Page 57

Two Years Ago

Skaanda—Staltoria City—the royal palace

The palace suffocates me. It shouldn’t. It is the opposite of Kallias’s mountain: airy and light, filled with plants and color and music.

It’s built of white sandstone and decorated with carved marble columns.

There are huge domed ceilings, laughing fountains, interior courtyards bursting with orange trees.

It is life, where Kallias’s mountain was death.

Saga has given me the room that adjoins hers, and I have everything I could ever wish for, even the use of her handmaiden, Indridi, who helps wrangle my disastrous, half-grown-back hair into a vaguely presentable state.

Saga’s family is impossibly kind to me, especially her brother, Vil. I find myself looking for him wherever we go and have not quite grown used to the quickening pulse of my heart when his eyes meet mine. Saga is thrilled to be home, but my restlessness doesn’t escape her.

“We have to find your family, Brynja,” she says, when we’ve been in the palace for a week. “Where are they? Do they live in the city? What is the address?”

So I take her there, dread knotting in my belly, Indridi and a pair of guards accompanying us. We walk the cobbled streets of Staltoria City, the sun warm on our faces. Birds sing in our ears and bees whir through the air, but my heart is heavy, cold.

The house is half falling down, the roof sagging, the paint on the wooden pillars and shutters sun-bleached and peeling.

Saga glances at me, anxious, as we step up to the door and knock.

There is no answer, and I don’t expect one. We step inside to find only dust and cobwebs and abandoned, broken furniture.

Saga expects me to cry, maybe, but I feel nothing. I feel less than nothing.

“I’m sorry, Bryn,” says Saga softly. “Do you have any idea where they might have gone?”

I shake my head. “They must have moved years ago.”

She chews on her lip, her eyes filling, though mine stay dry.

“It’s all right,” I say, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I haven’t seen them in years. A little longer will make no difference.” I glance at Indridi.

“I’ll make inquiries, Your Highness,” she tells Saga. “It might take some time, but I’ll find them.”

Saga takes a wobbly breath. “Thank you, Ridi.”

The walk back to the palace is solemn, though the birds sing no less sweetly.

Vil is waiting for us in the main courtyard, honeysuckle hanging over the walls, fountains bubbling merrily, parrots singing in the trees.

He’s wearing loose trousers and a sleeveless vest that puts his arm muscles on full display and makes me blush.

His earrings are diamond and gold and flash in the sunlight.

“No luck?” he says, reading our moods.

Saga shakes her head, dejected.

I stand there awkwardly as Indridi goes on ahead into the palace proper.

“Will you continue staying with us, then?” Vil asks me.

“Of course she will!” Saga cries. She grabs both my hands, excited again. “You’ll stay here until Ridi finds your family. You can go on staying here even then, if they turn out not to be worthy of you.”

She means it as a joke, but it stings a little. “I can’t impose on you any longer, Saga.”

“You’re not imposing. You saved my life, Bryn. My family and I owe you a debt we can never repay. Hospitality is the very least that we could offer you.”

I let the chattering parrots and laughing fountains fill my ears. I revel in the touch of the sunlight, the feeling of freedom. But I still can’t quite bring myself to agree.

“Besides,” says Vil, “we could use your help. We’re going to end the war with Daeros, once and for all.”

My pulse spikes. I meet his eyes. “How?”

“My sister tells me we can send our army undetected through the old Iljaria tunnels. I mean to lead a team posing as ambassadors to infiltrate Tenebris and, when the time is right, depose the king.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

Vil glances at Saga and then back at me. “My sister also tells me you can go anywhere in the mountain palace unseen. We need that, Brynja. We need a spy.”