gazing out at the edifice stairs. I had known visiting Ambrosine would be strange, but I hadn’t expected to feel so uneasy. I hadn’t seen any indication that she had broken any rules or caused any harm. And yet…
And yet everything felt wrong: the missing king, the subdued princess, the mirrors, the portrait, the fraught mood haunting this place.
Mercer’s vision hadn’t shown him much, yet he had sensed something deeply sinister. Now I understood. In spite of Ambrosine’s logical explanations for everything disquieting, I was not reassured.
“What’s the matter?” Perennia stopped wrestling with her ridiculous gown to ask.
“Pack your things. I’m sending you home in the morning.”
“What? No! We just arrived!”
“I should have come alone.”
“Whatever you need to do, I can help,” she said, seizing my wrists. “I’m an elicromancer too, and old enough that you can stop obsessing over my safety and think of me as an ally. I want to join the Realm Alliance in a few years, but how will I ever be of use if you don’t let me take risks?”
“Bringing you here was risky enough, Perennia.”
“You don’t believe Hesper’s ridiculous story, do you?” she demanded.
“Of course not.”
“Then why are you sending me home?”
“Because it’s what I’ve decided,” I said, in my most queenly tone. Perennia could sense its gravity. She ripped at the buttons of her bodice until she was able to shimmy out of the gown and throw herself onto her bed.
I dragged in a long breath. The figurine seemed to weigh heavier in my pocket.
I fished it out and frowned at it, noticing a tiny, messy inscription engraved into its base. I squinted and turned it in the light to make it out.
Edifice. Midnight.
I clenched it in my fist, made sure Perennia hadn’t seen, and hurried to rip off my travesty of a gown.
TEN
GLISETTE
THE servants had extinguished the lamps and retired. As I scaled the staircases leading upward, only the soft illumination of my elicrin stone kept the shadows at bay.
The palace was predictably laid out, but the mirrors transformed the corridors into a maze of unexpected turns and unwanted company. Several times, my own reflection tricked my heart into pounding like a battering ram against my chest.
Who could blame me, when Ambrosine and I looked so alike?
At last I encountered an antechamber with marble columns leading to a grand staircase flooded with moonlight. I ascended to find an enormous domed terrace covered in cool-hued mosaics. An altar with carved figures stood at the center and a series of open arches provided panoramic views of the city. The edge called to me and I crossed the empty edifice to lean against the hip-high railing.
The night sky was a tapestry of silver stars and wool-gray clouds. A soft wind brushed along my skin, and for a moment it felt like Mother’s gentle fingers, the breath of Father’s lighthearted laughter. I could understand why people came here to renew their hope, to ask questions, to feel small.
But the wind kicked up and I grasped the railing to keep from swaying. Chilling notions seeped through my thoughts like cold water through fissuring ice. The invitation could have been a trap meant to send me to the same violent end as my parents. I thought of the artist who had thrown himself to his death after painting Ambrosine’s likeness—and imagined my mysterious caller shoving me over the edge.
I heard soft footsteps and turned to find a raven-haired figure carrying a flickering candle.
“You came,” Navara said.
“Princess,” I breathed in relief. Instead of the unflattering frock, she wore a dress as dark blue as the night. I looked to see if any guards accompanied her, but found only Hesper, who knelt in obeisance to her beloved deities before rising to stand at Navara’s side.
“You gave us the effigies,” I said.
“Yes,” Navara replied. “The queen asked Hesper to leave her gifts in your room. We added two of our own. I hoped that you or your sister would receive my message, but also that the Holies would give you the compassion to hear my plight, and the courage to help me liberate my father and my people.”
“From what?” I asked warily.
Navara did not reply. Instead, she took a deep breath and turned to look up at the carvings of the Holies, her eyes the brown of dates. “My mother was devoted to Agrimas. Father less so. His views mirror those of his people. The legends of our deities feel like nothing more than tales sometimes.”
She circled the altar, studying the