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Chapter Two
Zaina
TWO WEEKS LATER
Irun my fingers along the edges of my crown, wondering at the power of such a delicate thing to change my life in a single night.
Just this morning, I was responsible only for myself and those I loved. Now, that responsibility extends to all of Jokith.
An unexpected wave of sadness fills me as I nestle the diadem into a velvet-lined box and shut it inside Einar’s armoire.
I wore it for such a short time, but already, my head feels too light without the comforting weight, without the reminder of everyone who now falls under my protection and everything Einar and I stand to lose if we fail.
It’s nearly time to go now.
Sigrid already came to say her final goodbye.
Or rather, to tell me that Jokithans do not give farewells, only promise to see one another later.
I pretended not to see the rare tears pooling in her eyes, and she pretended to believe me when I told her I would return. Perhaps she did believe me. If so, her faith is greater than my own.
Khijhana presses her enormous feline head against my legs, pulling me out of my thoughts just in time for me to steel my expression before Einar returns from his last walk of the castle.
His crown rests on his silvery-blond braids, adding just enough inches to his already substantial height that it nearly scrapes the top of the doorway when he enters.
“Everything is in place?” I ask him, searching his face for a sign that he’s changed his mind about coming with me.
There is only resolve in his ice-blue eyes, though.
“It is. The messenger has been dispatched.”
I nod, and a beat of silence passes.
“And you’re sure you want to do this?” The question escapes my lips before I can catch it.
He examines my features, but I keep them neutral, not wanting to sway his decision. It’s no small thing, leaving his people without their ruler for any amount of time. Let alone permanently.
“This plan is the best we’ve come up with,” he finally says.
I don’t miss the way he qualifies his statement. Not a good plan. The best out of several mediocre options. It’s like juggling with the rusty knives instead of the freshly sharpened ones.
“Announcing my visit offers a layer of protection and gives us our best opportunity to sneak you in among the usual fanfare of a visiting monarch. Besides,” he reminds me, “the king is an old friend. It would be an insult to enter his territory without informing him, and it’s not as though Khijhana and I could remain unnoticed.”
He raises a single eyebrow, and I suspect he intentionally did not answer the question the way I meant it.
Narrowing my eyes, I clarify. “I didn’t mean the messenger.”
“If you meant visiting Ulla, then I’m sure of that as well. We have nothing to lose by telling her the ‘truth’ of your death, since Dvain will have already told her about the dragon.”
I don’t quite flinch at the sound of the alchemist’s name, but it’s an effort.
I remind myself that I killed him. He’s dead, and Gunnar and Helga burned his body so thoroughly that not a single bone shard remained.
It doesn’t stop a thrum of panic from shooting through me, trailed by a tendril of unease every time I think about that day. Something doesn’t feel quite right. It’s like I’m playing a game of chess and haven’t noticed the trap my opponent is setting.
Einar’s mouth tightens, and I know he has noticed my reaction.
“Nothing to lose,” I breathe. “What about your life? Don’t think she can’t find ways to kill you and make it look like an accident, whether the world knows you’re visiting or not.”
