She knew her mother didn’t mean the Emperor, and her eyes started to tear.
Her mother smiled. “Don’t cry, my dear girl.”
For the first time in years, Talia pressed her face into her mother’s shoulder and hugged her tight. She wasn’t alone in this. Her mother would be beside her, guiding her, helping her. And once Ayah got over her anger at Talia for keeping such a huge thing from her, Talia knew she could count on her friend’s help too.
Her mother kissed her cheek. “Happy birthday, Talia.”
They drew apart, and Talia turned to see a young man sweeping an elegant bow in her direction. He was startlingly handsome, with midnight-black hair and skin a few shades darker than hers. Diamonds gleamed in his ears, matching the crystals sewn into his cobalt and black silk jacket. “Lord Rone Hohd-Lorne at your service, my lady. Would you care for a dance?”
Talia had never met Rone before, but she already disliked him. He was the son of the Baron of Tyst and she’d seen him beat a hound once. But it was her duty to dance with anyone who asked at her coming-of-age ball, so she put her hand in his and allowed him to lead her onto the floor.
They danced, Rone’s hand pressed against the small of her back, his warm breath too close to her cheek and smelling of spiced wine. She had the sudden, horrifying realization that because she was now the Emperor’s heir, she might be made to marry someone like Rone. Marrying for love was not a luxury an Empress could afford. The Emperor’s marriage had been political—hers would be, too.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Lady Dahl-Saida?”
Rone’s words startled her out of her thoughts and she lost track of the dance, tripping over her own feet and causing her partner to stumble as well.
Irritation flashed across his handsome face. “I had expected the future Countess of Irsa to be a more accomplished dancer—you’ll have to work on that if you want to catch a husband.” He had the gall to wink at her.
She wanted to smack him—she didn’t have the mental fortitude to deal with this right now. “And here I expected a man who beats his own dogs to have beautiful manners. Excuse me.”
Talia left him standing stupidly in the middle of the dancers and stalked over to the refreshment table, ears burning. Ayah wasn’t there anymore. Talia glimpsed her out on the dance floor, whirling about in the arms of a gawky Marquis.
Talia resisted the urge to slip out to the balcony and scramble onto the roof. Ayah would follow her eventually, with a stolen jar of wine and a skirt full of cakes. They’d drink until they got dizzy and lick cake-sugar off their fingers and not come down until the party was over.
But she couldn’t do that anymore. Future empresses didn’t do that.
“Dance, my lady?”
Talia cast a regretful look at the refreshments—squares of lamb glazed with honey, sugared cakes and mango sweetmeats, iced wine and spiced tea—and turned to accept the outstretched hand of a courtier’s sweaty son who was just straightening up from a bow.
She danced for what felt like hours, the heat in the ballroom barely broken by the jasmine-drenched night air blowing in from the balcony. She thought the lilies in her hair must be wilting already. Every so often she glanced at the empty ivory thrones and felt a fresh wave of panic. Where was the Emperor?
And what about Eda? She wasn’t here either.
Her absence was probably purposeful—it would make a statement. The court would notice that Talia did not have the support of the Countess of Evalla when she was announced as the Emperor’s heir, which was politically disastrous. Evalla was the most powerful province in Enduena, boasting its own private army and navy, and it was one of the largest trading hubs in the world. Without Eda on her side—
Gods above, did Eda already know about the Emperor’s announcement? Was that the reason she’d failed to come?
Talia excused herself from her latest partner and went to find her mother, who was standing near the balcony with a cup of wine in her hand, speaking to an attendant. Whatever the attendant was saying made her mother’s face smooth over into that courtier’s mask that meant she didn’t care to broadcast her feelings. The attendant bowed and slipped away, and Talia stepped up to her mother.
“Is the Emperor coming?”
Her mother shook her head, a hardness coming into her eyes. “He’s very ill and can’t leave his rooms. You’ll have to make the announcement yourself.”
“What?” Talia hissed. Her stomach turned over, and she suddenly regretted every single bite of food she’d ever eaten.
Her mother’s mouth pressed into a firm line. “You’ll be fine. Just give your speech like you’ve been practicing, and explain at the end that the Emperor couldn’t be here.”
“I’m not telling the entire Enduenan court I’m their next Empress. I can’t announce myself.”
“You have to. The Emperor’s already signed the necessary documents to prove your claim. We’ll show them to the court tomorrow.”
“Mama—”
But her mother had already grabbed her arm and was steering her toward the dais.
She felt like the walls were closing in around her, squeezing all the breath out of her lungs. “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t make me do this.”
But then they were standing on the dais, just in front of the thrones, and her mother was smiling brilliantly at the mass of courtiers and calling for quiet.
Talia swallowed, fixed in that spot on the dais and blinking out at the crowd, her speech skittering through her mind in the wrong order. She searched for Ayah but couldn’t find her.
“It is my great honor to present to you my daughter, Talia Dahl-Saida.”
That was her cue. But every word she had ever known had gone completely from her head.
The courtiers waited, a sea of whispering skirts and silk sashes and elegant jackets. They shifted where they stood, wine glasses in their hands. They would toast her health when she finished speaking. If she spoke at all.
“Talia?”
What was she supposed to say? Why wasn’t the Emperor here to do it for her?
She finally found Ayah in the mass of courtiers, and her bright smile gave Talia enough courage to begin.
“Friends and—friends and honored guests.” She bunched her skirt in one hand, crushing the delicate material, and went on: “It is—it is my great privilege to accept the—the responsibility that—”
Away down in the city she heard bells, clamoring suddenly from the spired towers, all of them ringing at once: alarm bells. It couldn’t be a storm coming—it wasn’t the season, and the night had been clear.
Talia shot a panicked look at her mother, who nodded tensely for her to continue. But she’d lost her place and had to start over.
“Friends and honored guests. It is my great privilege to accept the responsibility of—of the Emperor’s heir and future—future Empress of Enduena. I—I swear to—”
The bells grew louder and louder as the wind blew their jangling music into the ballroom.