsiders weren’t banned, but the journey was discouraged. Most everyone from Liridin had wings. Foreigners forced to rely on the bridge.

“I can assure you all that this action was not sanctioned by Tocchia,” said King Amonrew, climbing to his feet. “Liridin is our ally, and we will rise to your defense.”

“Thank you,” said Toral, bowing deeply. But his eyes were narrowed in consideration. “Your aid is most appreciated.”

“And Plinath,” said the dark-haired man to Fallamor’s left. I’d only been briefly introduced, but I thought his name was Girrar. He was tall, elegant, and serious, entirely devoid of social niceties. The exact opposite of Fallamor.

“Thank you,” said Toral, dipping into another low bow .

Was it customary for an acting regent to bow to an advisor? I wasn’t sure.

For the next two hours, the palace was in a flurry. Royal advisors flocked to the war room, flanked by the king, queen, representatives, and even the princes. Only Princess Odalla stayed behind, herding her children upstairs, away from the ruckus.

Though most of the nobles who attended the festival had left by now, a few still remained. They fretted about the dining hall like distraught peacocks, drinking wine even at the early hour, and speculating loudly about what might’ve happened.

Prince Marius among the last to depart. His eyes held a haunted trepidation, and he spent a good deal of time at the great hall’s massive window, staring out into the sky as if expecting to witness another execution.

It was Gavin who dragged him off to the war room, quite literally by the collar of his embroidered jacket.

Ria and I were allowed onto the veranda but asked not to roam the grounds.

I only just concealed my contempt. Did they think us too fragile to face the truth?

Did they think we might get in the way of any messengers or scouts?

I hardly thought that roaming the gardens would affect anyone, but clearly, the royal guard disagreed.

So we spent much of the morning on the veranda, watching as people came and went.

From our vantage point, we could not see Liridin, which loomed on the other side of the palace.

Goblet in hand, a worried frown on her pretty face, blue skirts trailing behind her, Princess Odalla joined us at the railing.

“The omens have been less than favorable lately,” she said, taking a sip of wine. Wide eyes drifted to the fluffy clouds in the sky. “I’d hoped that nothing would come of it.”

“Are you a Seer?” asked Ria, turning slowly.

Odalla’s answering smile was pained, quick. “No. That would be your betrothed.” She sighed, stretched her arms behind her back. Wine splashed in her goblet. “No, I’m merely attuned to symbols, signs.”

“Wait,” said Ria, confused. “Prince Marius is a Seer?”

With a nod, Odalla said, “Of sorts. He… is reluctant to advertise it.”

“Why?”

“I’ve no idea,” said Odalla. “I think he fears that he will lose his advantages if his skills are known. A future king who can See will have a bounty on his head. Kings are already powerful enemies. A Seer King will be especially despised.”

“Is he… a good Seer?” said Ria, shock evident in her voice.

Odalla simply shrugged. “He opts to keep his visions secret. The science isn’t exact.

He fears the peasantry might assume he could promise them a year of successful crops, or a winter without disease, and revolt if he is incorrect in his interpretations.

” A soft, sad smile. “Even you appear to have a limited understanding of how these things work.”

“I’m not a Seer,” said Ria defensively. “I just want to know. I deserve to know. I’m marrying him.”

Odalla stared at the sky and said nothing.

Ria retired to an iron-wrought table, but I remained at the railing, watching the clouds.

Had I seen members of the Sky Kingdom in transit, and mistaken them for birds?

Could I tell the difference between a bird and a winged man?

If one came crashing to the earth, would I realize what was happening?

Princess Odalla straightened her shoulders and pointed to something in the distance. “There,” she said. “That’s a snowy owl. In the daylight. Do you see it there, in the tree?”

I squinted. The veranda overlooked the gardens, the elaborate hedges, and beyond that, the sea. A copse of trees swayed in the breeze just past the garden wall. Moss crawled up their trunks. I could only just make out a pale form nestled high in the branches. “I think so.”

“A beautiful creature, and a poor omen. There is someone among us who is less honest than we’ve been led to believe,” said Princess Odalla.

“A traitor?” An uncomfortable shiver ran up my spine.

“Possibly. There are many options.”

I thought of all the guests in the dining hall.

Any one of them could be dishonest. In fact, that was probably the case for most of them.

We royals were harshly scrutinized, and most of us were careful with our reputations.

But nobles were almost expected to engage in debauchery and scandal, and they took to it with a flourish.

Almost everyone in that dining hall was only pretending to be respectable.

Did Odalla know that? Did she think something else was going on?

The rest of the day dragged on. None of the royals were at dinner, and little information had leaked from the war room. Ria and a pinched-faced Princess Odalla were the only two at the royal table.

The empty thrones loomed ominously.

As Ria poked despondently at her food with a fork, I overheard someone say, “They’ve identified the bodies.”

I glanced to my left and spotted a young man with a crop of dark, curly hair staring contemplatively into the distance as he spoke.