Then he holds up his own bare hand. A strange contraption at his wrist, something like a bracelet with two metal ends, clicks, producing sparks. Instead of disappearing in a flash, the sparks glow and burst into red flame, giving off a blast of heat. He’s a burner, he controls heat and fire, I remember. He’s a prince, and a dangerous one at that. But the flame disappears as quickly as it came, leaving only Cal’s encouraging smile and the humming of cameras hidden somewhere, watching over everything.
The masked Sentinels on the edge of my vision are a constant reminder of my new position. I’m nearly a princess, engaged to the second most eligible bachelor in the country. And I’m a lie. Cal is long gone, leaving me with my guards. Lucas isn’t so bad, but the others are stern and quiet, never looking me in the eye. The guards and even Lucas are wardens to keep me imprisoned in my own skin, red behind a silver curtain that can never be pulled away. If I fall, if I even slip, I will die. And others will die for my failure.
As they escort me toward the feast, I go over the story the queen drilled into me, the pretty tale she was going to tell the court. It’s simple, easy to remember, but it still makes me cringe.
I was born at the war front. My parents were killed in an attack on the camp. A Red soldier saved me from the rubble and brought me home to a wife who always wanted a daughter. They raised me in the village called the Stilts, and I was ignorant of my birthright or my ability until this morning. And now I am returned to my rightful place.
The thought makes me sick. My rightful place is at home, with my parents and Gisa and Kilorn. Not here.
The Sentinels lead the way through the maze of passages in the upper levels of the palace. Like the Spiral Garden, the architecture is all curves of stone, glass, and metal, slowly turning downward. Diamondglass is around every corner, showing breathtaking views of the marketplace, the river valley, and the woods beyond. From this height, I can see hills I didn’t know existed rising in the distance, silhouetted against the setting sun.
“The last two floors are royal apartments,” Lucas says, pointing up the sloping, spiraling hallway. Sunlight glitters like a firestorm, throwing speckles of light down on us. “The lift will take us down to the ballroom. Just here.” Lucas reaches out, stopping next to a metal wall. It reflects us dully, then slides away when he waves a hand.
The Sentinels usher us into a box with no windows and harsh lighting. I force myself to breathe, even though I’d rather push out of what feels like a giant metal coffin.
I jump a mile when the lift suddenly moves, making my pulse race. My breath comes in short gasps as I look around in wide-eyed fright, expecting to see the others reacting in the same way. But no one else seems to mind the fact that the room we’re in is dropping. Only Lucas notices my discomfort, and he slows our descent a little.
“The lift moves up and down, so we don’t have to walk. This place is very big, Lady Titanos,” he murmurs with the ghost of a smile.
I’m torn between wonder and fear as we drop, and I breathe a sigh of relief when Lucas opens the lift doors. We march out into the mirrored hall I ran through this morning. The broken mirrors are already fixed—it looks like nothing ever happened.
When Queen Elara appears around the corner, her own Sentinels in tow, Lucas sweeps into a bow. Now she wears black and red and silver, her husband’s colors. With her blond hair and pale skin, she looks downright ghoulish.
She grabs me by the arm, pulling me to her as we walk. Her lips don’t move, but I hear her voice all the same, echoing in my head. This time it doesn’t hurt or make me nauseous, but the sensation still feels sick and wrong. I want to scream, to claw her out of my head. But there’s nothing I can do except hate her.
The Titanos family were oblivions, she says, her voice all around. They could explode things with a touch, like the Lerolan girl did at Queenstrial. When I try to remember the girl, Elara projects an image of her directly into my brain. It flashes, barely there, but still I see a young girl in orange blow up rock and sand like military bombs. Your mother, Nora Nolle, was a storm like the rest of House Nolle. Storms control the weather, to an extent. It’s not common, but their union resulted in your unique abilities to control electricity. Say no more, if anyone asks.
What do you really want with me? Even in my head, my voice quivers.
Her laughter bounces inside my skull, the only answer I’ll get.
Remember the person you’re supposed to be, and remember well, she continues, ignoring my question. You are pretending to be raised Red, but you’re Silver by blood. You are now Red in the head, Silver in the heart.
A shiver of fear shoots through me.
From now until the end of your days, you must lie. Your life depends on it, little lightning girl.