“If you hurt him,” Miren said, “there’s nothing I can do to punish you. You’re too powerful for that. But he has devoted many years to your safety, and for your sake, he has borne that alone. He has been afraid for you, and he has loved you. I hope you’ll remember that in the days to come—that many here love you, and would give up their silly, simple lives for you. You do not exist alone in this world. You are part of something immense and fragile and finite. I hope you can respect that, even as mighty as you are.”

Then Miren gave her a tight smile and left her standing alone in the doorway—one foot in a house of fire, the other in a world of ice.

• • •

For one week they traveled south to Luxitaine, and then took a ship—small and narrow, but replete with luxuries—across the Sea of Silarra, which stretched calm and bright between the shores of Celdaria and Mazabat. After a week on the water, Rielle saw the white shores of Mazabat on the horizon, and after a few more hours, the capital city, Quelbani, rose from the waves like a cluster of sculpted pearls.

Their ship anchored several hundred yards from the Quelbani docks, and small dinghies took them to shore. Mazabat had long been an ally of Celdaria. The economy of the two countries largely depended on each other—crops sent south from Celdaria, minerals and metals sent north from Mazabat. Audric had exchanged friendly letters weeks ago with the Mazabatian queens, who had seemed delighted at the thought of a visit from the Sun Queen.

And yet, Rielle felt uneasy as they approached the shore. Though Corien hadn’t spoken to her since that horrible night in Kirvaya, she nevertheless felt watched by some vast and pitiless eye. She sent the feeling to Ludivine, keeping her gaze fixed on the shore.

Ludivine did not respond.

Rielle glanced over, frowning. Ludivine sat hunched and tense on her bench, her mouth clamped tightly shut.

“Is it the scar?” Rielle asked quietly beneath the lap of the waves and Tal’s cheerful calls from the other boat.

“It’s getting worse,” Ludivine replied. “More painful.” She glanced up with a thin smile. “I’m sorry. Please don’t worry. Concentrate on meeting the queens. I’ll feel better, I think, once I spend some time in a bed that’s not rocking back and forth.”

Rielle felt neither convinced nor comforted. This was a new thing and had begun to take shape alarmingly fast while they were crossing the sea: Ludivine’s scar, which had remained unchanged for long weeks, was now spreading and darkening. Already, its tendrils had crept across her ribs and to the hollow of her throat. She had taken to wearing a collection of gauzy scarves around her neck, but soon the scar would spread to her face, which would be much more difficult to disguise without inviting questions.

A shadow passed over them—Atheria, diving down to the surface of the sea. She plunged her head into the water, snatched up a fat silver fish, flipped it up into the air, and caught it once again in her teeth.

From the shore came a chorus of amazed cries. They were close enough now that Rielle could see the royal entourage awaiting them, a glittering chain across the white sand. Sunspinners lined the path from the shore to the queens, thin lines of sunlight arching gracefully overhead in the pale April sky.

“Atheria can take you home,” Rielle murmured to Ludivine. “In fact, I insist upon it.”

Ludivine’s grip tightened around her hand. “Absolutely not. I’m not leaving you.”

“Tal’s here, and my guard. I won’t be in danger.”

Ludivine looked up at her, tears bright in her eyes. “You’re always in danger, my darling. And so I will always be at your side.”

Rielle kissed her cheek, then held her close until their dinghies reached the shallows. Her guards jumped out and pulled the boats ashore, and Rielle had just managed to reach the dry sand when a young woman ran toward them out of the crowd.

Evyline immediately tensed, but Ludivine murmured, “It’s all right. It’s Princess Kamayin. The queens’ daughter and heir.”

Then, with a feeling of relieved gladness: She is overjoyed to meet you, Rielle.

At a sharp shout from one of the queens, the princess stopped short, a few feet from Rielle, and smiled sheepishly. She was slender and tall and could not have been older than fifteen—her skin a warm, deep brown, her hair a cap of tight black curls. She wore a long white gown under a smart blue jacket, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and the hem sweeping the sand. Her brown eyes were bright, and around her wrists she wore two thick gold bands, beautifully engraved with leaves and birds. Rielle felt herself move toward them and knew at once that they were castings.

“My mothers are always telling me I shouldn’t embrace people until I confirm that they do in fact like to be touched.” Kamayin looked hopefully at Rielle. “Can I, my lady?”

Rielle hesitated, but Ludivine only said wearily, She is just as she appears. Warm and full of love.

So Rielle opened her arms and smiled. “I would be honored, Your Highness.”

Kamayin’s face split into a sun-bright grin. She wrapped her arms around Rielle and kissed each of her cheeks, then pulled back to beam at her.

“I know you must be tired after your journey,” she said, “but we did prepare a light lunch for you, if you’d like to eat before you go to your rooms.” Then she looked past Rielle, and her eyes widened. “Sweet saints, who is that beautiful man talking to my mother?”

Rielle turned. One of the queens had made her way down the shore and was already engaged in an animated conversation with Tal.

Rielle laughed. “That’s Tal. He’s my teacher, of sorts, and a Grand Magister of our Church.”

Kamayin appraised him. “Does he have a lover?”

“Yes, and besides that, I think he’s a bit old for you.”

“What a pity.” Then, her expression brightening, she hooked her arm through Rielle’s. “Come on, then. We’ll let them talk themselves to death and get first pick of the food.” She glanced at Ludivine. “Lady Ludivine, isn’t that right? Are you ill?”

“Just tired,” Ludivine said with a wan smile, but as they walked up the shore to the city, Rielle could not shake the growing fear that there was more to Ludivine’s pain than she was allowing her to see.

• • •

That night, in the spacious rooms the queens had given her, Rielle lay in her bed, luxuriating in its clean white linens.

Her skin still tingled from the pleasure she had given herself a few moments earlier. She had enjoyed one of her favorite fantasies—herself, wrapped in Audric’s arms, and Ludivine’s, too, both of them loving her with unwavering focus. But she could not find the dreamy peace that usually came afterward.