“Mistress Mira was in possession of a portscreen when we found her, and though it was broken in the fall, it was still submitted as evidence in the case of her murder. I wonder if anyone has attempted to retrieve the alleged comm.”
Levana turned her attention back to Aimery, whose face was a mask that Winter recognized. The more pleasant his expression, the more annoyed he was. “In fact, we did manage to access her recent communications. I was about to bring forward the evidence.”
It was a lie, which gave Winter hope. Aimery was a great liar, especially when it was in his best interests. And he hated Jacin. He would not want to give up anything that could help him.
Hope. Frail, flimsy, pathetic hope.
Aimery gestured toward the door and a servant scurried forward, carrying a shattered portscreen and a holograph node on a tray. “This is the portscreen Sir Kinney mentioned. Our investigation has confirmed that there was, indeed, an anonymous comm sent to Sybil Mira that day.”
The servant turned on the node and a holograph shimmered into the center of the room—behind it, Jacin faded away like a phantom.
The holograph displayed a basic text comm.
Linh Cinder plotting to kidnap EC emperor.
Escape planned from north tower rooftop, sunset.
So much importance pressed into so few words. It was just like Jacin.
Levana read the words with narrowed eyes. “Thank you, Sir Kinney, for bringing this to our attention.” It was telling that she did not thank Aimery.
The guard, Kinney, bowed and stepped back into position. His gaze flickered once to Winter, unreadable, before attaching again to the far wall.
Levana continued, “I suppose you will tell me, Sir Clay, that this was the comm you sent.”
“It was.”
“Have you anything else to add before I make my verdict?”
“Nothing, My Queen.”
Levana leaned back in her throne and the room hushed, everyone awaiting the queen’s decision.
“I trust my stepdaughter would like me to spare you.”
Jacin didn’t react, but Winter winced at the haughtiness in her stepmother’s tone. “Please, Stepmother,” she whispered, the words clumping on her dry tongue. “It’s Jacin. He is not our enemy.”
“Not yours, perhaps,” Levana said. “But you are a na?ve, stupid girl.”
“That is not so. I am a factory for blood and platelets, and all my machinery is freezing over…”
The court burst into laughter, and Winter recoiled. Even Levana’s lips twitched, though there was annoyance beneath her amusement.
“I have made my decision,” she said, her booming voice demanding silence. “I have decided to let the prisoner live.”
Winter released a cry of relief. She clapped a hand over her mouth, but it was too late to stifle the noise.
There were more giggles from the audience.
“Have you any other insights to add, Princess?” Levana said through her teeth.
Winter gathered her emotions as well as she could. “No, My Queen. Your rulings are always wise and final, My Queen.”
“This ruling is not finished.” The queen’s voice hardened as she addressed Jacin again. “Your inability to kill or capture Linh Cinder will not go unpunished, as your incompetence led to her successful kidnapping of my betrothed. For this crime, I sentence you to thirty self-inflicted lashings to be held on the central dais, followed by forty hours of penance. Your sentence shall commence at tomorrow’s light-break.”
Winter flinched, but even this punishment could not destroy the fluttery relief in her stomach. He was not going to die. She was not a girl of ice and glass at all, but a girl of sunshine and stardust, because Jacin wasn’t going to die.
“And, Winter…”
She jerked her attention back to her stepmother, who was eyeing her with disdain. “If you attempt to bring him food, I will have his tongue removed in payment for your kindness.”
She shrank back into her chair, a tiny ray of her sunshine extinguished. “Yes, My Queen.”
Three
Winter was awake hours before light brightened the dome’s artificial sky, having hardly slept. She did not go to watch Jacin receive his lashings, knowing that if he saw her, he would have kept himself from screaming in pain. She wouldn’t do that to him. Let him scream. He was still stronger than any of them.
She dutifully nibbled at the cured meats and cheeses brought for her breakfast. She allowed the servants to bathe her and dress her in pale pink silk. She sat through an entire session with Master Gertman, a third-tier thaumaturge and her long-standing tutor, pretending to try to use her gift and apologizing when it was too hard, when she was too weak. He did not seem to mind. Anyway, he spent most of their sessions gazing slack-jawed at her face, and Winter didn’t know if he would be able to tell if she really did glamour him for once.
The artificial day had come and gone; one of the maidservants had brought her a mug of warmed milk and cinnamon and turned down her bed, and finally Winter was left alone.