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Not the only two. A key caster could shred that link, I’m sure. “Gesine has. Unfortunately, Ianca went through the change on the way.”
Sadness morphs Yesenia’s pretty face, but it flitters off just as quickly. It is a distressing end these elementals must face, and most try not to dwell on it. “You’ve heard from Gesine? What did she say? About this gate and what’s beyond? What is it like being surrounded by Islorians?”
“I’ve received word of Ianca, but beyond that, I haven’t heard. We sent a letter, but who knows when it will arrive.” I will no longer get the response. I suppose I will have to hear it in person, if I survive the journey. “The Prime said you saw an Islorian warrior attack Princess Romeria and fly backward, as if hit by Vin’nyla?”
She hesitates. “Yes, that’s right.”
“What didn’t you tell the queen?”
She bites her bottom lip, her gaze shifting cautiously to the door. “I’m almost positive it was the princess herself who sent the warrior flying. Her eyes … they glowed silver. That’s impossible, isn’t it?”
“Silver.” The mark of a key caster. “Have you told anyone else—”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t even dare tell Her Highness! I was afraid she’d accuse me of lying and have me executed.”
“I would not put that past her.” But more than likely, Neilina would look for ways to use that to her advantage. “Listen to me carefully, Yesenia, do not speak of what you have seen to anyone. There are things at play now that cannot be stopped. It is best we do not hinder them.”
“Like this war we are heading to against the Islorians?”
I sigh. “Yes, well, this new version of the princess may be our only hope to stop it.” If that is indeed her plan.
“What are we to do?”
“You? You are to do nothing. You stay alive. That is what all of you must do. I am leaving with you for the rift in the morning, to find a way across.”
Yesenia’s brow furrows with worry. “The Prime sent you on this journey?”
“No, the Prime thinks I’m below the castle, which is probably where I should be. She will not be happy when she discovers that I’ve gone, but it will be far too late for her to do anything about it.” It’s best I secure a spot in the wagon with the healers. The last thing I want to earn is Queen Neilina’s notice. I will not be able to lie away my presence, for what use does a scribe have in her war? “Now, come, lead an old woman to her room, and let us pray that I wake up in the morning.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
GRACEN
The dim glow of a candle and a baby’s cries greet me as I step into my room.
“She stirred only moments ago,” Sabrina whispers, Suri in her arms.
“Yes, she has an uncanny clock built inside.” I slip off my new cloak and hang it on a nail by the door, and then unfasten my dress, hoping to silence her before her fussing wakes Mika and Lilou.
Sabrina brings her over to where I’ve settled in the wooden chair in the corner, handing her off to me. “Why are your hands so cold?”
“I was outside.” I offer Suri a nipple and she latches on. My body responds instantly, the milk flowing into her greedy, toothless mouth. Not unlike my body’s response to Atticus, though he is far from toothless, and it was not milk he wanted. But when I compare the two, are they all that different? Both offer vital nourishment for those in need.
They are nothing alike, I scold myself, stifling a laugh. This is a motherly, nurturing act.
What I’d like to do with Atticus is entirely different.
“I had one like this.” Sabrina is by the door, my new cloak in her fingertips. Her glowing mark is a beacon in the darkness. “It was given to me on Presenting Day, when I became a royal tributary.” Sadness laces her words. She may be relieved to have avoided the execution square, but she misses her role.
And the way she’s looking at me now hints at her suspicions, that I have taken her place. But of course, the pieces fit easily. She knows I’m the one who spoke to the king on her behalf. How would I even have his ear otherwise?
“Kazimir handed it to me on my way out. I guess he had an extra?” I’m sure it’s a lie, but I offer it to lessen the sting.
“Who?”
“The captain. Atticus’s bearded friend?”
“Atticus?” Even in the candle’s shadowy light, I can make out the shock painted across her face. “He lets you call him Atticus?”
I falter over my answer. Don’t all his tributaries do this?
She swallows. “It’s okay. I know His Highness must be desperate for a vein. It is actually smart during times like these, to choose a nontraditional route. No one would suspect you.”
