single, burning swallow, and the servant considered him then left the pitcher, a small gesture for which Kell was immeasurably grateful.
Two more people were seated at the table: a man and a woman, both dressed in shades of red and each with a gold pin of the Maresh seal—the chalice and rising sun—fastened to their shoulder. The pin marked the figures as friends of the crown; it permitted them full access to the palace and instructed any servants and guards to not only welcome but assist them.
“Parlo, Lisane,” said Kell in greeting. They were the
ostra
selected to help organize the tournament, and Kell felt like he had seen more of them in the past few weeks than he had the king and queen.
“Master Kell,” they said in unison, tipping their heads with practiced smiles and calculated propriety.
A map of the palace and surrounding grounds was spread across the table, one edge tucked beneath a plate of tarts, another under a tea cup, and Lisane was gesturing to the south wing. “We’ve arranged for Prince Col and Princess Cora to stay here, in the emerald suite. Fresh flowers will be grown there the day before they arrive.”
Rhy made a face at Kell across the table. Kell was too tired to try to read it.
“Lord Sol-in-Ar, meanwhile,” continued Lisane, “will be housed in the western conservatory. We’ve stocked it with coffee, just as you instructed, and …”
“And what of the Veskan queen?” grumbled Maxim. “Or the Faroan king? Why do
they
not grace us with their presence? Do they not trust us? Or do they simply have better things to do?”
Emira frowned. “The emissaries they’ve chosen are appropriate.”
Rhy scoffed. “Queen Lastra of Vesk has
seven
children, Mother; I doubt it’s much of an inconvenience for her to loan us two. As for the Faroans, Lord Sol-in-Ar is a known antagonist who’s spent the last two decades stirring up discontent wherever he goes, hoping it will spark enough conflict to dethrone his brother and seize control of Faro.”
“Since when are you so invested in imperial politics?” asked Kell, already on his third cup of tea.
To his surprise, Rhy shot him a scowl. “I’m invested in my
kingdom
, Brother,” he snapped. “You should be, too.”
“
I’m
not their prince,” observed Kell. He was in no mood for Rhy’s attitude. “I’m just the one who has to clean up his
messes
.”
“Oh, seeing as you’ve made none of your own?”
They held each other’s gazes. Kell resisted the urge to stab a fork into his own leg just to watch his brother wince.
What was happening to them? They’d never been cruel to each other before. But pain and pleasure weren’t the only things that seemed to transfer with the bond. Fear, annoyance, anger: all plucked at the binding spell, reverberating between them, amplifying. Rhy had always been fickle, but now Kell
felt
his brother’s ever-shifting temperament, the constant oscillation, and it was maddening. Space meant nothing. They could be standing side by side or Londons apart. There was no escape.
More and more, the bond felt like a chain.
Emira cleared her throat. “I think the
eastern
conservatory would be better for Lord Sol-in-Ar. It gets better light. But what about the attendants? The Veskans always travel with a full compliment….”
The queen soothed the table, guiding the conversation deftly away from the brothers’ rising moods, but there were too many unspoken things in the air, making it stuffy. Kell pushed himself to his feet and turned to leave.
“Where are you going?” asked Maxim, handing his papers to an attendant.
Kell turned back. “I was going to oversee the construction on the floating arenas, Your Highness.”
“Rhy can handle that,” said the king. “You have an errand to run.” With that, he held out an envelope. Kell didn’t realize how eager he was to go—to escape not only the palace but this city, this world—until he saw that slip of paper.
It bore no address, but he
Two more people were seated at the table: a man and a woman, both dressed in shades of red and each with a gold pin of the Maresh seal—the chalice and rising sun—fastened to their shoulder. The pin marked the figures as friends of the crown; it permitted them full access to the palace and instructed any servants and guards to not only welcome but assist them.
“Parlo, Lisane,” said Kell in greeting. They were the
ostra
selected to help organize the tournament, and Kell felt like he had seen more of them in the past few weeks than he had the king and queen.
“Master Kell,” they said in unison, tipping their heads with practiced smiles and calculated propriety.
A map of the palace and surrounding grounds was spread across the table, one edge tucked beneath a plate of tarts, another under a tea cup, and Lisane was gesturing to the south wing. “We’ve arranged for Prince Col and Princess Cora to stay here, in the emerald suite. Fresh flowers will be grown there the day before they arrive.”
Rhy made a face at Kell across the table. Kell was too tired to try to read it.
“Lord Sol-in-Ar, meanwhile,” continued Lisane, “will be housed in the western conservatory. We’ve stocked it with coffee, just as you instructed, and …”
“And what of the Veskan queen?” grumbled Maxim. “Or the Faroan king? Why do
they
not grace us with their presence? Do they not trust us? Or do they simply have better things to do?”
Emira frowned. “The emissaries they’ve chosen are appropriate.”
Rhy scoffed. “Queen Lastra of Vesk has
seven
children, Mother; I doubt it’s much of an inconvenience for her to loan us two. As for the Faroans, Lord Sol-in-Ar is a known antagonist who’s spent the last two decades stirring up discontent wherever he goes, hoping it will spark enough conflict to dethrone his brother and seize control of Faro.”
“Since when are you so invested in imperial politics?” asked Kell, already on his third cup of tea.
To his surprise, Rhy shot him a scowl. “I’m invested in my
kingdom
, Brother,” he snapped. “You should be, too.”
“
I’m
not their prince,” observed Kell. He was in no mood for Rhy’s attitude. “I’m just the one who has to clean up his
messes
.”
“Oh, seeing as you’ve made none of your own?”
They held each other’s gazes. Kell resisted the urge to stab a fork into his own leg just to watch his brother wince.
What was happening to them? They’d never been cruel to each other before. But pain and pleasure weren’t the only things that seemed to transfer with the bond. Fear, annoyance, anger: all plucked at the binding spell, reverberating between them, amplifying. Rhy had always been fickle, but now Kell
felt
his brother’s ever-shifting temperament, the constant oscillation, and it was maddening. Space meant nothing. They could be standing side by side or Londons apart. There was no escape.
More and more, the bond felt like a chain.
Emira cleared her throat. “I think the
eastern
conservatory would be better for Lord Sol-in-Ar. It gets better light. But what about the attendants? The Veskans always travel with a full compliment….”
The queen soothed the table, guiding the conversation deftly away from the brothers’ rising moods, but there were too many unspoken things in the air, making it stuffy. Kell pushed himself to his feet and turned to leave.
“Where are you going?” asked Maxim, handing his papers to an attendant.
Kell turned back. “I was going to oversee the construction on the floating arenas, Your Highness.”
“Rhy can handle that,” said the king. “You have an errand to run.” With that, he held out an envelope. Kell didn’t realize how eager he was to go—to escape not only the palace but this city, this world—until he saw that slip of paper.
It bore no address, but he
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