I nod, trying not to stare at Ina out of the corner of my eye. It seems impossible she was ever anything other than this—glittering, laughing, beautiful, blessed. But everyone in Sempera knows her history: she was one of the hundreds of children whose parents abandoned them on the shores of the palace or surrendered them to an orphanage in the desperate hope that the child would become the Queen’s heir, as she declared centuries ago. A five-hundred-year-old promise, fulfilled now by the girl standing in front of me.
Of course, I, like most of the people of Sempera, am more familiar with the story that lurks underneath the shimmering surface of Ina’s own: Almost all the children abandoned to the Queen grow up in an orphanage. When they come of age—often earlier, even—those who aren’t adopted by families leave for jobs as servants or laborers. Papa had always scorned the Queen’s proclamation. It led to horrors in practice—she lived so long that a child was only chosen once every few decades, only to be found wanting or assigned to some other lesser role, or succumbing to sickness—or, I shudder, remembering Lady Sida’s insinuations, falling victim to the Queen’s whims when she decided she no longer wanted to give up the throne. But that didn’t stop parents from leaving children by the hundreds every year, all fueled by the same delusional hope that their child had to be the one.
Ina approaches us with a handful of fabric clutched in her fist, a silent command that we make it disappear. Sticking a pin between my lips, I kneel in front of the future queen.
And Ina was chosen. The news had sent ripples through the kingdom, or so people said. Vaguely, I remember palace servants gossiping about Ina after she’d been chosen. The smooth stone in her mouth when she was born was supposed to be a blessing from the Sorceress. This news reached the Queen, and the Queen’s own surname, Gold, was appended, and the girl taken to the palace, as good as Her Majesty’s own daughter.
I wonder who her mother and father are. Are they alive today? Do they even know that Ina is the nameless infant they abandoned on the shores? My heart clenches at the next thought.
Maybe that’s what happened to me.
Since reading Papa’s note, I have tried not to think about what it said . . . that he was not in fact my father at all. But if that’s true, and I’ve never met my mother either, it’s possible I, too, was one of those abandoned orphans, taken in by Papa too early for anyone to remember.
Which means that I, too, could have been chosen by the Queen. But I was not.
Something stabs into my finger. I’ve stuck myself with the pin. I yank my hand away from Ina before blood gets on her dress, and suck the blood off my skin—but something is wrong. Ina is twisting to look at me, but slowly, like she’s moving through amber. I have my hands back in place before she turns around. And when she looks at me, she just blinks once and turns away again, as if she’s forgotten what caught her attention. Caro stares at Ina with a confused look for a moment, like she’s forgotten herself.
I realize what happened, of course. When I pricked myself, time froze—or slowed—like when I fished for the trout in a stream, so many days ago, or when I confronted the Gerling guard in the Crofton market while waiting to be selected as an Everless girl. Nerves flare in me. It hasn’t happened since I arrived, or if it has, it was too subtle to notice.
Thankfully, they both seem to dismiss the irregular moment. Ina submits to further alterations, and Caro smiles her mysterious smile. “It’s lucky your parents decided to give you to the kingdom, Ina. No other baby has ever been so lucky, or so deserving.”
The clock ticks once, twice before Ina smiles graciously. She surely doesn’t remember her parents, but it clearly still wounds her—I don’t think I imagined the look of hurt that flashed across her face. It’s hard to believe that anything can sadden this beautiful, laughing girl, Roan’s betrothed, the future queen—but I’ve learned firsthand how difficult unanswered questions from one’s parents can be.
When Caro finally deems the drapes and folds of the dress perfect, Ina slips carefully out of the fabric and Caro and I fold it to be taken down to the seamstress. As we line the shoulders up, Caro says, “Jules, I’m going to recommend to the Queen that you be appointed as the new handmaiden.”
“If you’d like,” Ina adds quickly. “I hope you do.”
It takes a second for her words to land, but when they do, I have to stop myself from dropping the dress to throw my arms around Caro. “Thank you!” I say breathlessly. “Thank you so much.”
“You’ll serve me more than the Queen, of course,” Ina says. “She prefers Caro to look after her, and only sparingly.”
The joy in my heart feels foreign after so much grief. And if I look too closely at it, there’s something dark and strange flitting about its edges—it’s odd to be thrilled at being one step closer to the woman who Papa warned me against, who may have driven him to his death.
But the joy is too sweet to think about the darkness now. I push it back into the corners of my heart, to let out and deal with when the time comes.
“First,” Caro says, “the Queen must approve. We’ll take you to her now.”
15
The Queen, Caro tells me, prefers to remain in her room, away from the useless gossip of the estate’s inhabitants. The guards posted at either side of her door serve as a testament to this. While we approach, they remain still as stone; watching their ashen faces, I fear for a moment that time has stopped again.
Caro passes between the guards without fear or hesitation. Ina follows close behind, fingers fluttering at her waist. I wonder, with a flicker of pointed curiosity, whether she is always this nervous in the presence of the woman who raised her. Inside, the queen of Sempera sits in a high-backed chair carved from deep brown wood. Both Ina and Caro curtsy low, and I do the same, keeping my eyes trained on the thick, gold-and-green carpet below my feet.
Caro speaks first. “My Queen, may we present to you Jules Ember. Ina and I would like her to join the royal retinue, to serve you.” The Queen remains silent. “She served at Everless in her childhood, and knows the estate well. Jules,” Caro finishes.
I straighten up, raising my eyes from the ground to find that the Queen is watching me blankly. Boredom and disdain seem to have carved themselves into her features, making her beauty cold, distant—the beauty of a star. Still, her gaze is piercing, her voice even more so.
“Ina, this will please you?” the Queen asks.
“Yes,” Ina answers quickly. “Jules was Roan’s companion as a child. Nothing would please me more.”
A nearly imperceptible look passes between Caro and the Queen—a silent command that leads Caro to clear her throat. “Jules, serving the Queen and her daughter is not like serving a noble family. It comes with certain dangers.” I keep my eyes trained on Caro, though my heart has begun to pound violently in my chest. “You will not speak of the Queen to anyone. You will not enter her chambers uninvited. You will not lay a hand on her, even to assist her. If anyone should approach you about her, or suggest violence against her, you will tell me immediately.