She sagged further, settling her face into her hands, careful not to press against her stinging cheek. Then she frowned and peered up at Jacin from the corner of her eye. “What did Thaumaturge Mira want?”
He inhaled sharply. For a moment she thought he wouldn’t say anything, but finally he spoke. “She came to tell me that I would need to find new housing accommodations if my plan is to stay in Artemisia until my internship begins next year.”
Her brow creased. “New housing? Why wouldn’t you stay here in the palace?”
“Because my parents are leaving.”
She straightened.
“My father’s been transferred to one of the outer sectors, as a security guard.”
Her heart thumped. “A demotion? But … why?”
Jacin started to shake his head, but then stopped and met her gaze, and instantly Winter knew why.
She was spending too much time with this boy.
She was in love with this boy.
And that would not fit into Levana’s perfectly constructed plans for her. That could cause problems for the queen and whatever alliance she planned to cement using Winter’s hand as the purchase price.
Send his family away, and the boy would leave too.
She pressed a hand over her mouth.
“My parents don’t seem to mind,” said Jacin. “I think they’re both relieved to be getting out of Artemisia. All the politics.” And the manipulations, he didn’t say, but didn’t have to.
“You’re leaving me,” she breathed.
Jacin pursed his lips. He looked terrified as he snaked his hand beneath her arm, entwining their fingers together. Their hands fit like a lock and key. It had been years since they had simply held hands, and she wished they had never stopped.
“No,” he said. “I’m not leaving you.”
She raised her eyes. There was a determined set to his jaw that surprised her. “But where will you go, if you can’t stay here?” she asked. “And besides, when your internship starts you’ll have to leave anyway, and then…”
“Thaumaturge Mira gave me another option. Or…” He gulped. “The queen gave me another option. They’ve invited me to join the palace guard. I could begin training as early as next week.”
Her eyes widened and she yanked her hand away. “No. No. Jacin, you can’t. What about being a doctor? What about—”
“I could stay with you, Winter. I could stay here in the palace.”
“Until they send you off to one of the outer sectors, you mean.”
“They won’t do that.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I’ll be the most loyal guard Her Majesty has ever known.”
His expression was withdrawn. Haunted.
Winter’s hand went slack in his grip.
Levana would threaten her, maybe even threaten her life.
Maybe she already had, which was how they’d gotten Jacin to consider it in the first place.
He would do anything they asked if he thought he was protecting her.
“You know how we all take aptitude tests in year fourteen?” Jacin said, unable to look at her. “I tested high for a potential pilot role. Thaumaturge Mira said she could use me as her personal guard and transporter.”
“No, Jacin. You can’t. If you do this, you’ll never be able to get out.”
Releasing her hand, he stood up and began pacing the powder room floor. “I don’t know what else to do. I can’t leave you here, especially now, after this.” He waved a hand toward her cheek and Winter placed her palm over the washcloth. The blood hadn’t yet soaked through.
“I don’t want you to be a guard, Jacin. Not after … what happened to my father…” Her voice cracked.
Killed by a thaumaturge, with no hope at all of defending himself. Because he was weak. Jacin was weak. She was weak.
Against the queen and her court, they had no hope at all.
Pawns. Just pawns.
“I think you should go,” she said.
He stared at her, hurt.
“With your parents, I mean. I think you should go with them. In a year, apply for your medical internship and be the doctor you’ve always wanted to be. This is what you want, Jacin. To help people. To save people.”
“Winter, I…”
She gasped, her gaze catching on the wall over Jacin’s shoulder. A frosted-glass window was there, letting in enough daylight to make the entire room glow rosy and gold.
But the light was being blotted out.
By blood.
Crimson, thick, sticky blood, oozing from the mortar that held in the glass windowpane, dripping thickly down the sides and pooling on the sill.
She started to tremble. Jacin spun around, following the look. He was silent a long moment before saying, “What? What’s wrong?” He looked back at her.
Something splattered on Winter’s forearm.
She tilted her head back.
The ceiling.
Covered in it.
Red, everywhere. The tang of iron on her tongue. Her mouth was thick with it.
Her chest convulsed with panic and nausea. She shoved herself to her feet and spun in a full circle, watching as the blood came down from the ceiling, soaking into the gilt wallpaper and wood moldings, puddling on the tile floor.
“Winter. What is it? What are you seeing?”
The blood reached her toes.
She turned and shoved past him, scrambling out of the powder room.