Larkin smiled. “Be glad you didn’t see your reflection, Highness. You were a fright.”
“Good. That was the idea.” She lifted a hand to her head and laughed as she ran her fingers through the hair that barely brushed the top of her ears. “How do I look?” she asked, hating that she even cared. She wouldn’t normally. But when she thought of the way Lord Errik had kissed her . . .
“You don’t look like a lady,” Larkin said, putting a glass of water into Carys’s uncertain hands.
“I’ve been told that not being considered a lady is a compliment.” She smiled and waited for Larkin’s grin in return.
“That it is. But lady or no lady, we are going to have to get you dressed. Since Lord Errik required the use of your other clothes, I instructed him to bring me these.” She motioned to a stack of men’s garments piled nearby. “I figured Prince Micah didn’t need them anymore. They won’t fit as well as the others I made you, but we can work on that.”
Carys struggled to rise. Larkin moved to help.
By the time she was dressed in trousers Larkin had hastily altered and a gray tunic, Errik strode through the door. He stared at her for a heartbeat as she sweated in her ill-fitting clothes and then gave a deep bow. Then, flashing a smile, he said, “I’m happy to report, Your Highness, that you are officially dead.”
“She was a kitchen maid,” Errik explained as he opened the trapdoor and threw the bag of supplies he’d assembled down into the darkness. “Your healer was caring for her until two days ago when she died.”
Carys slid her stilettos into her belt, then wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the chill and sank down on a wooden crate. So much death.
“She had no family here in Garden City.” Errik turned to her. “And she will get a princess’ funeral instead of a pauper’s grave, Your Highness. You can feel good about that.”
There was little she felt good about right now. In an hour her brother would stand on the dais in the Hall of Virtues. The crown would be placed on his head and he would be surrounded by people who would be working to destroy him and Eden. The Council. The Captain of the Guard. Garret. Who knew how many or who would take a knee and swear an oath they intended to break.
And for the first time she wasn’t at her twin’s side to help. She clenched her fist and felt air flutter her hair. A draft. It was just a draft.
Only, she knew deep inside her that it wasn’t.
Her mother had said she was the curse. That she had given her the Tears of Midnight to keep the curse at bay.
But the curse was not evil—not like she had thought.
It was power.
Carys heard the wind, and the wind heard her.
She could call it to her aid.
She had done so on the battlements against Imogen. It had saved her on the wall.
And it had driven back the Xhelozi when they surrounded her on all sides.
Now there was nothing standing in the way of Carys’s power. Nothing except Carys herself.
A few days. A few weeks. The pain of the withdrawal would stop. She would be stronger. She’d learn to focus her power, figure out who was trying to steal the crown and she would return here to the Palace of Winds—where she now knew she belonged.
“Do you still believe you need to speak with Lord Garret? If so, you should let me bring him here to you.” Errik knelt next to her.
“No,” she said, forcing herself to stand. Dust swirled in the small room. “I will handle Garret myself. There is something else that I need you to do.”
Andreus stood in the Hall of Virtues’ antechamber where he and Carys had waited before their entrance to the ball. Now three days later, he was to wear the crown. His first command would be to take the scoring board down from the walls. He didn’t want anyone to remember his sister had even had a claim to the throne. He had won. He was the King.
He paced across the small room to practice walking with the black iron contraption Madame Jillian had affixed to his leg. The rods were heavy and felt awkward, but now when he walked into the throne room, he would be doing so without any assistance.
Alone.
His chest tightened.
“Excuse me, Your Majesty.” Max pushed aside the curtain and took a hesitant step inside. The boy was dressed in a hastily altered velvet tunic of yellow and blue and was to be given new rooms to go along with his new status as king’s squire. He should have been delighted, but Max still showed fear in his eyes around Andreus.
It would fade, he told himself. Just as the ache Andreus felt for Imogen would disappear—just as, weeks from now, he would no longer remember Carys’s screams.
Max shuffled his feet. “I am s’posed to tell you that the coronation is about to begin.” Then with an off-balance bow, he darted back through the curtain to take his place near the front.
The trumpets sounded.
Andreus’s heart thumped.
The curtains parted.
The tightening in his chest grew.
He took a deep breath and walked slowly through the high-arching entrance of the Hall as everyone—the court, the visiting dignitaries, and the Council of Elders—stood. He limped down the center aisle and those who watched dropped into low bows and curtsies. Elder Cestrum stood to the left of the throne. Andreus tried not to look at the empty space on the right where the Seer of Eden should have stood. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on the crown. It sat glittering on the throne—waiting for him.
Elder Cestrum placed the polished crown on his head. It was heavy and dug into his scalp. He straightened his shoulders to appear triumphant, but couldn’t help but picture the crown as it looked when he first handed it to the Elder—stained with blood.
One by one the Elders knelt before him to offer him their oaths of fealty, followed by the High Lords, Captain Monteros, and the members of the court. The names and faces ran together, but the lack of one stood out to him.
Elder Cestrum’s choice for King. Lord Garret.
Carys slipped out of the shadows as Lord Garret passed by the alcove in the empty corridor and pressed the point of her stiletto into his back. She dug the tip into his flesh as he reached for his sword—drawing blood to show she was serious.
“I’ll take that.” She slid his sword out of the scabbard as Lord Garret turned his head so out of the corner of his eye he could see her face.
“You—you’re not dead.”
“No. But you might be soon.” She dropped the sword to the ground and kicked it behind her. “Tell me who on the Council is plotting to take the Throne of Light from my brother.”
“Are you looking for allies or enemies?” He shifted so his hazel eyes could meet hers. “Your brother tried to kill you, Highness. We all watched him strike you on the wall.”