Beyond the palace wall, Mount Cennet was surrounded by her daughters, the shorter peaks and foothills where rain-fed waterfalls now cascaded. The mountain’s peak was still white with winter snow.
“How did you get here?” I asked, watching the tiny dots of carriages moving back and forth across the mountain switchbacks, the trees not yet leafy enough to hide those paths. “Did you come down the pass?”
“Yes. It was open early this year. Still difficult going, but thesouthern pass would’ve added weeks to the trip and my people were tired. Come with me,” he said, and without waiting for an answer, he took my hand and led me around the dome to the western side.
More glimmering green palace, and beyond it a large empty courtyard, a long range of steps, then the palace wall. Beyond the stronghold to the west lay the Vhranian flatlands. They extended into the distance, so it seemed I was looking at the edge of the world. People leaving the stronghold formed a narrow multicolored ribbon across that dun-colored canvas.
Where were they walking? Toward family or work or new opportunities? Or away from tragedy, the end of a love affair, fear? I wondered what it might be like to have the freedom to choose a gate and direction and simply walk out. To see what the world had to offer.
“Terra is enormous,” I said quietly. “Thank the gods.”
“What do you mean?” He stood just behind me so he wouldn’t block the view, but close enough that he could grab me in case I panicked.
“Our lives haven’t been the easiest. We’ve survived, but there’s been pain, hunger, cold. Trying to predict the Lady’s moods, to stay out of the garrison’s sight. But looking out here—at the vastness of the world—all those things seem insignificant. We’re insignificant, and so are our problems. You can also see how the world fits together. How the melting snow feeds the waterfalls, which feed the river, which the farmers use to water their crops. It’s all connected, regardless of how much coin we have. We’re all part of the same tale.”
“Beautifully put.” His voice was low and soft.
“I want to see it all,” I said, committing as much of the view to memory as I could manage. “I want to visit every hill andvalley in Carethia and Vhrania. The snows of the Edgelands and the City of Flowers when everything is blooming. I want freedom.” And maybe a little bit of adventure.
I glanced at him, his gaze over the landscape, and I wondered where he might be imagining himself. On the throne in the City of Flowers? In a train of soldiers in the pass? Or back with the Eastern Army near the border with the friends he’d made there?
“What do you want, Cassander Ashketh Nikalos Lys’Careth, Prince of the Western Gate?”
He lifted his gaze to the landscape. “I want to fit somewhere. The Lys’Careths are Carethia’s bloody past and uncertain future. We’re part of the tapestry of this place.” He paused. “But we still stand apart from everyone else.”
“Because you stand above everyone else. In terms of power, I mean.”
He nodded. “And because safety demands it. People want us dead, usually so they can enjoy a greater share of Carethia’s riches, so we stand alone. Harder for assassins to do their work that way.”
“And you don’t want a greater share?”
It took him a moment to answer. “I believe Carethia is its people. The Lys’Careths are some of those people. Nothing more, nothing less. If we hold the throne, our obligation is to protect and preserve its riches and use them for the benefit of all.”
“The Emperor Eternal might call that treason.”
“Probably. That doesn’t make it wrong.” He looked down at me. He seemed taller up here, or maybe I just felt smaller given the view. “You aren’t bitter about your circumstances.”
I snorted. “Of course I am. I’m furious and sad just like anyone else would be. But I’ve seen worse, and I know circumstancesare a matter of luck. Wishing I’d lived someone else’s life would be pointless. A waste of time. I survived.” I looked back at the sky and closed my eyes in the warmth of the sun. “This, right now, isn’t so bad.”
“No,” he said after a moment. “It’s not so bad.”
The gods loved a dare.
Pain shot through my heart like a barbed arrow, and I sucked in a breath, gripping at my chest. There was nothing but the pain, the staggering burning in my heart.
My balance wavered; I couldn’t seem to make my body work. I stumbled forward, hit the railing that stood between me and free fall, and managed to grip the balustrade. But instead of stopping my progress, it shifted like sand between my fingers. Something cracked and the wood broke free, balusters spinning down toward the knife-edge roof a long way below.
And then I was falling.
I’d die, and it would be my fault. I’d let myself be noticed. I’d taken more than I should have. I’d seen too much of the world, had enjoyed a moment that shouldn’t have been mine to enjoy. I’d tugged on that thread in my fate’s tapestry, and fate had tugged back.
The world lurched in front of me. Aetheric pain mingled with fear and seemed to weigh down my body, pulling it toward the inevitable.
And then a hand took my wrist, squeezed ferociously, and hauled me back from the edge, the momentum swinging me up. The prince caught me in his arms, wrapped them tight around me, and I began to shake.
“I nearly—”
“You didn’t,” he said. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
