“Something to read.” I stepped closer to him. “Finch, Highmark isn’t all pastel dresses and dancing.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
“My mother told me all about Highmark.”
A pang rippled through my chest. “Did she tell you about the Dawnmaker?”
“Oh, of course. Queen Liora, the shining monarch on the plains. Her hair is said to be like spun gold.”
A smile almost lifted my lips. Not quite. “Anything else?”
“Among all queens, she is the pinnacle of decorum and diplomacy.”
“More like the pinnacle of shrewdness and subtlety.” When Finch stared at me with a blank face, I said, “She’s six hundred years old and not of your court. Nor is any other flaxen head you’ll see except your own queen’s. Never forget that, Finch. The Dawnmakeris an ancient force, and you don’t want her pretty head turned in your direction. Understood?”
He nodded again, too fast. Childlike in his fervor to understand, to be the squire I desired.
I patted the horse’s back. “Foot in stirrup.”
When he was up on the horse and looking down at me, Finch said, “Ser, are you worried about the queen’s stay in Highmark?”
To my very core.Instead, I said, “Your only concern is keeping your head down, Finch. If something goes wrong?—”
“It won’t.” It was the first time he’d cut me off. The first time he’d spoken with such vigor. His face shone with warmth. “The Festival of the First Light is when all swords are laid down and grievances put aside.”
I let him ride out of the stables with that pure, untested confidence. No boy ever lost his innocence too late.
Three days until Highmark. I came down the stair of the throne room to Mirek’s echoing voice. “Shoulders back, for gods’ sake. No one respects a slouching queen, changeling throat-slitter or no.”
I stopped on the stair, set my hands on the balustrade, fully out of view.
In the empty throne room, Mirek grasped Eury’s shoulders and pressed them back. She accepted this handling with a resigned face, though her neck—in glorious view, with her hair pulled high into plaits—strained at his handling. She wore a glittering, thick-spun yellow gown with so many folds to the skirt, you could get lost in them.
She hated this. Anyone would, but Eurydice from the Dip? This must be a strange, terrible punishment for a child of the southern district. Like being slapped over and over with velvet gloves.
Yet she didn’t object. Not when Mirek touched her, not when he snapped his fingers. “Walk it again.”
She picked up her skirts, set her shoulders, and walked the length of the throne room. Her heels clicked in a stately rhythm.
I gripped the balustrade for balance. Who was this queen, and what had she done with Eurydice? She walked with a high chin, imperious eyes, a spine straight as a Sylvanwild arrow.
At the double doors, she turned and began the walk back. Halfway to the throne, her eyes flicked to me. Of course… theveyrebond. Her eyes met mine just for a moment, a flicker, and her expression changed. Not to hate or to icy chill, but something else. Unnameable, uncertain.
For a second, that tug toward her eased.
“Wrists!” Mirek called. “Every part of you must be engaged, Eurydice.”
Her gaze flicked back. The mask slid down. Her wrists straightened half a degree, and she kept walking.
“You’ll walk it again,” Mirek said. “Get it right one time, and I’ll reward you by explaining the difference between a teaspoon and a soup spoon.”
She disappeared from view without a word. From the set of her jaw, no doubt she would keep walking until Mirek was satisfied.
I had known she was smart. I had known she was capable. I had not known she was cut out forthis.
The night before Highmark. I couldn’t sleep, hadn’t been able to sleep a full night since we’d left the Kingdom of Storms with its wall sundered.