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Petrik stays right by my side. “I thought I’d come, too, if it would make you more comfortable?”
I can’t speak for a moment.
Because I’m just so, so touched that he would do this for me. Not that he isn’t thrilled to spend more time with magic users for the sake of his book, but I don’t think that’s foremost on his mind right now.
“Thank you,” I say. I really am lucky to have someone like him to call a friend.
When we join Serutha, she says, “Is it weird for you? Being in the capital with your home so close? You’re from Lirasu, aren’t you?”
“Yes and yes,” I answer. It’s only two weeks to Lirasu. To my home and forge. “It doesn’t feel like it should be so close. Not when all I did was step through a painting and appear here.”
“I know what you mean. When Petrik took me through the portal and I was safe from Ravis—it took my mind far too long to catch up.”
“I’ll bet. But it helps that I canfeelwhere I am,” I say. “I can smell the forest in the air. The cool weather. The overcast sky. It looks like home outside, even if I’m not quite there.”
She leads us through a doorway, which opens up into a narrow room. So many guards line this path—dozens crammed together to fill the space. “Hello,” Serutha says to them before taking us through another door and trailing up a spiral staircase.
I hear voices before we reach the top.
“I’m just saying, Skiro, that if you’d told me about the portals,we could have spent more time together! We could have collaborated. Figured this whole thing out. Why were you so determined to tackle it on your own?”
“It’s not about you and me, Marossa. I value my friends, and I’m not going to reveal their identities or talents unless they wish it.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“No, I’m being kind.”
The prince and princess come into focus a moment later. Skiro is in his blue robes and golden tunic. Marossa wears leathers again, her boots polished to a shine, her bow over one shoulder.
“You’re impossible,” she huffs. “I’m going for a ride. See that he finishessoon. We can’t afford to waste any time!”
Marossa strides past us without a glance, leaving the way we came in.
Petrik is shaking his head at his siblings.
“Sorry about that,” Skiro says, and at first I think he’s talking to me and Serutha.
But then I notice the other man kneeling on the floor. I can only see his back, but he’s thin and graceful—I can tell by the gentle brushstrokes across the wall. His hair is much longer than mine, worn up and away from his face, the golden locks falling down to his waist in gentle waves.
“It’s fine,” the man, who must be Ashper, responds.
“She really is grateful for your services. We’ll be forever in your debt.”
Ashper nods without taking his eyes off his work.
Work that, I now note, is the beginnings of the portraits that will be identical to the ones destroyed in a locked room in Skiro’s palace.
“I’ll leave you to it. Do let me know if you need anything.” Skiro turns about, startles when he sees me. “Ziva!”
“Prince,” I say, uncomfortable to have his eyes on me.
He waves a hand. “Please, call me Skiro.”
I absolutely will not.
“Actually, I’m glad I ran into you,” he says. He gently grabs my elbow and pulls me after him to the other corner of the space, out of earshot of the other two magic users and Petrik. “I was wondering if we might sup together.”
“Sup,” I repeat stupidly. Goose bumps rise on my flesh, and fear rolls through my chest.
