“You are spending too much time with that boy,” Levana said as they stepped beneath the portico overhang and back into the bright-lit corridors of the palace. “You are getting older. You are no longer a child, and soon you will have suitors and perhaps even requests for marriage. You must be aware of propriety and expectations. That is your role in this family. That is the part you will play on behalf of the crown.”
Winter kept her eyes focused on the floor. Nothing the queen was saying was news to her, but she had never broached the subject so openly. She did know what was expected of her, and marrying the son of a palace guard wasn’t it. She ignored the fact that Levana herself had married a man from the working class when she’d been just a princess. Winter’s father. A lowly palace guard himself.
The sneers and derision from the court continued even to this day, thirteen years after their marriage and four years after her father’s death. It was a mistake that Winter would not be allowed to make for herself.
She would marry for political gain.
Jacin would go off and become a doctor and she might never see him again.
“Of course, Stepmother,” she said. “Jacin is only a friend.”
It was the truth. He was a friend, albeit one she would cut out her heart for.
Levana took her to the elevator and they rode it to the top floor, to the queen’s solar. A private place that Winter had rarely entered.
The room was beautiful—the highest place in all of Artemisia. The walls were made of glass and she could see the entire city, all the way to the walls of the dome and beyond into the desolate landscape of Luna. Far off on the horizon, she spotted the glow of the other nearby sectors.
It occurred to Winter for the first time how odd it was that her stepmother was alone. No thaumaturge loitering at her elbow. No simpering member of the court trying to earn her favor. Only a single guard was posted at the solar’s door, and Levana sent him away.
Winter’s stomach began to churn.
“Master Gertman tells me that you have not been improving in your lessons,” said Levana, floating around a desk. “In fact, he says that you have not shown any sign of the Lunar gift in nearly a year.”
Winter felt a sting of betrayal, though she knew it wasn’t fair. The tutor was doing his job, and keeping the queen apprised of Winter’s progress was a part of it.
Her tutor could not be blamed for Winter’s choices.
Lowering her gaze, Winter did her best to look embarrassed. “It’s true. I don’t know what happened. I thought things were going well, but then … well, there was that suicide. You remember? The servant who threw herself into the fountain?”
“What of it?”
Winter shrugged sadly. “I tried to stop her once before. I used my gift to bring her away from the throne room ledge and it worked. I thought I’d done so well. But then … after she died, it was as though my gift began to weaken.” She frowned and shook her head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I try. I try so hard. But it’s like … it’s like my gift is broken.”
To her surprise, tears were starting behind her lashes.
Quite the actress she was becoming.
Levana sneered. She did not look even remotely sympathetic. “I had hoped you would progress well and become a useful member of this court, but it seems that you might take after your father after all.” She paused. “You are aware that he was not adept at his gift, either.”
Winter nodded. “Guards never are.”
She had no idea if her mother—her biological mother—had been skilled with her gift. No one ever spoke of her, and she knew better than to ask.
“But we do know, don’t we, that you are not as talentless as your father, because Master Gertman tells me that at one point you showed marvelous promise. In fact, he feels that you were once one of his most outstanding students, and he is as baffled as anyone over your current lack of ability. I wonder if this isn’t all due to some … psychological trauma. Perhaps pertaining to that suicide?”
“Maybe, but I don’t know how to fix it. Maybe I need to see a doctor rather than a tutor.” Winter barely smothered her own smirk. A doctor. What might they prescribe for the girl who was going crazy, who heard monsters clawing at her door nearly every night?
But she would not mention that. She knew what was wrong with her. She knew how to make the visions stop. But she wouldn’t give in to them. She was stronger than the monsters.
“No,” said Levana. “I have another idea, Princess. A bit of added motivation, to assist with your studies.”
She opened a drawer, smiling serenely. Every movement was graceful and precise. The queen moved like a dancer, always. So controlled. So lovely to watch, even now, despite the cruelty that Winter knew lay beneath her beauty.
She waited, expecting a lesson plan or some trivial instructions for practicing her gift.
Instead, the queen produced a knife.
The handle was carved from milky crystal and the blade was obsidian black. Like her stepmother, it was both threatening and exquisite. Winter’s stomach dropped. Her head spun with alarm, but her feet were cemented to the carpet. “Stepmother?”