wine or flasks of finer liquor. They wore all manner of styles, coats of Aremore colors, tunics and trousers endemic to nearly every land, some with slashed vests from Diota or fur edges from the Rusrike. A few wore ruffles from Ispania on skirts or sleeves; others covered their heads and hair with brilliantly dyed godscarves from the Third Kingdom. Hal saw nobody from Innis Lear.
One or two people turned their faces up to Hal, knowing her, for she stood at the rail like a queen prepared to address an audience. Perhaps they thought Vatta was a lover or friend, not another daughter of Celedrix. Hal grinned and pulled her sister closer. It was a mask, however, for the Prince of Riot thought not of performing, but rather of how easy it would be to tip over the rail and fall, fall, fall.
From this height she might land perfectly whole, or perhaps break her neck on the edge of a bench, or there, on that table just beneath her. If Hal leaned out and aimed well, perhaps her skull would collide with the corner at precisely the speed to brain her.
Hal’s grip on Vatta tightened with a shudder and she closed her eyes, backing up from the rail, but in the dark of her mind the image was ever more vivid: the swift flight, the crack, the silent gasps and screams, and her splattered brain matter. What color was the flesh of her nightmares? Pink as tongues? Or gray with rot from all her ill thoughts and sweet sack?
“Hal.” Vatta shook her. “Hal, are you going to vomit? Sit down.”
Swallowing, Hal looked carefully at Vatta’s concern. “I’m well enough.” The prince stepped firmly back, and turned the motion so she spun Vatta under her arm like a dance.
Her sister swayed but smiled. And here was Nova holding a black wooden flask filled with Hal’s favorite clear, sharp drink: Terestria’s tears. Distilled from perfect white winter berries that grew in mountain crags.
“Try it,” she urged, eager for Vatta to taste the tears and be lost in the lightning. Vatta here at the Sunrise was a terrible idea. Hal couldn’t keep her safe, and everything—every time she stepped back from an edge or out of the way of death, it was for Vatta. None of this trouble could be allowed to fall upon her sister’s shoulders or plant like a knife in her heart. Vatta deserved none of that burden.
Neither did Hal, but it was too late for all that.
Vatta cradled the flask, eyeing the small spout. She lifted it, lips parted, and stopped, catching Hal’s eye. “Will I regret this?”
“Not the first sip, not ever.”
“Only the seventh,” Nova said. Her voice was gravelly, despite her youth. She flipped short blond hair back from her scarred forehead.
The princess licked her lips, and Hal was quite aware several of her friends and Uncourt minions watched the flick of her sister’s pink tongue, and then Vatta drank in one determined motion.
Her lashes fluttered, and as she pulled the flask away her mouth stayed open for her to breathe the pale fire down her throat after the drink. “Oh,” she murmured.
“Oh!” cried a chorus of approving folk, followed by laughter.
Vatta’s eyes flew open and she froze at the attention. For a moment Hal thought she might blaze into anger and storm away, but instead Vatta turned her lips to a smile, pert and proud. She marched to Ysso and then thrust the flask at the young man’s mouth.
Pleased, but with a cushion of indefinable sorrow, Hal turned to Nova. She stepped into the woman’s space and slid her hands around Nova’s jaw, digging her fingers into the short layers of hair. “You always know,” Hal said, and kissed Nova’s open mouth.
Without ending their kiss, they walked awkwardly toward the wall, a creature of four legs and entwined arms, until Nova’s back knocked against the paneling and Hal could kiss at her leisure.
Nova had been one of the squires taken on just before the rebellion. She’d bullied her way to Hal’s personal service, winning out over slightly older girls with her avid attention to not only the necessary details of polishing armor and cleaning swords and boots and feeding the beasts—and horses, too—but Hal’s particular needs. Often, Nova had been ready with the right sweetmeat or favored coat for visiting before Hal even realized she desired it. She’d been a sergeant under Hotspur last summer, but when that ended, instead of going with the army or