“Not Vile Velamina,” said Jacin, with a feigned gasp of horror. “What have you done with my princess?”
“She is being held prisoner aboard my spaceship. You will never see her again. Bwa-ha-ha!”
“No! I will rescue her!”
Jacin—who was starting to leave Winter behind in the height department—tossed her easily off the bed. She screeched and landed on the floor with a thump. It wasn’t a hard throw, but her knee burned where it hit the rug.
Jacin climbed to his feet, steadying himself on the plush mattress, and thrust the point of the sword at her. “Actually, it is I who have lured you into a trap, you stinking pirate. You are now precisely where I want you.” Reaching up, he grabbed onto one of the tassels that hung from the canopy on Winter’s bed. “With a yank on this rope, a trapdoor will open beneath you, and you will plummet straight into…” He hesitated.
“Oh—the menagerie!” Winter suggested, eyes brightening. “Ryu’s cage. And the wolf is very, very hungry and will no doubt gobble the pirate up!”
Jacin scowled at her. “Are you plotting your own demise?”
“That was the princess speaking. I was implanting the thought directly into your brain. Velamina has me tied up, but not unconscious.”
Jacin started to laugh. “What she said, then.” He made a great show of pulling on the tassel. The curtains didn’t budge, but Winter played along, screaming in anguish and rolling around on the carpet as if she’d just been thrown into a den with the most dangerous feral wolf of all time.
Jacin held the sword toward the ceiling. “Now I must find my princess and return her safely to the palace, where I will be rewarded with great honor.”
“Honor?” Winter sneered. “Aren’t you going to ask for riches, or something? Like a mansion in AR-4?”
Shaking his head, Jacin stared dreamily toward outer space. “Seeing my princess’s smile when she is returned safely home is all the reward that I need.”
“Ew, gross.” Winter threw a pillow at his head, but Jacin dodged it and hopped down from the bed.
“Now then—with the pirate vanquished I have only to find her spaceship.”
Winter pointed at the glass doors that opened out onto her balcony. “It’s out there.”
Chest puffed like a proud hero, Jacin strutted to the doors.
“Hold on!” Winter jumped to her feet and grabbed a belt from her wardrobe. She fluffed her thick curls around her face, trying to leave Vile Velamina behind and return to her sweet, demure princess role instead.
On the balcony, she made a great show of tying herself to the rail.
“You do realize,” Jacin said, watching apprehensively, “that if anyone looked up here right now, they’d think you really were in trouble.”
“Pffft. No one would believe that you could manipulate me so easily.”
His jaw twitched, just a little, and Winter felt a sting of guilt. Though he pretended otherwise, she knew Jacin was sensitive about how poorly his Lunar gift was developing. At almost eight years old he should have been starting glamour practice and emotional manipulation, but it was becoming apparent that Jacin had inherited his father’s lack of skill. He was almost as ungifted as a shell.
Winter knew it was bad—shameful, even—to have so little talent, especially here in the capital city of Artemisia.
On the other hand, her gift had started developing when she was only four, and was becoming stronger every day. She was already meeting once a week with a tutor, Master Gertman, who said she was growing up to be one of the most talented pupils he’d ever had.
“All right, I’m ready,” she said, cinching the belt around her wrists.
Jacin shook his head. “You’re crazy, is what you are.”
She stuck her tongue out at him, then tossed her hair off one shoulder and screwed up her face in distress. “Won’t some strong, brave hero come save me from these awful pirates? Help! Help!”
But Jacin’s frown remained, his attention caught on something over her shoulder. “Who’s that, in the throne room?”
Winter glanced back. Her chambers were in the private wing of Artemisia Palace, where the royal family slept, just down the hall from her father and stepmother’s rooms. They were on the third floor, with a marvelous view of Lake Artemisia below, and she could see most of the opposite wing of the palace, which wrapped around the lake’s far side.
At the very center of the palace was the throne room. It was the only room that had a balcony jutting far out over the lake’s waters—with no rail or barrier to provide protection if anyone stepped too close to the edge.
And there was a woman standing there, peering into the waters below.
Winter didn’t recognize her, but the uniform of a palace servant was clear even from far away.
“What’s she doing?” she asked.
She had barely finished speaking before Jacin turned and started to run.