There are not jewels enough in all the mines of Dyved to adequately convey our gratitude. Please, wear this with our love. Happy Fyremas—your first of many to come.
Uther, Carys, and Nevin
The weight of the diadem sits heavy on my forehead, setting off a warm glow in my bones each time I catch sight of it in the mirror. My hair, braided and pinned into a hundred intricate coils, shines like platinum. My eyes are rimmed with kohl, my lips stained pink, my skin dusted with pearlescent powder. I scarcely recognize myself. It takes effort not to reach out and touch the mirrored glass, to ensure the reflection is real.
“Carys outdid herself,” Keda says with only the smallest note of smugness. “Can you imagine if we’d let the royal dressmakers have their way?”
All three of us look in unison to the corner of the room, where the ruffled monstrosity Vanora’s henchman delivered this morning peeks out from the top of its parcel. My maids had not exaggerated—it is every bit as awful as they’d described. A swallowing sea of ruffles in a repugnant shade of sulfur.
“Her Royal Majesty is in for quite a shock when she sees you,” Keda says, adjusting one of the hairpins at the back of my head.
“She won’t be the only one,” Teagan adds, smiling. “I’ll bet His Royal Highness will scarcely be able to keep his eyes off you.”
I nearly snort, catching myself at the last moment. If only she knew just how misguided her predictions are. After last night’s argument on the bridge, I think it more likely Penn will never look my way again for the rest of our immortal lives.
“Is your primping finally finished?” I ask. “I’d love to go wander the streets a bit before the ceremony, or maybe even pay Carys a visit to show off her handiwork.”
“There’s no time for that, I’m afraid. It’s nearly dusk. The ceremony is set to begin soon. Besides, there’ll be plenty of time for you to join in the revelry after it’s over.”
I sigh and cross to the balcony, where I can watch the celebrations from afar. Technically, Fyremas does not begin until nightfall—kicking off with Penn’s recharging of the wards, followed by a formal banquet in the Great Hall and, much later, a ball that lasts until daybreak. People will dance the night away, ushering in the spring with a celebration of life and rebirth, pausing only long enough to watch the midnight fireworks over the lake. Tonight, the palace gates are open to all Caelderans, a rare invitation for common folk to mingle with the most elite of Vanora’s courtiers—though why they would voluntarily seek out such snobbish company remains a mystery to me.
Down in the city, the merriment began long ago. From my lofty vantage, I can see the throngs of people already congesting the cobbled avenues. I cannot hear their joy over the roar of the falls, but I imagine the air is thick with laughter, music, and chatter as food and drink flow freely. I would give much to be down there with them, rather than put on display as part of the royal spectacle.
“Almost time now.” Keda looks toward the door, as though expecting a fist to knock upon it. “I’m sure Prince Pendefyre plans to personally escort you there…”
“Mmm,” I hum doubtfully.
I haven’t seen him since the bridge. He did not return until long after I retired to the spire last night, and it was barely daybreak when I heard him storm out again this morning, rattling the tower door on its hinges when he went. Our lingering animosity is the one sour note in my gathering excitement. It casts an undeniable pall over the coming evening.
Skies, everything was so much simpler when we were at each other’s throats instead of under each other’s skin…
As the time to depart grows ever nearer, my maids grow more and more dismayed. Keda is folding bedsheets to keep from wringing her hands. Teagan is chewing her bottom lip as she brushes nonexistent dust from the surface of Penn’s desk. Both jump several inches off the ground when, at last, a fist raps against the wood.
“That’ll be His Highness now!” Keda calls, racing for the doorway.
I do not have the heart to dash her hopes. The bond tells me plainly: whoever has come to accompany me to Fyremas, it is not Prince Pendefyre. He is far away, in a distant part of the keep, layers of stone and slate separating us. Even knowing this, I am still somewhat crestfallen to see Jac and Cadogan standing at the threshold, clad in a fancier version of their Ember Guild uniforms—maroon doublets edged in gold thread, dark suede breeches, and shiny leather boots to the knee. Embroidered black sashes slant across their muscular chests, the sigil of Dyved stitched directly over their hearts.
Sauntering into the tower without waiting for an invitation, they both stop in their tracks when they catch sight of me standingon the balcony. Cadogan seems stunned silent. The apple of his throat works rapidly, bobbing as he swallows. Jac only manages one word, muttered through clenched teeth.
“Gods.”
I look down at myself. “What? Do I look ridiculous? Wait, don’t answer that. It’s too late to change now. Besides, Carys made this dress for me. She’ll be insulted if I don’t wear it.”
The men glance at each other.
“He’s going to regret giving us guard duty,” Jac says lowly.
“Immensely,” Cadogan agrees.
“I’ll wager twenty crowns he actually shows his face at the ball this year.”
“Easy money.”
“You’re on.”
“Um. Excuse me?” I clear my throat to interrupt their strange aside. “Would either of you care to explain what you’re talking about?”
“No,” they say in harmony, finally looking back at me.