Of Fire and Stars Read online

  Nils marched me to the castle wall. I kept my head down, slumping so he had to drag me in like a cat by the scruff of its neck. The key bearer unlatched the gate, eyeing me mistrustfully as we passed through. As soon as we were out of their line of sight, Nils dropped the act and enveloped me in a hug. I squeezed him back, inhaling the familiar clean smell of his uniform.

  “You picked a hell of a night to go out on the town, little Mare,” he said when I stepped out of his embrace. “The White Riders—I worried it was you.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, trying to reassure myself as much as him.

  “You’re lucky I was at the gate and that I just got promoted.” He glanced back in the direction of the wall.

  I nodded. “What in the Sixth Hell happened? Who was it?”

  “I don’t know. Only personal guards were invited to the great hall for the announcement. The rest of us were immediately put on duty and told that no one comes in or out until morning.”

  I cursed under my breath as tears stung my eyes. “I can’t believe this is happening. I need to find out what’s going on.”

  Nils put a comforting hand on my back. “Maybe you should turn yourself in to the liegemen at one of the doors. At least you’re already within the walls. How bad can it be?”

  “I can’t. If anyone learns I was out tonight . . .” I didn’t have to finish the sentence. We both knew that my remaining freedom would be gone in a heartbeat.

  “What are you going to do? I wish I could escort you in, but I’ve got to get back to my post before the others get suspicious.”

  “I’ll figure something out,” I said, and stepped forward for a farewell hug. His arms closed around me more gently this time. Behind him, a scattering of vigil lights glowed in the windows of the castle. One burned far away from the rest, like a single bright star alone in the night sky. Princess Dennaleia’s rooms. And just like that, I knew how to get in.

  SEVEN

  Dennaleia

  STILL SHAKY FROM THE EVENTS OF THE AFTERNOON, I could barely keep myself composed enough to write a letter to my mother. My pen skittered across the page, leaving legibility somewhat to be desired. I wrote reassurances of my safety while longing to tell her the truth: that Casmiel’s death terrified me. If I had still been in the room with him, maybe I’d be dead too. How had it even happened? Where were the guards? And most importantly—why had he been killed?

  I would have given anything to talk to Alisendi, but she was still somewhere between Havemont and Mynaria on her way for my wedding bazaar. I wished both she and my mother were here so that we could pray in the Sanctuary together as we used to back home. Maybe that would bring me some comfort. But my parents had agreed it would be better for my acclimatization to come to Mynaria on my own, and Alisendi was coming for the bazaar only because it made sense to visit before she took on responsibilities that would make it harder to travel. My father almost never left Havemont, thanks to his duties. And after my wedding, winter would come more swiftly in the north, meaning that my mother was unlikely to visit any sooner than next summer.

  As I brought out the plum-colored wax to seal my letter, the vigil candles in my window flickered—the only warning before a person in filthy clothes clambered over the sill and thumped to the floor.

  I screamed, and magic surged out of me before I could stop it. The vigil candles flared, sending a burst of sparks into the room.

  “It’s only me!” the intruder said, staggering up and nearly crashing into my harp.

  I scurried backward, grabbing a poker from beside the fireplace and brandishing it in what I hoped was a threatening manner. As I opened my mouth to scream again, I recognized the smudged face.

  “Amaranthine?” I said.

  Her clothes were barely more than peasant rags and hung on her in a way that disguised her gender better than I would have imagined possible.

  A firm knock sounded at the door.

  “Your Highness?” the muffled voice of a liegeman called through the heavy wood.

  Amaranthine ducked into my bedroom and dove under the bed as the guard cracked the door. I whipped the fire poker behind my back, hoping my skirts would conceal it.

  “Is there a problem?” the liegeman asked.

  “No. I’m sorry. I’m so jumpy since this afternoon, and I thought I heard a noise outside.”

  “All right,” he said. “Let us know if you hear anything else.” He scanned the area as I stood stiffly and tried to look anywhere but the bedroom. When he finally closed the door I exhaled, grateful he hadn’t bothered to investigate further.

  “What are you doing in here?” I said, dropping the poker and crouching to peer under my bed.

  Amaranthine slid out and stood up. “Please . . . can you tell me who died?”

  My stomach dropped. I thought she had been mourning with Thandilimon and the king this evening. How could she not have heard what happened?

  “It was Lord Casmiel,” I said softly.

  Her gray eyes snapped to meet mine. “No!”

  “He was shot in his study this afternoon.” My voice faltered. “I had just left.”

  Her eyes welled, and she swiped at them with her fists. It hurt me to see her suffer. In a few steps I closed the distance between us and put my arms around her as though she were my own sister. She remained tense, and I stepped back when it became clear she wasn’t going to return my embrace. All emotion had vanished from her expression.

  “What happened?” she asked, her voice hollow.

  I explained what I’d seen. My hands shook as I relived the moment all over again.

  “A white, glimmering arrow? That’s strange,” she said, her eyebrows furrowing.

  I nodded. “It’s unusual to paint arrows. If the arrow were crafted for an individual marksman, or a tournament, it could make sense for it to be painted. But an assassin would never be foolish enough to leave any identifying markers behind with a target. On the other hand, it also doesn’t make sense for the arrow to have been army made. If you’re outfitting an army, it’s too time-consuming and expensive to paint arrows. Besides, if you were going to go to the trouble to paint them, you’d probably use a dark color for stealth. Unless maybe you were fighting in snow.” I’d been turning the problem over in my mind all evening but still couldn’t draw any conclusions.

  “How do you know all that?” she asked, taken aback.

  “I read a lot,” I said self-consciously.

  “What about the glimmering?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, my gaze jumping back to the windowsill, where the vigil candles still burned, half melted and sagging at strange angles from the burst of heat my power had caused.

  “I should go,” she said. “Can I use your washroom?”

  “Why are you dressed like that anyway?” I asked.

  “It’s none of your business,” she replied.

  “I think it is now, seeing as you decided to sneak in my window.” It felt good to snap back at her, to be in my own space instead of hers, where I could feel free to speak my mind.

  “Fine. I don’t always stay on castle grounds. This is a way to make sure I don’t get noticed,” she said.

  Sneaking outside the walls must have been what Casmiel meant by “unconventional” sources of information.

  I sighed. “You’re going to need something else to wear.” I set the fire poker back in its holder and dug through my closet. With her height and figure, it was going to be a challenge to find something that wasn’t so small as to be vulgar. I pulled out a simple dress in sage green that I hadn’t worn in Mynaria yet. It would do.

  “Thanks,” she said, the fight gone from her voice. Her fingers trembled as she touched a reddish-brown smudge on her neck before disappearing into the washroom.

  Was that blood? What had she been doing out in town?

  Amaranthine eventually emerged, her face clean and her expression subdued.

  “Can you help me with the laces?” she asked, turning around.

&nbs
p; “Of course,” I said.

  Auna always made it seem so easy, but my fingers fumbled as I pulled the dress snug. The material drew in around Amaranthine’s waist, accentuating the graceful curve of her hips. All at once the room felt hotter, and my magic prickled beneath my skin to make me even clumsier. The smell of the outdoors still clung to her, mingling with the rose and lavender of the soap she had used to wash up. Even though she had touched me during my lesson, it felt different to have my hands on her. By the time I had finished tying the laces, my cheeks burned.

  “Thank you,” she said, turning to face me. The smudge on her neck was gone, but now I could see the source. A thin cut rested beneath her jawline. I opened my mouth to ask how she’d obtained the injury, then thought better of it. It would be kinder to give her a place to put some of her grief.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” I said. “Casmiel spoke kindly of you. He said you had a good heart.”

  She sighed. “If I had a good heart, I’d be doing my ‘duty for the kingdom,’ as my father always says. Serving the crown like Thandi.”

  “Were things different before Thandilimon was born? Weren’t you the heir?” I asked.

  “I don’t remember. I was only a little more than a year old when he was born. My father believes that kingdoms should pass from father to son, so it’s always been all about Thandi.”

  “I see,” I said, though I didn’t understand the purpose of placing one gender above another. As eldest, my sister had always been destined to be queen of Havemont, even if I had been a boy or she took a consort.

  “I wouldn’t have wanted to be heir anyway,” she added.

  “Why not?” I asked. The power of the crown gave us the capacity to help people and to change our kingdoms for the better.

  “Ha!” Her laugh was sharp and brief. “A lifetime of pretending I know what’s best for an entire kingdom full of individuals? Every day of my life scheduled to the hilt? Deciding who lives and who dies for their crimes? Marrying someone I don’t give two buckets of manure about because it’s what’s right for my kingdom?”

  “Of course. Who would want that?” I said sarcastically. She described the future for which I had spent my entire life preparing.

  She shrugged. “Not me.”

  “I do hope Thandilimon will come to love me,” I said. Besides being useless, being trapped in a loveless marriage with someone who didn’t respect me was my greatest fear. While an epic romance was unlikely in my situation, I still wished for it. Love would make the years easy. Loneliness would make them hard.

  “Good luck,” she said. “Partnerships can be built, but love can’t be coaxed. Love should feel like the first time you gallop a horse flat out. It should make your blood sing. It should terrify you. And some part of you should recognize it the first time you meet the other person’s eyes.”

  There was a challenge in her every word, and knowledge of things I had never experienced. I stared, dumbstruck, unable to argue and not certain I wanted to. Her version of love wasn’t the kind circumstances had given me.

  “I should get to my quarters now.” Amaranthine bundled up her peasant clothes and crossed the room toward the door.

  “Of course,” I said. Talking to her left me as exhausted as if I’d just finished one of my history tutor’s infamous three-sunlength exams. So much for making friends.

  She opened the door and disappeared down the hallway, shaking off a liegeman who offered to walk with her. She was lucky my guard had changed shifts at some point after her arrival and didn’t seem concerned about her presence in my rooms—a fact that unsettled me further. Liegemen should have been at peak vigilance after what happened to Casmiel. Between that and how the conversation with Amaranthine had rattled me, my nerves felt like they were on fire. I needed a prayer more than ever.

  Although my mother and sister couldn’t be with me, I could still pray alone. Perhaps it would settle my magic and allow me to sleep. It also wouldn’t hurt that the more pious I appeared, the less likely it was that anyone would suspect me of magic.

  “Excuse me,” I said to one of the liegemen. “Could you take me to the Sanctuary, please?” I didn’t think anyone would begrudge me a few moments there to honor Casmiel’s memory.

  “Of course, my lady,” he said.

  We walked deeper into the royal wing to a heavy wooden door, the lintel adorned with six orbs of polished glass in a circle—the symbol of the Six Gods. The hinges made no sound as I entered. Before me lay a circular area with soft lighting and six well-tended altars arranged in evenly spaced nooks. A deep calm came over me as I paced through the empty room.

  I began with earth, for my soul felt heavy. The stone felt almost alive beneath my thumb, and the magical tingling in my palms eased. Rock was slow to change, but it would in time. Even the most difficult things become easier to bear. Next came water, which I had never much liked, perhaps because its primary incarnations on the mountain had been snow, ice, and frigid rain. I dipped my finger into the shallow basin of water and let a single drop fall into the offering bowl. At the altar of air, I blew on the miniature chimes, their discordant jingle sending a shiver down my spine.

  At the shadow god’s altar I swept my hand through the darkness beneath a richly ornamented box to acknowledge the power of the unknown and the afterlife. For the spirit god I closed my eyes and took the time to remember Casmiel: his courtesy, his reassurances, and the confident way he’d swept me across the dance floor. If I could help the crown get to the bottom of what had happened to him, it would be at least a small repayment of his kindness and mentorship during the brief time I’d known him. I would make the alliance a success in honor of his memory.

  I saved fire for last because it felt like home. The wooden offering chip was smooth and small between my fingers.

  I promise to do all I can.

  I sketched the god’s symbol and tossed the chip, but before it hit the flames, magic burst from my fingertips to swallow it. The power came easily, twisting nearly out of my control. The chip exploded in a shower of sparks, and the buzzing of my magic finally relented. I was suddenly exhausted even as my heart raced with fear—and wonder at strength I never knew I had. Something was very different about my magic in Mynaria. I would have to get to the bottom of that, too.

  EIGHT

  Mare

  MY FATHER AND THANDI DEMANDED I COME TO THE Directorate meeting the morning after Cas’s funeral, no doubt to punish me for my mysterious absence the day he died.

  Father shuffled the papers in front of him several times before speaking, trying to keep his composure. “We must discuss the circumstances of Lord Casmiel’s death,” he said.

  Director Hilara smiled almost imperceptibly. She was lucky I didn’t pick up my chair and hurl it at her. It was one thing to dislike Cas as she always had, and entirely another to look that smug when his body had been buried for less than a day.

  “He who would do such a thing is walking outside the path of the Six,” Director Eadric said. “He must repent and find the light. Tread back to the walkways of the stars, the wind, the fire . . .” His gaze wandered up the wall to the ceiling.

  I barely managed not to snort in irritation. The man’s flighty personality was enough to make me want to “walk outside the path of the Six” and punch him in the face.

  Father ignored Eadric. “Revenge is the priority. And dismantling any threat to our kingdom.”

  I sighed. My father always rode with his sword out in front of him. One day he was going to fall on it.

  “I agree. We must avenge him as soon as possible and show that Mynarians are not to be trifled with,” Thandi said. “The arrow that killed Cas was white. Could that have some significance? It makes little sense to paint an arrow unless it was meant to be used in the snow—or to send a message.”

  I knew exactly where he’d gotten that idea, and it was no surprise he failed to credit her. Dennaleia was a lot smarter than she looked, I’d give her that.

  “There�
��s no snow here,” Eadric said, his forehead creasing in puzzlement. “If we send some clerics to meditate on this at the High Adytum, the Six may guide us. . . .”

  “The only place around here where there’s snow is Havemont. Or Zumorda,” Captain Ryka said, tapping her voting piece on the table as she spoke. The horseshoe nail made a dull clanking on the stone. She wore mourning whites instead of her usual riding leathers, her red-rimmed eyes betraying the freshness of her loss in spite of her calm demeanor.

  “Havemont wouldn’t dare jeopardize the alliance, especially with their princess here,” the king said.

  “Zumorda’s crest is a white dragon,” Ryka said. “White arrow, white crest. The connection is obvious.”

  “A potential Zumordan threat should not be overlooked, but what of the local rebel group? Their symbol is also white,” Lord Kriantz noted, though as an ambassador, he could not participate in votes. The man seemed to have a better head on his shoulders than the rest of them, at least.

  “If we’d made the alliance with Zumorda back when the opportunity existed, perhaps this could have all been avoided,” Hilara remarked.

  If nothing else, the woman was persistent. Given her apparent glee over Cas’s death, it was no surprise she’d rather talk about alliance opportunities than search for his killer. I stared her down, wishing my glare would burn holes through her face. Her seemingly ageless skin glittered with a shimmery powder that brought out the gold flecks in her eyes and would no doubt be the latest fashion by midwinter.

  “Zumorda won’t let so much as a merchant’s caravan into their kingdom, much less an ambassador,” said Lord Tommin, the director of trade. “We can’t build alliances with people who won’t allow us to export goods and who do not respect that the trade guild knows no borders. Horse traders can enter for the fair in Kartasha, but there’s a significant amount of paperwork—”

  “After the attack, the Elite Guard had a look around Lord Casmiel’s study,” Captain Ryka said, cutting him off. “We haven’t even been able to figure out where the arrow was shot from. Also, some of the first to arrive at the scene noted that the arrow seemed to glimmer.”