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  "Don't do it for my sake. Do it because she's a lass of distinction, deserving of the post."

  "Is she?"

  "Of course I think so, but—"

  "Your esteem is more than enough for me. You may tell her of her new appointment at the dinner this evening." I peer out the long window to the clock across the courtyard and squint. "Rather, you'll want to go do it now so she doesn't have to serve it."

  Riley sizes me up one last time. "Caelin, if you're putting me on."

  "Go," I tell him, the corner of my mouth pulling upward.

  He speeds off, limbs flying in the same ungainly fashion they had when he was not a knight, but a farm boy covered in mud.

  Chapter Two

  Caelin

  Alora begins work the morning after the false coronation, and already I can see that this will be a challenge for both of us. She can lace a dress faster than anyone I've ever met but doesn't know the first thing about cleaning weapons. She braided my hair beautifully, but most of that is undone as I swing a dull sword at her lover early this afternoon. Riley mops his brow when we take a break from sparring. "How goes it?"

  "Wiping the floor with you never gets old."

  He flushes, which means his face goes darker gray until I practically can't see it anymore. "I meant with Alora."

  I grin at him. "Making you blush never gets old, either."

  "Cae—"

  "She's lovely," I say in all honesty. She is, and she’s chased much of Riley’s usual gloom away, which makes her all the lovelier. Plus, her surprise appointment made Kelvin’s eye twitch. An added bonus.

  "But…" he prompts.

  "I'm afraid she thinks I'm a barbarian."

  He rolls up his silver edged lawn sleeves and tugs off his black leather gloves. "Well, I can see where someone might get that idea. I had to talk you out of practicing with the sharpened blades this morning."

  "What good is practice when there's no urgency," I complain.

  "Would you prefer a war?"

  This question is unfair. Of course I felt very accomplished when Elyssia was in the throes of its civil war—Kelvin actually let me do something, and when I gave an order, no one argued. But I would never plunge the country back into that simply to satisfy my boredom. "Maybe a minor skirmish? An attempted robber to beat on."

  He sighs and casts his silver eyes to the ceiling. The practice chamber has no roof per se, but trellises with trailing plants arcing over the smooth stone floor. It's one of my favorite places, and I'll come with a book when I'm not slashing at Riley or studying my forms. "Try peace on for a while. You may find you like it."

  "Of course I like peace! I only mean that I'd love some purpose to my life."

  "And the only place to find that is on the business end of a sword?"

  "No. But I'm rubbish at needlework and every music teacher I've had has fled before my songs, so I need something. Perhaps running a country, making some laws…"

  "You know I have nothing to do with that decision," Riley tells me, years of suffering my ranting and raving evident in his dragging words. He offers me some water from his flask, and I wave him away, settling to the bench against the forecourt wall to mope. "They ask for my advice about as often as they ask yours these days."

  A year ago, not a single captain moved without consulting Riley or me. Between the two of us, our knowledge of the battlefield would and did shame many a Legion tactician. We were young and brash, certainly, but effective. And now we play at it day after day in a carefully padded environment. "You have Alora, at least," I offer.

  "That I do. Yours will come."

  I stretch. "Ah, if he does, he does. He can take his time." I return my practice sword to the rack and retire to the wood bench at the far wall. "And I suppose your stepfather would like to choose my husband for me?"

  Riley shelves his sword too and stands before me, a sigh pushing at his chest. "He will likely try to, yes."

  "Perhaps I'd better hurry and find one first."

  "Hold on there, Cae. You just told me he ought to take his time."

  I make a face. Marriage is one of those inevitable things, the great unknowable someday. I was happy to hold it at that incomprehensible distance, knowing that someday would be the right time even if now isn't. Someday may be showing up uninvited sooner rather than later. "If it's the difference between picking my own husband and doing your stepfather's bidding for the rest of my life, then I'll start searching now. I think I saw some respectable fellows hanging around the underside of the docks. Should see what they're doing later."

  Riley sags slightly at the middle, pretending to examine the floor. I know I am wearing him out. I even feel a little badly for it. I loosen the straps of my gorget slightly and yank off my thick brown gloves. "All right, Riley, I think you have me bested for today."

  "You scored seventeen touches."

  "Ah, but that one you scored staggered me. Wore me clean out."

  He looks skyward. The sword is not his weapon of choice. Had it come to a shooting competition, I’d be lucky if I scored one victory, and he knows it. "All right, Your Highness, as you wish."

  "If I never say it again, thank you."

  He eyes me with suspicion. "What have you got planned?"

  I spread my hands, clapping my gloves together and backing toward the door. "Nothing." He fixes me with a look. "Nothing! I have counselors to outwit. My favorite. Would I run off with such important work to be done?"

  "Yes," he says flatly.

  "Until later, Riley."

  He nods absently. "Please don't do anything rash."

  Now he’s just asking for the ragging. "Goodbye, Lieutenant."

  "Caelin?"

  "Farewell, my oldest, dearest friend."

  "Cae—"

  I take off at a fair clip down the garden walkway. It's cruel of me to let him think I'm about to do something regrettable, but he'll forgive me when I turn up at dinner.

  I've certainly thought about running off before, and even taken unapproved forays into the town just to see how far I can get. Then I think of the hard-fought battles and those who paid the steepest price of all to put me here, and I swallow my misgivings and stay.

  It is a child's compulsion to run away, especially from this. I know from months of camping and surviving on whatever we could that there are those who couldn't even begin to imagine the comforts and splendor with which I am surrounded. I know all this, yet the seven-year-old in me craves escape.

  I pause at the great arch of the open door of the castle and rest my hand on the cool brownish gray stone. The vines from the garden have been allowed to grow up it, all the way to the points of the tower. Buildings, Elyssians believe, are still part of nature, and castles and those who live in them are no different. I’m natural, I try to comfort myself. I’m a person, and a princess all at the same time. My every thought can’t be perfect. I doubt all my forebears have come to the position with perfect grace. I know for a fact my father’s every thought was not that of a perfect king. He could fuss with the best of them.

  Bah. I push off from the wall and step into the foyer. I look up as I always loved to at the great gold and silver chandeliers whose outstretched branches loop around each other. I wander on, taking the wide steps up to the second floor, then the third. Lushly carpeted, tapestry-draped, thoroughly populated with happy-sounding people. This, I suspect, is why stories feature men and women becoming princes and princesses after long adventures. It seems perfect. It ought to feel perfect.

  And again, all around, the curtsies, the bows, the hushed conversations when I walk by. My face burns slightly, and I find my way to the false end of this corridor, the secret steps to my tower. I never asked for any of that. I wanted my birthright, to honor my father, to make something of myself, but instead I find myself surrounded by people and yet horribly alone.

  Alora spins on her heel as I enter my darkening chamber. In her light voice like wind through willow branches, she stammers, "Your Highness. I wasn
't expecting you back for some time. I'm afraid that I've not had the time to finish everything."

  "Don’t fret over it. I'm just feeling a little under the weather," I tell her. She sets down the needle and thread she was using to mend some battleworn pairs of breeches and comes tentatively to try to loose me from my armor. Her eyebrows furrow as though I am a puzzle. I give her a lopsided smile. "It's all right. I suppose most princesses would be more lacings than armor."

  She reddens. "Forgive me, my lady."

  "You’ve done nothing that needs forgiving." I set my gloves on the edge of my bed and beckon her closer. "This fastener loosens the gorget." I see her feathery brow knit again, and I must revise my lesson plan. "This neck piece here."

  "It's lovely," she says hesitantly, her voice small.

  "It was a gift from the smiths in the Great Mines." I glance down at it. Little silver vines entwine around each other delicately to form the whole—like the training grounds, and the vines crawling their way even up here. It looks nearly like lace, but it has held against many a strike with nary a dent. I still feel sometimes like I ought to place it for display rather than run about and sweat and bleed in it. The flimsy new gown laid out on the bed for dinner suggests that my advisors feel like I ought to be placed on display, too.

  I meant what I told Riley. Kelvin is one of four advisors. The other three are quieter, but there are three of them. I’m sure together they could be louder than one Kelvin. Maybe. Probably.

  Alora’s attempted dissection of my armor brings me back to now. "That, er—that’s tightening it. It’s all right. I’ve got a lot of experience disassembling myself."

  She flushes bright red, her head bowing to touch her knees, which is both discomfiting and impressive. "A thousand pardons, Your Highness. I will devote my evening to studying your armor and tomorrow I will be able to both assemble and…dis."

  "You’re…a bit of a perfectionist, aren’t you." No wonder Riley likes her.

  She lifts her head just slightly. "Yes—yes, ma’am."

  I reach out. "Your hands, please." She holds them out dutifully, and I haul her upright again. "Alora, your enthusiasm and commitment is very much appreciated. What I’d love, though, is a friend."

  "Thank you, Your Majesty."

  "Caelin, if you please."

  "Begging your pardon," she says, head sinking low. "I—don't know that I could ever use so familiar a name."

  "Not even if I order it?"

  Her thin lips sag to one side. "I suppose, if you ordered it so."

  "Then it’s an order. Please." I look at her. Her father’s from Neren, but she’s airfolk. She carries the hollowness to her cheeks of someone who’s accustomed to hunger. "Are you Elyssian?"

  "Yes, your—Caelin. I was raised in the low country. Stayed there, till Rosalia took most of it, then fled to…well, all over. When your Resurgents retook the castle, blessed be the gods, I came looking for work." Her mouth twitches. "This…was more than I could have hoped for." She chances a glance up at me. Improvement. "And you…you have to be happy, back home again."

  "I am," I answer. It doesn’t quite convey all the strangeness—the doubt, the elation, the eerie feeling that something isn’t quite where I left it. Oh, and the grief. It catches me around corners sometimes, winds me, when I glimpse something that reminds me of my parents as they were. But I don’t think we’re quite friends enough for me to start spewing about that. "Have you ever been to the toy shop in the upper town?"

  "No," she says, blinking.

  "You’ll have to get Riley to take you. Oh, and the University Gardens. Do you like animals?"

  "I…I love them," she stammers.

  "The menagerie is not to be missed." I smile at her. "Perhaps we’ll go together. Maybe tomorrow. I hear the dancing bear just had cubs."

  She clasps her hands together in front of her chest, producing the world’s tiniest applause. "A dancing bear?"

  "Yes. She went underground during the war. She helped out quite a bit with the war effort, I’m told."

  Alora’s shoulders, taut around her ears until now, come down a bit at a time. "I’ll ready a walking gown for the morning, then."

  "Thank you."

  She pauses on her way to the armoire, giving my hair a sideways glance. "More pins next time," she muses with the smallest laugh.

  "And perhaps some magic spell to keep it secured. Or glue." Absently, I toy with one of my light, limp golden-red curls, loosed from the ornate braid.

  There is a knock at the door. Flushing, she runs to get it. Riley stands in the doorway, looking dazed. His slightly unfocused eyes light on us. "Ah. Good. You're both here."

  I know this look. He has held council with his stepfather. "What's happened?"

  "He ordered me away," he answers dully. "I'm to be sent to the Northern Shore."

  Alora's hands fly to her mouth, and I feel my face warm up. "For what?" I demand. "So you can keep an eye on the fish? I won't hear of it."

  "Cae, please," he says, reaching for the doorjamb for support. "I'm going."

  "Why?"

  "Because I am ordered."

  "Well, I’m—belaying that order!"

  "Can you, Princess?" He asks pointedly. "Because I think trying will only have me banished further at this point."

  My face heats up with the sting of the words. "Oh, rub it in, why don’t you." Seconds later I realize I need to take the lash. I’ve earned it with my feints at power. "Riley—I’m sorry."

  He shakes his head, his jaw set. "You can’t take all the credit. Kelvin always did send me out of the farmhouse during the days."

  "How…how long will you be gone?" Alora asks, her question trailing off at the end, as if she doesn’t really want to ask it.

  He takes up her hand, his expression softening. "I don’t know, my love. I’ve been informed it’s an indefinite assignment."

  "He can’t do that," I blurt. "You’re needed here."

  His eyes briefly go even darker, and I gesture to Alora from behind her back. It’s not just me. His eyes shut, and he nods slightly. "I think—for now—it's best to let a few weeks pass. He'll forget his anger in time." He grasps Alora by her upper arms and smiles at her. "Besides. I'll be able to send you some pretty things from the shore." I know she doesn't want them if it means that he won't be in the corridors to send her a smile. She says nothing. I shoot him another look, and he gives me one more nod. "I'd like a moment to say goodbye," he says.

  "Of course."

  He holds out a hand to stay Alora, to whom he is assuredly about to propose. It should be a happy occasion. He walks over to me and looks at me sideways. "Don't get into any trouble while I'm gone."

  "You know that's something I can't promise."

  "I suppose not."

  I clap a hand to his shoulder, and to my great surprise, he pulls me into a hug. Oh, his shoulders are absolutely rigid and his elbows are held out as though making full contact with me might infect him, but it is in fact a hug. He pats my shoulder awkwardly. "Don't let him push you around," he says at last, releasing me.

  "Believe me, there will be no such pushing. I'll have you back as soon as I'm able."

  He gives me a nod, and takes up Alora's hand. "I'll return soon," she says, already stifling little sobs.

  "Take all the time you need."

  "Thank you, your…Caelin."

  I nod vacantly, and I am left to an empty room. Damn Kelvin, and damn royalty. My one ally in this whole mess, sent off to command the guards at a fishing port because I didn't fall in line like a good figurehead. No, Kelvin will hear about this. Not directly; he'll only punish Riley more. Somehow, I need him to give up the smallest amount of power.

  I throw the door shut with a slam that echoes down the corridor and turn on my room with my fury. I seize a pillow from the bed, slap it on a chair, and proceed to abuse it with my sword. Feathers drift around me like falling snow, and I only halt when there is no stuffing left to slice. I let myself breathe for a moment. As the he
at continues to ebb I begin to gather the tufts. Alora does not need to clean up after my tantrum along with everything else.

  In the midst of trying to gather the product of my rage, I hear the slightest creak. It's a strange noise—one I recognize, but cannot quite place why. It's no floorboard, no door… a flare of light in the corner alerts me to one of the shutters slowly easing open.

  This is not the work of a draft.

  It takes every ounce of practice that I have to fight the urge to scramble to recover my sword. Haste is the most obvious giveaway. Smoothly, I grasp the hilt and pick my way behind the open door of my wardrobe and wait.

  Sure enough, the shutter creaks open all the way and a leg comes in through the window. An intruder. An impressive one at that. This is the third tallest tower of the castle, and certainly the most visible. A magic user, and a powerful one. My safest recourse is to let him feel secure in his victory for a time and then surprise him. I readjust my grip on my sword, the dampness of my palms and fingers making me long for the gloves I left so stupidly on the bed. Another creak, and the shutter closes again. My breath burns in my chest and my limbs tighten, ready. Come on, then, I coax. Take a look around.

  He does, slowly, cautiously. Prudent. The stump-drag of his gait suggests an injury. Even better. I’d have the advantage of him. Riley is right, I realize, fighting a wry smile. I miss this too much.

  I should be shouting for the guard. This burglar would be short work for the sort of people I have at my disposal. But he will be even shorter work for me. A touch closer. That's it.

  He pauses. I wonder if he sees me. I can just catch the bottoms of his boots through the slats in the door, and he takes a few more paces, then stops in front of my wardrobe. My opportunity to surprise him is running out. I take a breath, grip my sword again, and kick open the door, sending him flying backward.

  The impact shatters the latticework of the door. Splinters fly around us as I plant the heel of my boot onto his shoulder where he lays prone. He's a seafolk boy—just barely a man, likely about my age. Handsome, or would be if he wasn't deadly skinny and staring straight through me balefully. He flips a piece of his smooth black hair from his eye in order to do this more successfully. I blink in surprise. "So you're not old," is the only thing I can think to say as I place the point of my sword to his neck.