Rielle stood, wincing at the stiffness of her body. Still sluggish from the poppy tea Ilmaire’s servants had offered to soothe her abused muscles, she nevertheless managed an expression of supreme disdain as Ilmaire entered the room, Ingrid and four guards just behind him.

“Prince Audric, Lady Rielle, Lady Ludivine.” Ilmaire smiled widely, his eyes bright and the color high in his cheeks. “I hope you’re feeling refreshed after a few hours’ rest.”

Beside him, Ingrid’s shoulders sat tensely, her jaw square.

Audric’s anger had always been a subtle thing, tightly controlled, but Rielle heard it thrum in his voice nevertheless. “Your servants,” he said, his eyes snapping dark fire, “are to be commended for their hospitality and care.”

Ilmaire seemed oblivious to the dangerous edge in Audric’s voice. “I don’t know what to say. I feel as if I’ve wandered into a tale of the First Age, when the magic of the empirium burned brightly in all things.”

“This is not a children’s tale, Ilmaire,” Ingrid muttered, with the air of someone who had said that very thing countless times before. “This is reality.”

“It is not a reality I’ve ever known.” Ilmaire looked to Rielle, wonder soft on his face. “Lady Rielle, is there any limit to this power you have?”

“If there were,” said Rielle, “I certainly wouldn’t tell you about it.”

Ingrid’s mouth thinned, but before she could reply, Audric stepped forward. “We must speak of what happened yesterday.”

At last, Ilmaire’s expression dimmed. “I know. It was a rash decision, and an abominable one, made by people who have been frightened by what our kingdom has suffered in recent weeks and months, and have allowed that fear to rule their minds.”

He didn’t look at Ingrid as he spoke, but a rope of tension pulled tight between them. Rielle braced herself, preparing for it to break.

But a beat of silence passed, and then another. “I hope,” Ilmaire said, “that you’ll allow us a second chance.”

“You attacked us,” Rielle said. “We’d done nothing to you.”

Don’t do this, Ludivine admonished. We have more important things to address.

Rielle ignored her, glaring at each of the royal siblings in turn. Ilmaire met her gaze, his own steady and sad, but Ingrid looked away, her sharp, pale cheeks coloring though her mouth remained frozen in a scowl.

“Is that what the mighty nation of Borsvall stands for?” Rielle continued. “Lashing out at innocent visitors when you feel frightened? No wonder your kingdom’s in such a state. You’re all blindingly stupid.”

Audric said quietly, “Rielle, this isn’t helping anyone.”

“I don’t care.” Rielle walked to the windows and looked out at the sunrise. The city was a wash of pink light and white snow, tiny lights quivering along the winding streets. “I almost wish you had done something to us. Merovec Sauvillier would have lost his mind with wrath if you’d hurt Ludivine.” She tossed a cruel little grin over her shoulder. “The Shield of the North would have come for you in the night and killed everything you love.”

Ingrid stood stiffly at her brother’s side. “I am quickly losing any scrap of patience I might have had.”

“Stop this.” Audric stepped between Ingrid and Rielle, blocking their view of each other. “If we are to move forward from this moment with any hope for peace, we must truly strive for it and not merely pretend understanding.” He paused. “And while we have much left to discuss about how our two nations will begin working toward friendship, I have one request I must make of you immediately.”

Rielle frowned, startled. What is he doing?

I told him we must travel to the Gate, Ludivine replied.

That startled Rielle, as though she had stumbled over a step she hadn’t realized existed. You speak to his mind as you do to mine?

Not as often. And not as easily. But when I must, I do.

Rielle folded her arms over her chest. Crossly, she thought, Why did you speak to him just now?

Ludivine’s reply was gentle. Because you are still too angry to be trusted with diplomatic relations.

An obvious truth, but Rielle still bristled to hear it.

Oh, Rielle. Ludivine’s surprise moved gently. You’re jealous that I would speak to him in that way. In our special way.

I’m not, Rielle lied—knowing Ludivine could sense the lie nevertheless.

You are, and I adore you for it. The faint sensation of Ludivine kissing her cheek floated through her thoughts, a cottonseed on the wind. My darling one.

“We need a ship,” Audric said. “Your fastest ship, and manned by sailors you would trust with your most sensitive missions. You are welcome to accompany us, if you wish it, but we must leave soon. At dawn, if possible.”

Ilmaire looked surprised. “Why?”

“My Magisterial Council has reason to believe that the Gate has weakened,” Audric continued, glancing at Ludivine, “and that it is the cause of several strange occurrences throughout the world—the out-of-season storms that have damaged coastal cities in Meridian, Ventera, and Astavar. The months-long drought in the Vespers. And,” Audric added, “the storms that have ravaged your own country.”

Silence filled the room. Outside on the terrace, Atheria echoed a bird’s cry with her own chirruping neigh.

“How can your magisters possibly know if the Gate is weakening?” Ingrid asked, her voice sounding smaller and less cutting than it had only moments before.

“Magisters Saksa and Pollari and I were discussing this possibility days ago, in fact,” said Ilmaire, the light returning to his eyes. Rielle recognized that look. It was one Audric wore when lecturing her and Ludivine on some obscure piece of knowledge obtained during his hours in the library.

“The three of you see catastrophe in a single fallen tree,” Ingrid snapped at Ilmaire. “You long for it. You crave it.”

“No harm can come from visiting the Gate,” Ludivine pointed out. “If it stands strong, then it stands strong, and we dismiss the waves, the droughts, the storms, as unfortunate but meaningless.”

Ilmaire watched her quietly. “And if it doesn’t stand strong?”

The answer was one Rielle had been considering for weeks, since the days before King Bastien’s funeral: then I must remake it.

“Then, as the two nations closest to the Sunderlands,” Audric replied, “it will be even more important for Celdaria and Borsvall to unite in peace.”

Ilmaire nodded, rising to his feet. “The Kaalvitsi can make the trip in a little over a week, given good winds.”