Safiyya says I am being foolish, writing to you.
But I hope one day you will read all these letters.
I hope you’re still alive.
I have to believe you wouldn’t have left me unless you thought we had no other choice. Unless you knew you would come back.
—Letter from Yaseema Nazir to Mahira Nazir, written in Mahira Nazir’s journal
Yaseema
I’d only been to the dining hall once before, when I’d helped Mishah carry dishes from the kitchens. I had nearly dropped all the plates when I’d first walked in, and even now I had to temper my reaction to the opulent room. It was all glass and gold like the outside of the palace, but shimmering water ran down the surface of every pane of glass like a waterfall. It was as if every wall in the hall was alive with the flow of water. The torchlight created a multicolored effect on the glass, and made the entire room into a warm, glittering diamond. And if that weren’t enough, the ceiling was held aloft by golden curling vines that erupted into real plants and flowers along the top of the room. It was like being in one of the glass conservatories at the Citadel with hot house flowers pouring from the ceiling—if the conservatory was fueled by fae magic that made you feel as though you were in an extraordinary, hazy, midsummer dream, filled with the scent of jasmine and surrounded by shimmering waterfalls.
The only thing that felt incongruent was the addition of enormous crystal crusts of salt covering large areas of the plants and water. They looked like an overgrowth of mold choking the beautiful room, and I longed to take a poker from the fire in the kitchens and smash them to pieces.
“That’s from the Salt Court,” Mishah had whispered when she’d noticed my lip curl. “They wanted to put their stamp on everything as soon as they took over. They wanted to make sure that every part of the palace was a reminder that they owned us now.”
They owned us now.
I thought of those words as I strode into the room, no longer the one serving the food, but now sitting at one of the tables.
But still no less a servant.
They led me to the large table at the head of the room, also made of wrought gold, curling green vines and shimmering glass. I could tell it had been beautiful once, but now the table legs and surface was covered in overgrown salt crystals, like a winter frost had eaten away at a new spring garden. It was here that the Viceroy sat with his advisors, his blue coat and crystal emblem on his sleeves a mirror to the ostentatious crusts of salt littered around the room.
The silver-haired fae was beside him, and I felt his dark eyes watching me as I moved closer.
Kiyan,I repeated to myself. His name was Kiyan. At least it was easier to call him that than ‘shirtless silver-haired fae warrior’ in my head over and over. And now I knew he was captain of the Salt Guard, and the one who hunted down the rebels in this Court for daring to stand up against their oppressors.
I certainly didn’t want to enmesh myself with the person in charge of hunting rebels with the plans I had.
But tonight, they put me at Viceroy’s table. Worse than that, the only empty seat was right beside the captain, the person I’d hoped to avoid.
All eyes turned to me.
Instead of being as innocuous as I could, I had somehow made myself the most conspicuous person in the room.
“Our esteemed guest.” The Viceroy leaned back in his chair and surveyed me from next to Kiyan.
When I’d first seen the Viceroy in the library, I’d found him handsome in a slick, scholarly sort of way. But now he had another aspect to him that colored my opinion—entitlement.
It flowed off him in waves as he studied me, as if he could see through me.
As if he owned me.
They owned us now.
The captain stayed in the same position as when I entered, looking stiffly ahead with a tight jaw.
“I’m a guest now? Don’t most guests have the option to attend? I think I might be more of a prisoner.” I tilted my head, not reacting to the gasps that echoed around me. The strange half smile lifted the Viceroy’s lips again, as if I were a toy he couldn’t wait to break.
Kiyan now watched me, not reacting to my words, though he did not look amused.
The Viceroy gestured to the chair beside Kiyan. “Sit. Eat. You look lovely tonight.” He said it in the way someone might comment flatly on the weather.Looks like rain. You look lovely.
Notno, you are not my prisoner.
“I just look clean.” I touched my hands to the dark red frock, the fabric falling down to my knees and skimming my hips tightly. I don’t know where they got it from, but it fit me well. I sat beside Kiyan, barely looking at the food placed in front of me, despite my stomach growling in hunger.
