loving kiss on my cheek. “I’m no one’s governess teaching them their letters.”
Too often, I staved away my regret over that final farewell by dreaming that Mother and Father looked down upon us from the land of light.
But if that were true, they would see Ambrosine as well. They would know that her tendencies toward cunning and vanity had trampled her virtues. They would know she had afflicted our people with poverty and starvation. And it would break their hearts.
At last we entered the city of Halithenica, coasting under an arched stone gate with a marble relief of eight celestial figures in rippling robes. The inbound road diverted around a plaza with a fountain sculpted into the likeness of a broad-shouldered man tipping a pitcher, which gushed forth water for children to drink and splash at one another.
“That’s Orico, the Holy of Generosity,” Perennia explained. “His statue was placed here at the entry to make visitors feel welcome. The other seven Holies are scattered throughout the—”
I cut her a look that said I would fling her beloved book out the door.
“Sorry,” she finished.
The buildings were arranged in a tight but orderly grid, and a network of bridges intersected a river meandering through the city. Many people swept bows and curtsies as we passed. Young children skipped around, tossing sunflowers into our path.
“How kind!” Perennia waved at them.
“It’s a relief to be shown a bit of respect,” I muttered, donning a neutral smile.
The cheerful crowd lined the streets all the way to the palace, where purple flags embroidered with the kingdom’s tree symbol flapped in the breeze. Before long, guards in elegant purple livery summoned us through the gates. When I stepped out of the carriage, I looked up at a fa?ade of clean white and glossy black stones. Spiraling columns, niches for gaudy statues, and domed towers gave the palace an outlandish grandeur.
But nothing was quite as gaudy as our sister who awaited us.
Ambrosine stood in a billowing crimson gown with two straight, solemn rows of guards branching out before her. The seams of the close-fitting bodice cut around her hips and exploded into layers of fiery skirts, with an endless train furling out behind her like a tulip petal. She wore a gold necklace so large it was nearly a mantle, and her luxurious blond waves had been smoothed into a dramatic high plait and topped by a coronet. Her lips gleamed the startling red of a fresh blood drop.
“Dear sisters!” she called, splaying her hands in greeting. She perched on the final step, and it took a few beats for me to realize she meant for us to approach her.
Perennia smiled encouragingly. Together, we crossed the courtyard while the attendants transported our luggage. Ambrosine bent to bestow kisses near our cheeks, more sound than substance.
“I trust you received a friendly reception from my people,” she said over the distant thunder of approaching hooves. She looked over our heads. “Ah! The huntsmen have returned!”
I turned to find a small band of riders accompanied by panting hounds. Braces of rabbits and fat pheasants bounced from the saddles, as well as bags of packed and quartered game meat. Three men dismounted upon entry to the courtyard and led away the hounds and horses.
But the dark-haired leader cantered onward and slung down from the saddle to approach us, his shoulders rigid. Bold brows, black as coal smudges, gave emphasis to brown eyes that skimmed over me with what felt like anger held in deep reserve. Why a stranger from a foreign land would regard me with such cold disdain, I couldn’t fathom.
“What did you bring us, Severo?” Ambrosine asked gleefully.
The young man took a square stance and met her giddiness with proud stoicism. “A red hart for the upcoming Sun’s Benediction festivities,” he declared. “And, as you see, fowl and rabbits for tonight.” He spoke in a rolling, rustic accent that revealed only an intermediate grasp on Nisseran—how I might sound trying to speak Perispi after not having lessons since my parents died. Without a trace of emotion, he added, almost too late, “My queen.”
My eyes strayed to the dark blood seeping through the game bags borne by his patient horse, then moved on to the many weapons arranged on his person: a bow and quiver lashed to his back, knives of various sizes fastened at his waist and thighs. He sported a weatherworn leather jerkin, and as he casually gripped the hilt of his hunting knife, I noticed rough calluses on