Linn’s eyes flew open, and Ana could swear someone had cast in them all the stars in the night sky. “Good. Now, I have something to show you.”
Back in the dacha, Linn handed Ana a rolled-up piece of parchment. “I found this at the marketplace.”
Ana unfurled the poster, and the world around her seemed to crumble to ashes.
It was a portrait of Luka. He looked older than she had last seen him a year ago—or perhaps it was the way the artist depicted him. His jaw had strengthened and his shoulders had broadened, yet one thing that hadn’t changed was the radiant smile that lit his face. The artist had painted him with a fur-rimmed silver cloak, a tiger’s clasp at his throat, and the white-gold Crown of Cyrilia sitting perfectly on his head.
Gently, she ran a hand over his face, tracing the bump of his chin and the spot where his dimple should be. The artist hadn’t captured that. She let her gaze linger on him a few moments more before dropping to the line of gold text emblazoned beneath.
Kolst Imperator Lukas Aleksander Mikhailov
to announce the abdication of his throne and the crowning of
Kolst Contessya Morganya Mikhailov
on the fifth day of the first moon of Winter.
Ceremony to take place at the Salskoff Palace Grand Throneroom.
Ana’s teeth clenched. At least Tetsyev hadn’t been lying to her about that part. Four days—they would arrive on the cusp of Coronation evening.
She would get there, or she would die trying.
Hold on, Luka, she thought. I’m coming.
“He’s beautiful,” Linn breathed, her gaze on the snow-dampened portrait of Luka. “I had always pictured Emperor Mikhailov to be…well…monstrous.”
The words stirred a spark of anger within Ana. “Why?”
“Growing up in Kemeira, we were taught of the cruelty of the Cyrilian Empire, of the way Affinites are treated here.” There was no hostility on the girl’s face. She peered down at the portrait, brows creased, as though she were genuinely reflecting. “And after I came here, I learned how your people view us: as ruthless, cold-blooded warriors. I suppose we are all heroes in our own eyes, and monsters in the eyes of those who are different.”
Ana thought of the Vyntr’makt in Kyrov, of how the yaeger had looked at her, like she was the monster. “It is not often brought up in Cyrilian textbooks or classes, but I know the other nations view Affinites differently,” she said instead.
“Yes,” Linn said. “In Kemeira, we are the Temple Masters. We serve with whatever Affinity the gods granted us. I trained with the Wind Masters to hone my Affinity, to protect my kingdom.”
A chill crept through Ana. “You were trained by the Wind Masters?” The Kemeiran Wind Masters were only spoken of in hushed whispers throughout the Empire. They were the deadliest assassins in the lands, rumored to have mastered the secrets to flight. They were men and women of wind and shadows, unseen and unheard. It was said that the only time one saw a Wind Master was before he or she slit one’s throat.
“I was trained to serve Kemeira; I was trained for a grander destiny. I thought I would find that.” Anguish flitted across her face. “I boarded a Cyrilian ship in hopes that I would find my brother and return home. But when I landed, they took my belongings and my identification papers. They told me I would be arrested unless I signed an employment contract. I didn’t know that I would lose my freedom that day.” Linn hung her head. “The Wind Masters trained me for a grand fate, a great destiny. I do not know what that is yet, but I think…I think you might be a part of it.” Linn drew a breath and lifted her eyes, courage seeming to settle on her shoulders. “My people believe in fate. So I will follow your path, Ana…in search of my destiny.”
Ana reached out and squeezed Linn’s hands. “You will carve your own path,” she said. “And you will build your own destiny.”
Linn’s lips curled; a smile broke across her face, lovely and full of hope.
* * *
—
For the next three days, they traveled from dawn to dusk, bundled in furs and cloaks, their thick-hoofed horses keeping up a steady pace. Snow continued to fall from gray skies, and the world was a whirl of white. They made sure to arrive at villages or towns prior to nightfall, and crept out of snowed-up inns when the last of the