Page 1

CHAPTER 1

T he garden smelled wrong.

Laena Felicia Montrose-Aboret, once heir to the Etran throne, left her cottage shortly after sunrise to tend to her vegetables, as she did every morning. Birds hopped from branch to branch, as they did every morning; and Brin, Laena’s newt-like companion—commonly known as a shimmerling—dropped from the eaves and landed on Laena’s shoulder with a pink beetle clamped between her jaws. As she did every morning.

Laena paused on the threshold, drawing in a deep breath through her nose. Beneath the expected scents of damp earth and ripening tomatoes, there ran an unmistakable undercurrent of rot.

“Did we lose a chipmunk to the walls again?” she asked.

Still on her shoulder, Brin spiraled in a tight circle and plopped down to begin devouring her beetle. Not a particularly helpful response. Brin had simply appeared one day shortly after Laena’s arrival, back when she’d been foolish enough to dub the place Sunflower Cottage. Now the name only reminded her, with bitter irony, that she’d once felt hopeful, even cheerful, about the prospect of living here. Some days she wished she could take it back.

But even as the shine of idyllic cottage living wore away, Brin’s companionship remained constant. Laena found she was glad for it. Shimmerlings were rare enough in Etra, and rather untrusting of humans. Laena considered it a distinct honor to be singled out—not that she’d ever say as much to Brin.

“I wish you’d do that elsewhere,” Laena said, nodding to the beetle.

Brin ignored her.

Laena sighed and retrieved her gardening bucket from its place on the porch, noting a new patch of chipped paint beside the window. Which reminded her of the splitting rail to the right, and the shutter that the last storm had left ajar. Keeping the house together by herself was quickly becoming more work than she could handle. But any worker she brought in to help would charge triple the usual fee without hesitation, and that was assuming there was someone who would agree to show up at all.

No matter. After the harvest, she’d have time to care for the house. In between all the canning, smoking, and jamming she’d need to do in preparation for winter.

As Laena hauled the bucket toward the vegetable garden, the smell of rot grew stronger, and the concern over the prospect of an unlucky chipmunk twisted into a real thread of fear. If the garden had contracted a blight, she might very well go hungry come winter.

Everything had been fine yesterday. More than fine.

And to all appearances, it was fine today. The tomatoes were plump and green, the barest blushes of orange beginning to suggest oncoming ripeness. The carrot fronds were undisturbed—she’d had to install a fence to oust the hungry groundhogs—and the zucchinis, as usual, bore more fruit than she could hope to consume on her own. Even the strawberries looked perfectly healthy.

Laena followed the rotten smell to the end of the garden, where—in yet another fit of optimism—she’d planted a trio of butterfly bushes. The blossom-stuffed stalks made her think of fireworks after a ball, and her heart lifted every time she spotted a pair of orange, blue, or black wings alighting on the flowers. Even now, with all those early hopes dashed, the bushes felt like a promise. Like everything would turn out just fine, as long as she could attract throngs of pollinators to her garden.

A thin stone path separated the bushes from the vegetables, and even on her worst days, she still thought they lent the garden an air of luxury. Usually, they filled the garden with the delicious aroma of honey, a wonderful accompaniment to her weeding. Only yesterday, they’d been flowering in luminescent shades of fuchsia and purple.

Now, Laena had to blink hard to make sure she was indeed awake, and that her eyes were showing her the truth.

Overnight, her prized butterfly bushes had turned brown, their blooms drooping low to the ground as if bowed with weariness, petals scattered on the garden stones like discarded scabs. Laena placed a hesitant finger to one of the stalks, and the once-silky flowers crumbled beneath her touch.

She wrinkled her nose, venturing closer to sniff the air. The rot was most certainly coming from this corner of the garden, if not the bushes themselves. Laena could barely choke in a breath, the smell was so strong.

“They were fine yesterday,” she said. “Weren’t they?”

On her shoulder, Brin swallowed the last morsel of beetle and rested her head on her front leg. Time for a nap.

Laena set her bucket down on the path and tugged on her gloves, then knelt before the destroyed bushes and dug her spade gently into the dirt. It sank in almost too easily, as if a pocket of air had been blown beneath the soil. When Laena pushed farther, the spade struck something hard. A rock, surely. Though how it had come to be here, she couldn’t say.

With her gloves as armor, Laena plunged her hand into the dirt, wrapping her fingers around the offending stone. When she pulled, it came right out of the soil.

And it kept coming, until she was on her knees holding what looked for all the worlds like a midnight-purple icicle. It was twice the length of the dagger she kept secreted away in her trunk, and when she held it up to the light, she could make out sparks within it. Like stars shining through the black of night.

It was, without a doubt, the source of the rotten smell. Her stomach roiled against it, and though she’d experienced many an unsavory moment since taking up residence at Sunflower Cottage—there was a reason she associated rotting smells with dead rodents in the walls—this otherwise innocuous-looking object might well be the first to make her empty her stomach.

Warmth seeped through the fabric of her gloves, quickly heating to the point of discomfort, and she laid the icicle on the path before it could burn her hand. Actual heat? Or cold so deep that it burned? Impossible to tell, and she’d be a fool to test the question with bare hands.

“A prank,” she said, though her voice sounded uncertain even to her own ears. She wasn’t immune to pranks, certainly. People knew who she was, and many of them disapproved of her choices. But to murder her butterfly bushes so cruelly? That was beyond the red paint someone had splashed on her front gate, beyond the usual snubs in the market, the stalls that closed just as she arrived, and the potatoes swapped in place of steaks. Perhaps the villagers, who she’d once thought of as her people, had decided she should not even be able to grow her own food.

Surely there were easier ways to poison a neighbor’s garden than burying this untouchable icicle. What was it, really? Holding her nose, Laena leaned in closer, squinting to inspect the thing, its depths tugging at the pit of her stomach like it meant to draw her in. To hold her attention until there was nothing else, only the star-like glitter and the burning cold.

She shook her head, sitting back on her heels to put more distance between herself and the artifact. It almost looked mage-made.

There were not many things left in Etra—probably in any of the three kingdoms of the Vales—that were mage-made. Few enough, in fact, that a typical citizen would not recognize the material well enough to suspect it. Most such artifacts had been destroyed long ago, though as one-time heir to the throne, she knew that some of the more powerful or indestructible items were hidden away in the castle vaults.

The rumble of wheels on dirt made her straighten. She shielded her eyes as she looked toward the road. A delivery for the neighbors on the next farm, perhaps. But even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew that wasn’t true. No one delivered this far down the road. It was part of the reason she chose this cottage in the first place.

Sure enough, the vehicle that emerged from behind the trees was not a delivery cart, but an unnecessarily large coach. She’d ridden in its twins more times than she could count, but it looked swollen to her eyes now, devouring the road as greedily as Brin had devoured her beetle. Laena wished she could have seen the looks on the villagers’ faces when that monstrosity rumbled its way past the shops.

And there was no doubt as to its destination; from wheel to roof, the coach bore the rose-gold paint of the royal family. The spouting-whale of the Montrose-Aboret seal glinted in the early-morning light, making it look like the whale were truly drawing in a breath.

“Damn it,” Laena muttered as Brin skittered into her hair. “My sister is here.”

Katrina sat delicately on the edge of the settee in the parlor. The polite smile on her lips might as well have been a twist; in fact, Laena thought she’d have preferred that. She hadn’t been in the garden for more than ten minutes, yet she felt filthy compared to her sister, whose pristine white gown practically glowed. She smelled of lilies, a scent no doubt concocted by the palace perfumers.

Laena never grew lilies in her own garden.

Kat still wore her golden hair in ringlet curls, though she was a year short of twenty and would be officially taking up the crown next year. She looked like a child.

And Laena could see through her sister’s eyes, well enough. To Kat, the cottage would seem cluttered: the butter churn in the corner, the extra gardening bucket by the door, the collection of mismatched tin plates and jugs she’d obtained from the market at great pains, the spinning wheel edged up against the settee. The wooden floors were swept but not polished, the glass windows thick and wavy.

To Kat, every point of pride for Laena—from the handwoven woolen cloak hanging by the door to the wobbly candlesticks she’d boiled herself—was nothing but an eyesore, evidence of the life Laena had abandoned. It was obvious in her frozen smile, the too-frequent blinks. And the way she kept checking to make sure her gloves were wrapped tight around her fingers, as if one touch of her skin to anything in Laena’s home might cause her to burst into flames.

Laena wasn’t sure whether to hug her sister, thereby dirtying her gown, or to sit on the opposite chair and begin with a passive-aggressive ‘how lovely to see you.’

She wasn’t even sure whether she ought to sit or wait to be invited to sit. At which point she would have to decide whether she would obey such an invitation or continue to stand.

Laena was still considering her first move when Kat opened her mouth to speak first. “Where is Ben? ”

Air rushed out of Laena’s lungs before she could stop it, a painful squeeze tightening her chest. She was too long outside of court, and getting unpracticed at controlling her reactions.

Where was Ben? A question for the ages. A question that had, for several months, plagued Laena’s every thought. Where was the lover who’d swept her away from the life she knew, with promises of everlasting love and only a spark of disappointment in his eye at the fact that the laws of the land had not in fact bent for them and he would not, as she had told him from the beginning, go from stablehand to king? Where was the man who’d played house with her for months? Who’d been there one night, arms wrapped around her body, legs tangled with hers in the darkness one last time? And the next morning gone without so much as a note…

But the note would have been unnecessary. Laena had awoken to the silence of the cottage—as silent as a country cottage could be, with mice in the walls and wind in the cracks—and she’d known.

He’d left her in the depths of winter, when she had never experienced it outside the palace walls, when their garden had been new and the canning scarce. But she’d taken his bow and taught herself to aim, firing again and again with numb fingers until the arrow struck true—true enough to hunt, anyway—and then she’d traipsed through the woods chasing after deer and rabbits and barely scraping up enough food to survive.

But she had survived. And she’d emerged with the skills to live out the rest of this life as she chose. Which, she reminded herself firmly, was all she’d ever truly wanted.

Where was Ben? Laena didn’t give a damn where he was, as long as he stayed away.

Yet Kat asked after him as one might ask about the weather, or the type of tea Laena had hastily brewed for them. Kat had not yet taken a sip; she cradled the chipped mug and saucer as if they were merely props .

Kat had no reason to know that Ben had left, and she did not need to know. Laena simply needed to breathe, to get through this conversation and push Kat to ask for whatever it was she wanted so Laena could say no and get back to her garden.

As Kat had taken her favorite seat in the room, Laena settled into a wooden chair she kept by the window, reaching for the well-toned muscle memory of court life. “Oh, you know,” she said, trying to match her sister’s offhand tone. “He’s off doing stablehand things.”

Kat lifted the teacup to her mouth and took a sip, then suppressed a grimace that no one else would have noticed. But no one else had the benefit of knowing Kat as well as Laena did. “He left, didn’t he?” she asked.

Of course, Kat would have given herself a reason to know. Was she here to gloat over Laena’s spectacular failure? If so, she might have come months ago. Though her sister wouldn’t realize it, Laena was faring quite well in her cottage.

She might be rusty with the games of court life, but she hadn’t forgotten how to play. She made a point of leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs. Most improper, even with her skirts still covering most of her. “Yes. One will be inclined to do that when his woman throws all his earthly goods into the river.”

That had been a satisfying day. The river was nearly a mile out, but it had been worth trundling the wheelbarrow to a spot where the mud was particularly thick. Though, to be truthful, Laena had done that a month after Ben’s disappearance.

Kat merely raised an eyebrow.

Laena waved away the unasked question, settling her gaze directly on her sister’s. “How many spies do you have watching me?”

“Enough.”

At least she didn’t bother to deny it. Anger burned in Laena’s throat, hot and bitter. Had the palace spies come near enough to watch her starve? Had they seen the villagers turn away, watched as she taught herself to survive? Had they seen her tears?

But no. Kat would not have bothered. Not until there was something she wanted. So Laena waited, keeping the smile on her face, as if Ben’s disappearance was something she had orchestrated herself. All part of the grand plan.

Kat set her cup and saucer on the table. “I need your assistance. As an emissary.”

And there it was. “No.” Laena didn’t have to think about that one. She was done with palace life, with all the bullshit manipulations, the stifling rules and the lies. Always the lies. “And you’re not even queen yet. So you don’t need my assistance. The council needs it. The regent needs it.”

It was as close as a ‘you can’t make me’ as Laena could get without saying it outright. As tempting as that would be.

“But next year I’ll turn twenty,” Kat replied, “and then I will be. Declan wants me to begin taking more responsibility. In preparation.”

Declan. The regent, elected by the council to rule until Laena came of age after the deaths of her parents. That power was transferred when Kat was named heir.

“Still listening to everything that dried-out old goat has to say, are you?” Laena said.

Irritation flashed across Kat’s face, there and gone in an instant. She straightened her spine, defensive on behalf of Declan. For reasons unknown. “He is no such thing. He is a mentor and a true friend to Etra.”

Katrina wouldn’t recognize a dried-out old goat if it walked up and introduced itself as such. Not even twenty years old and she was one herself. Just sitting there, watching Laena, ignoring the tea she’d set aside. Like she could wait there all day for Laena to ask why she needed an emissary, and to where.

Because as well as Laena knew Kat, Kat also knew Laena. She knew that Laena would be itching to know the details. And though she hated herself for it, she did want to know. With a palace teeming with advisors and courtiers and dignitaries, why did Kat want her to do this?

Another sister might want to bring Laena back into the fold, to welcome her home after the trials of the last few years. But not Katrina. Laena should punish her for it, banish her and her scowling guards from her home and demand that she never return.

Curiosity won out, though Laena took care to maintain her casual posture. “All right. I’ll bite. Why do you need an emissary?”

Kat rewarded her with a thin smile. It would have been triumphant but for the shadow of worry in her eyes. Whatever this was about, Kat was concerned. “Silerith is stirring,” she said. “I believe they mean to break our peace.”

Laena snorted, and Kat raised her eyebrow once again. She’d really been practicing with that thing. But though they’d attended all the same tutoring sessions and studied all the same histories, Kat’s attention hadn’t turned to diplomacy until well after Laena had mastered the subject. As the second daughter, she’d had the freedom to daydream and doodle instead of paying attention.

Silerith was a behemoth of a country, one of the two that made up the mainland. They were secretive to the point of hermitry, but aside from overeager border patrols with a tendency to scoop up inattentive hunters who accidentally crossed into its lands from Aglye, the country had not caused trouble in decades. True, its current king was an unknown entity even after near a decade of ruling. But the same could have been said of his father.

Mainland politics. Mainland problems. Etra was a small island nation, barely holding its own, but neither Silerith nor Aglye had shown any interest in attacking or conquering. They weren’t precisely friends, but Aglye at least was a reliable trading partner. What signs could Silerith possibly have given to make Katrina believe they meant to break the peace?

“I doubt the Ruthless King will listen to anything I have to say,” Laena said.

“I do not need an emissary to Silerith,” Kat replied. “I need one to Aglye. To cement our alliance in case Silerith does grow ambitious.”

Cement the alliance. Those words had a tendency to be paired with a commitment far beyond that of an emissary. Laena narrowed her eyes. “Are you hoping to marry me off?”

Kat’s expression didn’t change. “Would you accept such a plan if I proposed it?”

A clear deflection. Laena watched her sister for signs of the truth, wondering if the ink was still wet on some ill-conceived marriage contract. Certainly Aglye’s king should have no interest in ‘cementing an alliance’ through marriage, especially to the disgraced princess of what he would view as a forgettable island nation. King Hawk was young and handsome, and Aglye was powerful enough to negotiate whatever marriage contracts it might desire. It was generally expected, or had been during Laena’s time studying in the palace, that he would marry a rich courtier from his own lands and add to his already bursting treasury.

But it was impossible to tell whether marriage was indeed Katrina’s plan, or if she truly wanted to send someone to negotiate a firmer treaty. Laena had been gone a good five years now, and Declan had trained her sister well; Kat’s expression was inscrutable. Wide-eyed and guileless, the picture of innocence. Why shouldn’t she ask her sister for a favor? What in the worlds would prevent Laena from helping the country that had shut her out and shunned her?

Laena didn’t trust it. “How long have you known Ben was gone? ”

Kat flushed, and Laena felt a surge of satisfaction. One could never school all her expressions, no matter how much she might wish to. Her sister brushed a hand over her skirts, smoothing unnecessarily. “Well…”

But Laena had no intention of allowing her sister to finish. She rose, brushing off her skirts and sending a scatter of garden dirt out over the floor. She’d regret that come cleaning time, but Kat’s horrified look made it worthwhile.

“Get out,” she said. “You’re no longer welcome in my home. I will not serve as your emissary, or your marriage bargaining chip, or whatever else you have in mind.”

Kat waited a beat, then rose with a grace Laena had once aspired to. She made her way to the door, lifting her gown as if to protect it from the filthy accommodations. Not that Laena had done anything to dispel that notion, but she knew Kat would act this way no matter where she lived.

Laena had chosen to give up the throne to live, unwed, with a commoner. Their abode, no matter how clean or cozy, no matter how happy—and he was gone, so it was not that—would never have met her sister’s standards. Katrina didn’t know, couldn’t know, that Laena’s reasons for leaving went much deeper than Ben. The heartbreak was real enough, but leaving had never really been a choice. It had been a necessity. Far more of a necessity than love alone could ever warrant.

When she reached the door, Kat paused. “I hope it was worth it,” she said. “Your little scandal with the stablehand.”

With a final glance around the room, which suggested she very much doubted it had been, the queen-to-be opened the door and flounced out into the sunlight.