They finally came close enough for me to make out faces, and that’s when I saw him.
He rode tall and straight at the head of the procession on a prancing chestnut stallion. Even from here I could tell he was handsome—a bright smile laughed in a golden-tan face. Unlike the rest of the riders—who wore pale surcoats splashed in red—he was clad in kembric armor forged so that the sun hammered sparks off it. His dark mahogany hair seemed to glow, as though woven through with threads of ambric.
He shone so bright it was hard to look at him straight on. He looked like—
He looked like the Sun Heir.
“He’s already here,” I breathed.
A wave of sickly heat wafted off Sunder, slapping the back of my neck with the stench of bloody snow and icy metal.
“Here to steal your throne,” Sunder growled.
“Wait.” I spun from the cortège and faced Sunder. “You know Gavin d’Ars?”
“Unfortunately. He was at court a few tides ago.” His eyes sharpened on my face. “Shall I kill him for you, dauphine?”
The venom in Sunder’s tone took me aback.
“You hate him,” I realized. “Why?”
His eyes fell away somewhere I couldn’t follow. Disgust twisted his plush mouth.
“I can’t say,” he said finally.
“I’ve never known you to hold a grudge without good reason, my lord Sunder,” I said, sharp. “If there is something I ought to know about my cousin, I command you to tell me.”
“It’s not my story to tell.”
“Then whose is it?”
Sunder hesitated, then smiled like ice crystallizing on the edge of a sword. “My sister’s. You will have to ask Oleander if you wish to know more.”
My stomach gave a nervous lurch. I turned back to watch my cousin, marching up the Concordat with sunlight sparking off his kembric armor.
Scion, I didn’t know this man at all, but he looked so much like a real Sun Heir it made my chest ache. Already I could see how they loved him—running beside him, reaching for his stirrup, clasping at his hands. Their cheers rang in my ears.
Another sick surge of relief churned against resentment in my stomach.
“He assumes too much,” I said. “If I receive him today, I acquiesce power to his presence.”
Sunder’s approval was silent.
“Take a platoon of Loup-Garou,” I commanded. “Meet him before he reaches the gates and turn him away. I will receive him tomorrow, but with no more than a score of his men at his back. Make sure he knows I will not bow to this kind of display. No matter who he thinks he is.”
Sunder cut an angular bow.
“Yes,” he said, “my dauphine.”
He turned on his heel and strode out of the room, leaving me wondering what in the daylight world I was supposed to do next.
There was a flurry of activity after Gavin’s arrival—messengers pelting around the palais, the handful of remaining courtiers gossiping behind fans, Loup-Garou marching back from the lower city in twos and fours. Dowser, Barthet, and Lady Marta swept me away into a hurried conference, the result of which seemed to be keep calm; don’t panic. But it was too late—I was already quietly panicking. I paced the palais, wishing I could talk to Lullaby, who currently hated me, or Thibo, who was Scion-knew-where, if not dead.
Instead, I reluctantly sought out Oleander de Vere. Although she and I had spent nearly a span fleeing the city, mustering the Loup-Garou, and planning our offensive against the Skyclad, I had never fully warmed to Sunder’s frosty twin sister. And she had certainly never warmed to me.
I found her heading into Belsyre Wing, trailed by servants with their arms full of bolts of cloth—rich satin and shining silks.
“Bane!” Nerves made my voice shrill.
“Bane is the name of a tool and a victim,” she said with a pained expression. “I much prefer Oleander.”
“Scion, I knew that,” I apologized, following her into the sprawling residence. “I’ll do better, I promise.”
“See that you do.” She paused by the door to her room, looking like she wanted to slam it in my face. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Actually, yes.” I straightened my shoulders. “I need to talk to you about Gavin d’Ars.”
Her face convulsed with shock before smoothing to brittle porcelain. “Then I guess you’d better come in.”
I stepped over the threshold. The door slammed shut, leaving me alone with my second-least-favorite person in the world. I’d never been inside her room—it was as disorderly as her appearance was pristine. Fabrics of all colors and wefts draped over dressing screens; it looked like a couturier’s shop had exploded.
“What about Gavin?” She crossed her arms over her chest. As usual, Oleander wore gloves to the elbow to safeguard her volatile legacy of poison. Today’s red satin made me think, uncomfortably, of bloodstained hands.
“He’s just arrived in the city.”
Oleander went so cold and quiet I thought she might break. I wished I hadn’t come.
“You knew him.”
“Yes.”
“Sunder made it sound as though something happened between you two, but refused to elaborate,” I said carefully. “I wouldn’t normally pry, but I’m trying to make out my cousin’s character before I meet him.”
“I don’t mind,” she said, in a way that made me think she minded very much. “I’ll tell anyone who cares to listen—Gavin d’Ars is a devious, manipulative, power-hungry thief. Every word out of his mouth is either an empty promise or a lie. I loathe him with my whole heart, which he was determined to break, and if I ever set eyes on him again I might be tempted to kill him.”
Her vehemence struck me speechless.
“Does that assuage your curiosity?” Her emerald eyes flashed. “Or must I delve deeper into the lurid details of our unfortunate acquaintance?”
“No, I—” Frankly, I was sorry I’d asked. “Thank you, that was plenty.”
Her lacquered mouth worked. “So you’re going to meet him?”
“I think I must.”
“Are you going to wear that?” She eyed my pale-shimmer gown.
I ran my hand over the glittering outfit. It was part of the wardrobe my Congrès had ordered for me to play the part of Sun Heir for the people—gowns embroidered with kembric thread, bodices studded with crushed ambric, brilliant cloaks that caught the low light and magnified it tenfold. I never much liked these gowns—they felt like costumes stolen from an actress who played a part much better than me. They reminded me of Severine.
Gavin’s face seared my memory—sunlit and laughing, his armor molten as he tossed coins to cheering children. Bitterness dug spikes into my throat. Scion knew the crowds had reacted a bit differently on my one sojourn out. How was I supposed to compete with that kind of glamour … that kind of glow?
Unless I didn’t try to compete at all. I thought of my unwanted new nickname—Duskland Dauphine.
Not all spectacle was sunlit.
“You’re the designer.” I narrowed my eyes at the spread of cloth and sewing accoutrements clogging her rooms. “Did you have something else in mind?”