begin to stage assaults against the leaders of the other Houses. I find ways to crush and rout them from power.”
“What do you do to establish yourself as the leader of Alameeda, before you take on the other leaders of the remaining Houses?”
He thinks for a moment. “Excelsior is one for pageantry. He’ll probably throw himself a coronation.”
“What? Like with crowns and stuff?” I ask.
Fulton laughs, delighted by that. “Exactly like with crowns and stuff—maybe even a scepter.” He smirks. “He’ll be the emperor. He’ll need a symbol of power. A crown would be fitting. The Ensin family is supposedly descended from the ancient kings. It’s something that Excelsior bragged about often—or at least it was when I was in his employ. He has made several pilgrimages to their perch at Diadem Rock. It’s a stone circle high upon the Cliffs of Mogotrevo.”
“I’m familiar with Diadem Rock,” I reply, remembering the stone circle where Kyon met Giffen for our hostage exchange.
“Excelsior might be smart enough to model himself after one of the ancient kings—play on the supposed lineage.”
“Do you have anything written down about these ancient kings?” I ask.
“Yes.” He lifts his hands to the sheer cliff face of books that reaches in tiers up to the towering ceiling above us. “You are among kings,” he says dramatically. “Kyon has a collection of their artifacts here that is the envy of any museum. I believe the only reason he collects them is so that his father won’t get them.”
“I’m not the only one with daddy issues then,” I mumble.
“What was that?” Fulton asks as he lazily lifts his glass to his lips once more and takes another sip.
“I was wondering what you think Excelsior would do if Kyon and I had a coronation of our own.”
He pauses. “You’re a dangerous woman.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I really do,” he says.
“You say the sweetest things, Fulton. Maybe we should try on some of the crowns—the more ancient, the better.”
“You’d look nice in a tiara,” he replies. He sees my face light up. “Oh . . . you were serious?”
I nod emphatically.
“Shall we have another drink and make a production of it?”
“I insist,” I say, holding out my empty glass to him.
Two hours later, Kyon bursts into the study at a run, his feet pound on the plank floor. “Kricket!” he calls, searching for me.
“Shh!” Placing the book that I was reading aside, I uncross my legs on the floor. Crawling forward on my hands and knees, I poke my head through the wrought-iron railing four levels above his position on the garden level. “You’ll wake up Fulton!”
“What?” he asks, sounding a little less panicked than he did a moment ago. “I was just told that the trift you were in crash-landed in the courtyard. Are you okay?” I hear him jogging up the spiral stairs on the side of the room.
“It was nothing a little Winslet couldn’t fix,” I reply. Or a lot—I haven’t stopped drinking it. Fulton and I had decided just to bring the bottles up here. I’m a little wrecked at the moment. I scoot back to my spot on the floor, leaning up against a glass display cabinet. I try to find my place again in the tome I was reading, as I balance the thick book on my lap. Next to me, Fulton snores. He’s on the floor too, with his back against a bookcase and his chin on his chest. An ancient bronze crown leans at a jaunty angle on his head.
Reaching our level, Kyon pauses when he sees me with one of his ancestor’s thick metal crowns on my head. “What are you doing?” he asks.
“Reading,” I murmur.
“What did you do to Fulton?” he asks.
“I just had a few drinks with him and we tried on some crowns.”
“You know he’s over three thousand years old, right?”
“Really?” I ask.
Kyon nods.
“Huh.” I stick out my bottom lip. “He looks good.” As Kyon crouches down next to me, looking me over, I add, “I’m—”
“—fine,” we say in unison.
Kyon frowns. “Yes, that’s your mantra,” he says.
“Here.” I lift up another crown from the ones I’ve collected on the floor. “I picked this one out for you. I think it suits you.” I place the crown on his head. He looks like an ancient Viking warrior. I blink a couple of times, because it’s actually a little startling. “I was right. It looks good.”