Page 63

Two Years Ago

Skaanda—Staltoria City—the royal palace

It’s all I can do to keep the shock from my face when Saga introduces me to her attendant, but Indridi’s expression at least remains perfectly blank.

I have only a handful of memories of my cousin—we played together as children, but not often, as her parents’ house was not near to mine.

But she was my favorite nonetheless. Sometimes I think she loved me better than my own sister did.

Indridi left for Skaanda shortly after Lilja was murdered, and my father referred to her many times when he was training me for my own mission to Daeros.

She serves us proudly, he would say. She serves us faithfully. Be like Indridi.

That ought to have been my first clue that I would be in Kallias’s cursed mountain for more than a few years. But I was naive. Idealistic. Of course I was—I was a child.

“Indridi is wonderful,” says Saga, drawing me back to the present, a breeze smelling of orange blossoms wafting through the airy hallway. “We’ve practically grown up together. She’ll help you with anything you need, just ask.”

I force a smile that I hope isn’t one of absolute bewilderment, but I’m not at all sure I manage it. Indridi gracefully inclines her head to me.

“Right,” says Saga. “I’m off to a bath. A bath , Brynja. Have you ever heard of anything more wonderful?”

I force a laugh.

“See you at dinner!” she calls, and ducks into the room next to mine.

For a moment I just stare at Indridi. Her brows pinch together ever so slightly, a warning that I’m not to say a thing in the hall, where anyone could hear.

We step into the room and I shut the door and open my mouth, but she still shakes her head.

“Is there anything in particular you need help with, my lady?” she asks.

I notice the door that joins this room to Saga’s, and I understand that there is no safe place to speak freely, not within the palace in broad daylight, anyway.

“I need help with my hair,” I tell her, unknotting my scarf and showing her the charcoal I smeared messily over my white roots, the mud I’ve let dry on my eyebrows and eyelashes.

Indridi nods. “A bath first, my lady. And then I know just what to do with your hair.”

Saga is not wrong about the bath. It is beyond wonderful, and I’m reluctant to get out. But when I do, Indridi is waiting for me with warm towels and a soft robe. I know she sees my many scars, but she makes no comment on them. It’s a relief.

“You are truly Lords blessed,” she says to me quietly, as she settles me on a stool in front of the dressing table. “What would you have done, if I were not here?”

I shake my head. I truly don’t know.

Indridi dyes my hair, brows, and lashes with a concoction of her own making that she’s used herself for the ten years she’s served as a spy in the Skaandan court. I watch my roots and short curls turn wholly dark again, and I’m relieved I won’t have to worry about it anymore.

I try not to wonder why, after all this time, my father’s magic has worn off. Because it is the only thing that has worn off. My own magic is still sealed tight inside me, out of reach. Sometimes I forget I even had magic. I’ve spent nearly half my life without it now.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” asks Indridi, meeting my eyes in the mirror.

“Saga means to reunite me with my family,” I tell her carefully. “But I don’t know where they live in the city.”

Indridi nods, understanding my predicament. Because of course my family is in Iljaria, and Saga can’t know that.

“I will find them,” she says. “It may take a little time.”

I smile at her. “Thank you.”

She smiles back, and the warmth of kinship pulses between us like magic.