Drown out the voice of the dissenter. Control the mob.Her father’s voice echoed in her mind as Elena watched Ferma escort Kiv back into the crowd. She hated that he was right, hated that she agreed.
But I am not protecting killers, she argued to herself as she climbed back onto the float, and the handmaids closed the curtains of the pavilion, obscuring the public’s view.I’m protecting Ravence.
As she passed Yassen, he said quietly: “That was a gutsy thing to do.”
She stopped. His eyes flickered over her, and he looked as if he wanted to say something more, something important. But all he said was, “Go, change. We’ve got little time.”
Wordlessly, Elena ducked inside her private chamber.
Diya helped her shed her sari and don a plain linen cloak. Then the maid draped the ceremonial sari over her own body and head, hiding her face. The heat pressed around them, and Elena wiped the sweat off her upper lip.
“Thank you, Diya,” she said. Diya nodded, and Elena tried not to notice her hands shaking.
“Ready?” Yassen’s voice sounded faint from outside the thick curtains.
Elena squeezed Diya’s hands and slipped out. She ducked her head as the trumpets sounded, announcing the end of the parade. Soon, hovercars would arrive to take her back to the palace, where her father was probably seething about her speech. Or not. Perhaps he would regard her with more of the same stony silence. She wondered if he knew how much it hurt her.
Yassen guided her through the curtains. He hopped down and held out his arm to her as the new guards strode up.
“How was the shift, Knight?” one of them asked.
Elena felt him stiffen, but his voice remained easy.
“It’s too hot,” her guard said. “Her Highness is in the changing room catching her breath. Diya is going to fetch some fresh ice. In the meantime, don’t bother her—and keep Ferma away. I think they fought.”
The guard chuckled. “Only the princess would dare to get on the bad side of a Yumi.”
“You couldn’t get on any side of her,” another guard said.
They laughed, and one clapped Yassen on the shoulder. Elena saw him wince.
“Did you take a peep, Knight? I’m sure you saw something through the curtains.”
Color rose on her face, and she dipped her head as Yassen straightened.
“Just keep the Yumi away,” he said gruffly.
He saluted and drew past them. Elena followed, hiding her face. They walked quickly as the guards grumbled something about the Yumi and justice. Yassen led her to the perimeter line, where soldiers stood with their pulse guns. He nodded at one, repeating the same tale about ice for their queen, and they drew back. They did not give her a second glance.
With the parade over, the crowd mingled along the road. Many were drunk. Some whispered about the speech while others laughed and pushed, pointing at the soldiers’ banners flapping in the wind. A gold cap warbled off-key.
“Justice in the sweet, harsh dunes,” he sang, laughing.
Elena sidestepped him as he wobbled. A friend helped him up, but then the man doubled over and vomited. Elena wrinkled her nose, pushing deeper into the crowd, following Yassen’s tall frame. When they reached a corner, he stopped to allow a hovercar to pass.
“A peep, huh?” she teased, and he looked at her, surprised. “Well? Were you looking?”
“What? No!”
“The guards—”
“They joke—”
“But you—”
“I never—”
She glared at him, warmth rising on her face, and not because of the summer heat. To her surprise, Yassen blushed.
