My fingernails bit into the leather cover of Severine’s diary and a spear of sorrow slashed my heart. “Sunder—”
“Don’t worry, demoiselle. I won’t let them hurt you.”
“It’s not me who’s hurting right now,” I breathed.
“I just hoped, once we took the throne—” His eyes went wide and distant, gazing toward something I couldn’t see. Then he squeezed them shut and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I just need to rest.”
He bowed, breathed a kiss across my cheek, and walked out.
That Nocturne I struggled to sleep. I stared at my comatose sister’s diary, wild with a thousand doubts and questions. Finally, I flipped the book open.
… I would take his burden away forever, if I could. But I cannot. So I will bear it for him.
I snapped the diary shut. A creeping certainty wreathed my chest—I’d witnessed a secret never meant for me.
When at last I found sleep, I dreamed I looked into a shattered mirror and saw Severine’s face staring back. My hands were covered in my own blood, and that’s when I knew I was the one who lay dying.
The Atrium—with its faceted skylights, raised dais, and fluted pillars—had been nearly destroyed during the coup, marooning the Amber Throne amid ruin. The din of hammers and chisels spun hot between my ears as I strode past the hulking throne. Images slid sharp fangs along my memories—Severine presiding over her court while a girl with soaring dreams and uncompromising fierceness demanded a place to belong. She had been so sure of what she deserved, never stopping to see the flaws in her perfect world. Never stopping to see the flaws in herself.
Show me what you dream, when you dream of new worlds.
I squared my shoulders and hurried on.
The antechamber I’d converted into a temporary throne room was lined in narrow windows paned with translucent ambric geometry. Pale statuettes stood in the corners—two male and two female, half draped but mostly nude. Ruby designs fell from the windows, illuminating glittering shapes upon their pale bodies and faces—a sharp-edged heart above a muscular chest, a brittle sword across outstretched hands, a pointed crown resting upon an uplifted head.
I’d only found this room because the blast that destroyed the Atrium shattered its locked doors. Dowser wasn’t fond of me receiving supplicants and petitioners here, but I’d insisted on it. Part of me whispered that this room had belonged to my father, and it was Severine who locked it away. But mostly I liked these inexplicable statues with their voiceless gifts stamped on them in amber and dusk. They made me feel less alone.
I took my seat in the simple, straight-backed chair I’d had placed at the end of the room, spreading my dusky skirts around me. My retinue filed in after me—Dowser, hovering over my left shoulder and whispering facts about Gavin I was too nervous to heed; Lady Marta and Barthet conversing in heated tones by the door; Sunder off to the side, too far to touch yet close enough to miss.
And finally, Gavin d’Ars walked through the doors, flanked by a dozen armed men in surcoats of kembric and red and an older gentleman with a face like the sharp end of a sword.
Gavin looked older than me by a few tides—twenty-one, if I had to make a guess—and tall. His air of boyish mirth belied a forceful, muscular stride that spoke of a lifetime of combat training. His eyes swept the room—I caught him looking askance at my motionless marble companions—but then he caught my gaze and held it, smiling as he walked closer. I maintained eye contact, sweat itching at the collar of my dress.
“Your Grace,” said Dowser, stepping forward and gesturing to me. “May I present—”
“Cousin!” Gavin brushed past Dowser and bowed over my hand. His palm was warm. I jumped when his lips grazed my fingers. “You honor me with this audience. I didn’t expect you to receive me so soon.”
“I saw you arrive, cousin,” I returned, more tightly than I’d intended. “I only hope you’ll forgive me for waiting a whole day.”
“I am no stranger to waiting.” He grinned, and scanned the room—my silent advisors, a handful of courtiers whispering behind fans, a few black-clad wolves guarding the door and windows. He gave me a blithe look, not seeming to notice my twilight gown or my flat, unwelcoming gaze. “This is awfully formal, isn’t it? I wasn’t expecting such a regal welcome.”
“You made a regal arrival,” I said, as serenely as I could manage. “I aimed only to reply in kind.”
Gavin laughed with sudden and breathless astonishment, and I felt the entire room laugh with him. I choked on traitorous mirth—I was determined to dislike him—and forced my face into neutral lines. But there was something infectious about the way he talked, the way he smiled, the way he breathed—as though sunlight poured off him and made us all the warmer by basking in its presence.
“Touché, lady,” he chuckled, lifting his wrist in the attitude of points awarded. I noticed he did not call me dauphine. “I only meant that though I came to offer my help in these difficult times, you seem to have things well in hand here at the palais.”
I sliced my eyes toward Sunder, standing blank and severe between two marble figures frozen forever in contrapposto. The Suicide Twins’ collective condemnation echoed in my ears:
Gavin d’Ars is a devious, manipulative, power-hungry thief.
Here to steal your throne.
It seemed hard to believe that this handsome, cheerful gentleman would be inclined to steal anything, not least the Amber Throne. But Coeur d’Or had taught me that courtiers’ outward faces rarely matched their inner selves.
That, and anyone could be a thief.
“You needn’t justify your words to me.” I kept my voice light. “Although I do wonder what you mean by help?”
Gavin glanced around the room again, discomfort and a creeping air of helplessness in his demeanor.
“Forgive me, cousin. It’s been tides since I’ve been at court, and all these staring faces are making me nervous. Is there somewhere more private where we might get to know each other?”
My sparse court stirred. Beside me, Dowser rose from his chair. Lady Marta clicked her tongue against her teeth. Sunder shifted his weight, amber patterns of light fracturing his face and putting murder in his eyes.
It was an impertinence, if not an affront, and I had no idea how to react to it.
Again I remembered a flower-draped Atrium; stained-glass windows splashing necklaces of gems across a gleaming dais. An ambric throne; a stunning empress; a bouquet of finely scented lords and ladies. And me, in a dirty frock and worn boots, prepared to take what I thought I deserved.
“You read my mind, cousin.” I stood. “I never liked these audiences myself. I could use some fresh air. Will you accompany me on a walk?”
Gavin offered his arm. I took it lightly, and fell in step beside him. Standing this close to him, he smelled like a forge—hot metal and the bitter-ash taste of last Nocturne’s campfire. As we passed through the doors, Sunder peeled away from the wall and trailed us.
“That’s not necessary, commandant,” I said. “I’m sure you have more important matters to attend to. Perhaps just—?”
I nodded to my dedicated wolves, severe in their Belsyre black.