fervently.
“Besides,” Zariah added with a quirk of a smile, “it will be nice to do something besides sit by the throne all day. Taking turns sounds lovely.”
“Thank you,” I said, tremendously moved. “Let’s get started.”
Walking together, we returned to the palace, ready to begin a new way of life.
20
I didn’t know if Lia had picked that dress because it would shine so brightly, but with the rising sun hitting all that gold, she glittered like a beacon of all that was good in the world, a brilliant star visible until we sailed well past the barrier reef—and she was lost from sight.
Feeling the stab of loneliness like a gut wound, I ruffled Vesno’s head. The wolfhound, who’d been sitting patiently beside me, holding vigil, too, lifted his chin and licked my hand, like he knew I needed comfort. It could be Lia sent that gesture of affection through the wolfhound, a silent reminder that her thoughts went with me.
For she didn’t fool me with her reassurances and poise: She wished she was going with us, would have come along if she could withstand being severed from Calanthe. But no one wanted her to go through that lethal separation again. An orchid can’t live on its own. I was frankly relieved to leave her safely on Calanthe. No matter what happened to us, Anure would never have her again—and that set my heart at ease, at least on that account.
Percy came up beside me, not to look on disappearing Calanthe, but turning to lean against the rail, giving me a long, and appraising stare.
“Shouldn’t you be steering the boat?” I asked mildly.
“Not necessary.” He flicked his glittering nails. “Her Highness has Her hand on the currents, guiding us through Calanthe’s waters. Once we pass the boundary, then it won’t be such smooth sailing.” He rolled his eyes, a dramatic gesture with his long, jewel-tipped lashes. “Metaphorically, too,” he added pointedly.
I dragged my thoughts back to the conversation. “So you’re Anure’s cousin, huh?”
Percy pursed his mouth, carefully lipsticked in navy blue, covering that I’d surprised him. “Did you think I lied previously, Conrí?”
“No, I’m curious.”
He shrugged huffily. “Then ask.”
“How are you a lord if Anure was a commoner?”
Percy laughed gaily, tipping his head back, the cap miraculously staying in place. “This is his first question.”
“Seemed like a place to start.”
“Yes, well.” Percy looked off to the side, giving the appearance of thinking, but he gripped the rails with enough tension to whiten his knuckles. “You know how Anure became a landholder in Aekis—granted that minor title that gave him legal rights to it?”
“Kind of.” I remembered my parents talking about it, but I’d had little interest in their boring political conversations.
“My land,” Percy confided, laying a finger alongside his nose and winking. “My title.”
“Ah.” It was more of a grunt than Lia’s breathed sound of neutral interest, the one where you couldn’t be sure if she was letting you continue because she might be interested—or because she was waiting for you to hang yourself with your own rope.
“My father and I didn’t get along,” Percy continued. “The Robho family was a patriarchy from way back, setting great store in masculine values. I was not the son my father hoped for, but I was the only one he got. I didn’t care, because I’d never been much interested in government anyway, so when my father made my cousin Anure his heir, my heart wasn’t broken—and neither was anyone else’s.” He glanced at me and away again. “And Anure, he was ambitious even then, clever, determined to prove himself. We were companions in our youth, growing up together in Valencia. It was a small, rural corner of Aekis, where very little of interest ever happened. We shared certain interests. I viewed him as my savior from a life of dull governance, and he was grateful that I didn’t resent him. We were the best of friends.”
He looked to me, defying me to judge him for that. “People change,” I said.
Percy blew out a breath, shaking his head. “Yes. Two things changed, as it happens. As Anure took over management of the lands, it became clear that he had no talent for it, no intuitive ability. Despite his studious application, he lacked something.”
“No blood connection to the land? Oh. He wasn’t truly your uncle’s son,” I filled in. It happened often enough.
Percy painted a point for me in the air. “Much consternation and gnashing of teeth. My faithless aunt—a woman of common blood herself—was executed