I wait.
“But what if that isn’t enough, Ali? I won’t be like my mother, who left for no reason. I couldn’t do that to anyone, certainly not to Reni. Loving the Captain means every day might be my last with him. That’s the sort of uncertainty I need. That’s the sort of love I want, where it seizes you from head to toe, and you’re frightened and breathless and on fire all at once. If I have any of my mother in me, then I know I wouldn’t make a proper wife. I feel too much. Perhaps I want too much. But I can’t stay here, wondering, when there’s even a chance of another life in Norvenne.”
Her green eyes beg me to understand, her auburn hair soaked and dark round her pale face. She’s holding a mirror up to me and I’m afraid to look. Perhaps her vain dreams aren’t worth the trouble, not when there are wars and the Nahir and my own brother quietly betraying our queen, and yet I want as much as she does.
I ache for that chance, too.
“But what if he never comes back for you, Violet?”
It’s not an effort to be cruel. It’s the truth, and she shrugs, helpless. A frightened, breathless, helpless love. “I’ll wait long enough. Then I’ll find another way.” She swims closer and kisses me on the cheek. “And even if I don’t love your brother, I’ll always love you. I promise. We were never about him.”
She smiles, elegant even naked in a muddy river, and I hope with everything in me that her captain sees how lucky he is, that he deserves her bold and beautiful heart that loves life so warmly.
* * *
The next morning, Havis and I take a motorcar to the University grounds. He’s dressed in an embroidered maroon jacket and his black hair is brushed smooth. It’s as if this is a special outing for the two of us, and the idea is entirely presumptuous. But I play along, as if I’m delighted to be with him, for the sake of the driver and the two armed guards accompanying us.
We drive down the sloping, forested road into Hathene, passing the stately grey homes that belong to those at Mother’s court—Lord Marcin, Lord Jerig, and the rest—and over the river bridge. Downtown, people laugh on street corners, riding bicycles, the girls wearing pretty summer dresses cut to the knees. I can’t help but gape out the window. I rarely get to see this. They’re all fascinating and curious to me, and even though I know the storm has passed, the Safire visit over and gone, it’s still a relief to find the city square bright and calm, not a single protester in sight.
“I’m grateful you agreed to have me come along, Princess,” Havis remarks with his easy charm. “I can imagine you might have preferred your brother.”
“Oh no, Ambassador. I’m spending my afternoon the way I love best—with strange men from foreign countries.”
The fake charm lessens. “I knew that feathered creature couldn’t hold a secret. I knew it, but it was worth a try anyway.”
“Did she give you anything good?”
“Not a word. I asked her if she’d seen you with anyone, and she said no, and when I pressed her further, she said she was ‘too busy’ and when I asked how busy, she said, ‘Oh very busy’ and smiled in such a way that I admired her for a moment.” He looks at me. “Please tell me you weren’t also busy.”
“Only on some days,” I reply, looking out the window again.
I think I hear him chuckle.
A few minutes later, we turn onto a narrow drive and brake beside blossoming lilac bushes. A wide lawn spreads before us, shaded by feathery willow trees, the fieldstone university walls along the farthest edge.
An unexpected sliver of fear jabs inside, and I hesitate when the door swings open to my left. Out there, beyond this motorcar, seems suddenly very open. Exposed. No walls to hide behind, no guards on each corner to ensure loyalty. It’s a place I’m not sure I belong.
I’m never outside royal walls.
Havis waits at the door, extending a hand, feigning gallantry. “Shall we, my star?”
I’d like to hit him for that, but it works. I get out, his strong arm quickly round my waist. His irritating confidence manages to make everything else seem small. As we walk the path to the grey walls ahead, I ask him about classes and schedules and exams. It’s all for the benefit of the guards following behind, so that they have nothing unusual to report about us, or to gossip with others. And Havis is too good at playing along—smiling in the right places, patting my arm, promising that I’ll love his stable of swift desert-bred horses in Resya.
Then he announces, “The University,” leading me beneath a stone archway. “The King’s greatest dream.”
Like entering the grand ballroom of our palace, we step into an elaborate and embellished world, honey-coloured buildings curving up before us, hemming us in on either side, decorated with leafy vines and sacred orchids. Rampant horses and crouching wolves are carved in elaborate facades. Stained-glass windows glow in the light, casting colours on stonework, and there isn’t a single alcove that remains untouched by exquisite detail, a reflection of my father’s heart, the pleasure he found in artistry, in learning.
This place sings of him, but it’s a hollow beauty.
He isn’t here—and something hurts.
“To the library,” Havis says, sweeping me along, the guards trailing us. “I think it will please your heart, Princess.”
I let him lead me. There’s no point in fighting his flowery show, and it allows me to say nothing. He carries the weight of our charade.
The tiled walkways are mostly empty, not many students about during the summer season. The few that remain openly stare. They know who I am. When I offer them a hesitant smile, they respond with a half bow, dropping their eyes and hurrying on. If only I could speak with them, find out what they think about my mother, about the Safire, about the protests in the square. I want to see inside their heads, too.
“Here we are,” Havis says grandly, halting us before a large building with a domed roof. He turns to the guards. “Clear it for us.”
The men nod and swing open the polished doors. Within a moment, they’ve announced that everyone must leave and the library’s closed. The stern words—and the guns at their side—leave no room for debate. Students gather their books quickly, faces registering shock at the sight of me. The girls skirt round us, eyes down, but the young men, about Reni’s age, walk by slower. Their surprise ebbs away, an appreciative glint to their gaze that makes me uncomfortable. I step closer to Havis as they pass.
“Boys are always trouble,” he tells me, “with or without a uniform.”
“So are most men,” I say.
“Se’til er keren!” he sings with exaggerated offense, gesturing at himself.
“Not this handsome face.” It’s a well-known line from Mother’s favourite Resyan opera, and his voice has an unexpected baritone beauty. I give him a strange look, like he’s just made some kind of odd noise, and he appears mildly disappointed, like I should have indulged him further. But he doesn’t yet know I speak Resyan. And for now, that seems wise, since I like having a card hidden from him.
The guards position themselves at the doors, and the library becomes mine to explore. It’s a welcome place, the scent of books heavy in the air, like Father’s library. My heels click on floors of burgundy and cream, wide windows overlooking the gardens, and high on the domed ceiling above spreads a painted mural.
My breath catches.
“And what delight is this?” Havis asks, behind me.
I stare up in disbelief at the unicorn and dragon. “It’s Elois and Elinga. Father made me a painting of that story.”
“Then I’d imagine this was also picked for you, Princess. A beloved daughter’s favourite story, immortalized in the place the King prized most. How charming.”
It’s beautiful, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and embarrassing tears sting my eyes. I want Father here so badly. I want him to come and hold me and speak to me again, just one word.