enough, provided she had a warm body to cushion on, but Niya’s back was beginning to ache from the long nights in the chair. She spent most of these nights brooding, turning over the pictures that would not leave her mind: Elyssa, contorted in agony, speaking in the voice of the witch; Amelia, falling endlessly from the scaffold; the Fetch, screaming as the Gadds Fire consumed him.
“That’s good,” Elyssa said brightly. “We’ll be on our way, then. I have an appointment with my dressmaker at three. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll come in for longer, play with her a little. . . .”
Elyssa reached out, and Niya felt herself instinctively recoil. But Elyssa was not trying to take the baby. Her fingers moved toward the sapphire, then drew back, as though burned. Her face twitched—in anger? Frustration? Niya didn’t know—and then smoothed again.
“Look after her, Niya.”
“Yes, Highness.”
Elyssa gave her a little wave, then left the room. Carroll and Elston followed, Carroll shooting Niya a chagrined look as they went. As the door closed, Kelsea began to emit little squeaks, and Niya tucked her against her shoulder, rubbing her back. The Princess needed a proper nursemaid, but Carroll had refused to hear of it. In truth, Niya was beginning to wonder whether the Guard Captain was well. He had begun to look haunted, and she didn’t think he was sleeping. He checked in on them constantly, poking his head into the nursery and vanishing just as suddenly. What was he looking for? Niya didn’t know, and not knowing was maddening, far more maddening than the mess of nappies or the nights in the armchair.
The wet nurse had begun to hum again, the same sprightly tune as before. Niya restrained an urge to hurl one of the baby’s rattles at her. She sat down in her armchair, bouncing Kelsea gently on her lap. Sometime in the last two minutes, the sapphire had popped free again; Niya grabbed it, irritated, and then paused, giving the jewel a long, speculative look. Suppose she did take it off? She could tuck it away in a safe place—she had several—and give it back when the girl was old enough to wear it.
And when will that be? Niya’s mind demanded for the thousandth time. The Fetch is dead. The Blue Horizon is broken. Elyssa is just an empty shell. How long do you intend to stay here changing nappies? What are you waiting for?
Niya frowned, staring down at the wriggling baby in her arms, unable to deny the truth: she had lingered too long. The rebels were coming, staggering their way out of the Almont, following the twisting line of the Caddell. The latest reports said there were nearly seven thousand approaching the city, and with the Blue Horizon finished, surely Niya’s place must be with them? She stared down at Kelsea for another moment, then moved over to the cot. The wet nurse was here; if Niya put the baby down, the nurse would take care of her, at least long enough for Niya to pack some food, some weapons, and disappear. She could be out of here by nightfall, out of the city by morning. It was what the Fetch would have done . . . what he would have wanted her to do. Bending over, Niya set the baby down in the cot and made to let her go.
* * *
Niya.”
She looked up, blinking, pulled to attention, every muscle in her body tensed. The light had changed; the room had changed. Vaulted ceilings spread high over Niya’s head. They were in Queen Arla’s throne room, but Arla was not there, nor Elyssa, nor any of the servants or courtiers who hovered like flies. The throne room was empty . . . save for one.
“Niya.”
The woman who sat on the silver throne was dark-haired, like Arla, but there the similarity ended. She was dressed all in black, and the Tear crown sat on her head. No one feature of her round face was remarkable, yet the total effect was curiously compelling. And now Niya saw that there was a similarity there: the green eyes, the Raleigh eyes, which pinned Niya as a child would pin a butterfly . . . and, beneath them, the sapphires, both of them, dangling from the woman’s neck.
“Niya. Look at me.”
And Niya looked, seeing further than she had ever imagined, not into past or present or future—for she understood now that these things were not fixed—but into the center. She saw the