It was in the ancient language of the River Court, but Amma had taught me it as well as the other court dialects alongside the regular tongue as soon as I had learned to read. It was something that had been passed down through her family, given that they lived along the border to the fae world. I traced the words, reminded of the nights she’d painstakingly taught me, and all the times I’d complained.
Until she’d left, and those had become my most treasured memories of her. That familiar ache of her loss sat in my chest as I read the hidden book.
And my breath caught in my chest.
The book was a history of the vault that had been constructed to house Queen Azari’s most powerful relics.
My eyes fluttered closed at the certainty of what was in my hands.
This was exactly what I needed.
As I clutched it to my chest, a piece of paper slipped from the book and fluttered to the ground. It was old, with crease marks and stains and mildew, but my hands shook as I unfolded it.
It was a map.
The Court of River was beautifully sketched on the page, from the Basrol River I had swum across, to Charvellan City where Mishah and I had bought food from the bazaar, to the high Mountain I’d seen in the distance, its snowy peak cresting the clouds. My finger traced the River, the border that separated fae from human lands, Astola not even featured on the page. Then, my eyes roved over the rest of the map, landing on a small, detailed image of a jasmine sketched onto an illustration of a low mountain range on the other side of the Court.
I whistled low between my teeth.
It had to be Queen Azari’s vault, the place she hid all her magical relics after her death. It was the resting place for her crown—the only thing that would bring the human lands back its life magic and disintegrate the wall between our worlds.
A thump sounded, and the door to the library burst open.
I slammed back against the shelves, holding the book to my chest. My heart thudded so loud it was like a drum in the quiet bookstacks.
But the room didn’t stay quiet for long.
A muffled scream cut through the air, and sounds of struggle ensued—pounding, shouting, objects shattering—the noises of fighting and things being knocked over.
I crept to the end of the bookstack, looking around the side of the shelf to see what was going on.
Straight hair, delicate shoulders, and wide golden-brown eyes greeted me.
Ramishah.
And the high general had his hands around her throat.
Chapter 20
Dear Amma,
I reread all your letters to me today, and then I went back to your journals and read all the letters between you and Baba. I know why you felt you had to leave, especially after his death.
But I still wish I had you here with me, instead of words on a page.
—Letter from Yaseema to Mahira Nazir, unsent
Yaseema
Panic seized me as I watched Mishah and the General struggle. He slammed her into the table behind her, and a statue of a water dragon fell to the ground with a violent smash. I looked back at the alcove where I’d seen the young man sitting, but he was no longer there.
Blood ran down the general’s face from an open wound near his eye. It was deep, and too long and precise to be a fingernail.
It looked as though it had been done with a blade.
Ramishah must have stabbed him with something.
Her words from earlier echoed in my mind—that the General used his power over those weaker than him in the palace. From the signs of the struggle between them, he was clearly doing so now.
