Page 23
“First of all,” I say, “I need you to stop harassing me in the halls.”
His lips curl into a mocking smile, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Is your station not to your liking, Songbird?”
“It’s fine,” I snap. I take another breath, forcing my tone to steady. “But that won’t matter if Master Dimos decides I’m incompetent and kicks me out of the palace.”
The prince tilts his head, swaying slightly where he stands. “And what other demands do you have?”
“For Notos’s sake, Kallias.” I take a step closer. “I came to tell you something important.”
“Did you, now? Another eavesdropping escapade? Is that all you’re good for? Spying and stealing secrets?”
The words land like a slap.
“I overheard the king and Malis,” I say, my teeth gritted over the words. “They mentioned Aella.”
He stiffens. “And?”
“They lost her. She escaped Alpha Flight in Intana, and now she’s somewhere in Arkhadia.”
“And here you are,” he says, gaze narrowing, “putting her at risk when you’re meant to be lying low. Keep playing with fire, Songbird. Just don’t expect me to feel sorry when you burn.”
I scoff. “It’s not like I followed them. I wouldn’t have been in the royal gallery if it weren’t for you. Should I have blocked my ears?”
“Perhaps next time you should. Then you won’t feel the need to come running to me.”
“Why are you being so difficult? I’m trying to help you.”
“Because you’re here,” he snaps. “You’re here, when she should be. You’re a living, breathing reminder that she isn’t.”
I wince, unable to hold it back. Then the heat in my chest sharpens, hardens, and I let it fuel me as I lift my chin and meet his gaze.
“Forgive me for thinking you might want to know where your sister is. While all you do is sit here, drinking wine and wallowing in self-pity. Fitting, I suppose, for the prince of the Sorrows to be drowning in them.”
The anger drains from his face. For the briefest moment, I see the scared boy hiding beneath.
I twist away, my sandals crunching against the path as I leave the prince and his sorrows behind. My breath sharpens with each step, shrubbery becoming a blur around me, when—
“Nyssa.” Maxim’s voice cuts through my thoughts, a harsh whisper that makes me freeze mid-step.
I spin around, and he catches my elbow to stabilize me, then steps back.
“It’s Sarra,” I hiss, glancing about quickly to make sure no one else heard.
His eyes widen, then he grimaces. “Right, sorry. I’ll see if I can talk him around,” he says, then hesitates—just long enough for the torchlight from the outer palace walls to illuminate his face, wavering between duty and something gentler. “Be patient with me. With him. Kal’s moods…they ebb and flow like the tide. He’s struggling now, but they never last forever.”
His words tug on a heartstring I would rather not have pulled. I purse my lips, then give a small nod. “All right.”
The bustle of the kitchens does little to ease my nerves after my encounter with the prince.
The air is stifling, ripe with the smell of fish and bodies crammed together. Firelight leaps off greasy pots, the flickers creating shadows on the soot-streaked walls, and the clamor of the gathered servants is loud enough to make my temples throb.
I grab a chipped bowl from the stack, my mind drifting as I ladle in something that it would be generous to call stew. Thick red liquid spills over the edge, splattering the hem of my tunic. Not that it matters. Scrubbing floors and hauling buckets has already stained the fabric.
I want to sit down, eat in silence, and stop hearing the way Kallias sneered at me. The way the word Songbird curled too sharp, too cruel in his mouth. But evenings among the other palace servants always provide a wealth of gossip and information that could help me survive here.
Winding my way through the cluster of bodies, I’m almost at a table where other off-duty servants have gathered when a familiar voice calls out from the other side of the room.
“Late to dinner again, Sarra?”
