Penn pulls Onyx to a halt before her. He is oddly rigid at my back, an atypical stiffness emanating from him as he dismounts, then helps me from the saddle. Behind us, I hear the sound of the other men doing the same, their boots thudding against the flagstones, but I do not look at them. I am busy brushing road dust from my cloak, running quick fingers through my tangled locks. I cannot say I have ever dreamed of being presented to a queen, but if I had, I likely would have envisioned doing so with the benefit of a recent bath.
Penn keeps one hand at the small of my back as he leads mestraight to her. Hissister. It is jarring to see the two of them together. I know they must be of similar years, yet their appearances could not be more contrary—one ravaged by time, the other untouched by it.
Penn bows at the waist. He puts slight pressure on my spine, and I drop quickly into an awkward curtsy. Considering I’ve never attempted one before, I don’t think I do too badly. Not until I rise again and find the queen and her posse smirking at me like I am a bear trained to walk upright in the traveling circus.
“Pendefyre. You’ve returned to us.”
Her purr is for him, but her eyes never leave me. They are the same gray shade as Uther’s but hold none of his steady warmth; hers are void of anything resembling welcome. Wrinkles feather the skin around them. Not the lines of laughter, but of one who’s spent most of her time on this earth with her features fixed in a discontented sneer.
“Sister.” Penn’s voice is carefully bland. “Thank you for greeting us. There was no need for it.” His pause is artful. “Truly.”
“How could I let my beloved brother return home after so long away without a proper reception?” She finally looks at him. Her lip curls in distaste. “Though, had I known you would be bringing half the filth from the Range Road with you, I might’ve had the servants roll out drop cloths first.”
“By all means, head back inside, Vanora. I’d hate for someone of your advanced years to risk catching a chill.”
The gathered courtiers titter, a ripple of unease moving through the crowd at the unmistakable insult. The queen’s stare hardens, gray eyes turning to unflinching stone in her age-lined face.
She was beautiful once. Exquisite, even. You can still see it—a faded imprint of beauty that lingers beneath the burden of a century on this earth. Just as clearly, you can see that she has not weathered the loss with grace. Her vanity has bloomed intobitterness as seasons turn and her petals wilt, then wither away completely.
It is no wonder she can scarcely stand to look at her brother. Penn, the picture of youth and vitality. Penn, standing tall and broad-shouldered and very nearly immortal. Her resentment hangs thicker than the mist in the air.
“Your concern for my health is noted, brother. I must say, I was surprised when I received word of your arrival back in the Northlands. We were not expecting you until the spring thaw. I’m afraid the servants have had little time to prepare your chambers.”
“I don’t mind a bit of dust.”
“No, I don’t suppose you would. You were always most at home rolling around in the sparring pits.”
“Better the sparring pits than the viper’s den you call a court,” Penn mutters.
“Mmm.” Her lips twist in a humorless smile as she looks behind us to the Ember Guild, who’ve formed a line at our backs. My knees almost give way when her granite gaze shifts to me once more. “Pray tell, who is this you’ve brought with you? A new kitchen girl? I’m afraid our staff is quite full, but perhaps I can find her a position in the stables. They’re always in need of another set of hands to muck the stalls.”
Penn goes very still.
“I do hope she’s not another one of your whores,” Queen Vanora continues. “The last one made such a spectacle of herself when you grew tired of her charms. Suchweeping. Even my hounds don’t make such noise when they expel a litter of pups.”
My cheeks flame as every set of eyes in the courtyard lands on me with keen interest. My mouth is so parched, even if I were able to think of a coherent response, it would not make it past my lips.
“This woman is my guest,” Penn says with finality. “I expect her to be treated with all the respect that affords. Even from you, dear sister.”
The queen’s kohl-penciled brows arch. “You would command me in my own palace?”
Penn leans in a few inches, trapping her gaze with his. “You may sit on that throne, Vanora, but we both know it is only by my continued grace that you do so. I am the Remnant of Fire. My birthright outweighs all your overinflated self-perceptions. If I were to pluck the crown from your head, there is not one soul in Dyved who would move to stop me.”
Vanora visibly quails.
Penn’s hand reaches out and grasps mine, fingers intertwining in a bone-grinding grip. His voice lifts to address the entire courtyard, servants and courtiers alike, a commanding ring that reverberates across the flagstones.
“Our household now has the distinct honor of hosting not one but two Remnants beneath its roof. Let me be the first to formally introduce you to the long-awaited Remnant of Air, Weaver of Wind, and, until I see fit, our honored guest.”
A collective gasp explodes from the courtiers. I imagine their faces are a tableau of shock and surprise, but I have no chance to see for myself. Penn drags me by the hand, sidestepping his sister and cutting a path through her stunned-silent posse, straight through the open doors of the inner sanctum. I hear the sound of boots close behind us and know Jac, Mabon, Uther, Cadogan, and Gower follow.
We pass through a majestic ballroom with soaring ceilings too fast to properly see any of the details, then rush up a grand staircase of stone that diverges into three at a landing. Penn takes the right bend without hesitation.
When I trip on my skirts, he does not even pause. Grabbingme around the waist, he hauls me upright and carries me the rest of the way.
“Would youstop?” I cry, scrambling for purchase on the stone steps, feet windmilling the air uselessly. “Put me down! I can walk!”
Penn grunts as I land a kick to his shin.