“You’ve had enough, Kamzin.”
“I’ve had enough?” I glared at him, searching for a retort. But my thoughts were all muddled. Involuntarily, my gaze drifted to his hand—there was something wrong with it. He was missing the tips of two fingers, the fourth and fifth.
My eyes narrowed. I had seen the result of frostbite before—but never on the hand of a pampered courtier. His brown skin was as dark as mine, as if he too spent most of his days outdoors in the mountain sun. Something nagged at me.
“Kamzin!” It was Zhiba, one of my cousins. She bowed to the young man and touched my arm gently, as if to draw me away. “Chirri has been looking for you. Come.”
I squinted at her. Chirri was never looking for me. “What are you talking about?”
Zhiba glanced over her shoulder. I realized a knot of people had formed nearby, all gazing at me and muttering. Most wore looks ranging from worry to disapproval. Others—my younger cousins in particular—pressed their hands over their mouths, as if to muffle their laughter. I stared at them, annoyed and confused. Clearly, I was the butt of some private joke, the meaning of which I could not comprehend.
“Kamzin,” Zhiba said, her voice low, “how much have you had to drink?”
“Is that what this is about?” I shook her arm off. “First him, and now you. Leave me alone, Zhiba.”
“But—”
“I’m fine.” All the frustrations of the day—my disastrous lesson with Chirri, my argument with Lusha, the embarrassing encounter with Mara—seemed to come bubbling to the surface. I raised my voice. “And you can tell the others to stop staring. Do you want our guests to think we have no manners at all?”
Zhiba fell back, a pained look on her face. One of my cousins let out a muffled snort.
“Everything all right?” the courtier said.
“Yes,” I muttered. Then I started. “Oh no.”
My sister had just entered the room. Predictably, every head turned toward her.
“Who’s that?”
“Take a guess,” I said dourly. Lusha wore a simple gray robe, and her long hair was pinned back from her face with a silver clasp. A raven perched on each of her shoulders, eyeing the gathering with beady eyes.
“Ah, the great Lusha of Azmiri,” the young man said. “You don’t look much alike, do you?”
His tone was musing rather than snide, but I still bristled with a familiar irritation. It was true that Lusha took after our tall, slender mother, while my stoutness was all Elder’s. Growing up, I had been teased about my size by the other children, and reduced to tears more than once. Whenever Lusha found out, she dealt with the offenders with her customary decisiveness—usually with a punch in the nose. The more resolute bullies would be treated to recitations of dire fortunes filled with suffering and calamity, delivered in such ominous tones that they had difficulty sleeping at night. The children, awed by Lusha, learned to leave me alone.
The courtier gazed at my sister with cool appraisal. “She would be far more impressive without those creatures hovering around her. I’ve never understood you mountain people and your fondness for pets.”
“They aren’t pets,” I said. “They’re familiars. It’s rare enough to have even one, you know. Lusha and I are the only people in Azmiri who have them.”
“That’s fortunate for the people of Azmiri. I for one wouldn’t want a flock of ravens following me about. I doubt I’d be very popular at parties.”
“A familiar is a mark of the spirits’ favor,” I said. “And they’re useful, even if they are only animals. Lusha has had ravens watching over her since she was a baby. They fetch things, carry messages, alert her to danger—they look out for her, no matter what. People who have that sort of bond with an animal are respected in the mountain villages. Well,” I added in a mutter, “most of them are respected.”
He regarded me blankly. “So I should be impressed?”
“River should be impressed.” I chugged the rest of my wine. “She doesn’t care what you think, whoever you are.”
He laughed. I let out a giggle, hiccupping, which only made us laugh harder. We leaned against each other, trying unsuccessfully to muffle the sound. Heads turned in our direction—it seemed as if the entire room was staring at us now.
“I think,” I said between gasps, “you’ve had too much wine.”
Half choking, I straightened up, using his arm as a support. It was a good one, strong and solid, with more lean muscle than I would have expected. Somehow, the exertion had cleared my head, and I wondered again what in the name of the spirits I was doing, talking and carrying on with this strange Three Cities boy who hadn’t even given me his name.
I stopped. My laughter died as suddenly as a thunderclap.
“What is it?” He was still panting, his strange eyes alight with merriment.
I took a step back. My gaze drifted from the tip of his hair to the hem of his cloak. There was nothing in what I saw to prove my suspicion, and yet I knew. I knew.
“Who are you?” I demanded.
“Uh-oh.” He held up his hands in a warding gesture. “You got there, did you?”
I stared at him, my mouth hanging open. Half my brain refused to comprehend what the other half was telling it. Please, no. It can’t be.
“You’re doing it again, Kamzin,” he said. “The drooling.”
Father appeared suddenly, Lusha at his side, and clapped the young man’s shoulder with his massive hand. “There you are, River! Lusha has been looking for you.”
My sister nodded politely, though it was clear from the look on her face that she had been doing no such thing. I began to sway. I wondered if I would faint.
“I’ve been having a very interesting chat with your charming daughter,” River Shara said, threading my arm through his and pinning me solidly to his side. The smell of wildflowers and wine and something faintly smoky filled my nose. “Did you know the spotted orchid can be brewed as a tea for snow blindness?”
“I didn’t realize Kamzin was so knowledgeable about healing,” Elder said, an edge in his voice as he surveyed me. I was in the way. And I was drunk.
“Yes, she’s a very impressive girl,” River said.
There was a confused silence. I doubted either Lusha or Father had ever heard that word applied to me by anyone. Biter, on Lusha’s left shoulder, croaked a warning. He was looking at River, and the expression in his eyes was not a friendly one. Lurker took notice of him too, and began to croak deep in her throat. Lusha muttered something, and they fluttered away, up to the thatching in the roof. There they continued their jawing.
“I apologize, River,” Elder said. “We didn’t mean to leave you alone for so long. Only you disappeared so suddenly, and—”