Something in me—sharp, angry—stirs.

The room is dim and expansive inside; the marble countertops gleam and the wall behind the counter ripples with bottles of every shape and color. Tobacco smoke drifts from the bar, where a handful of people sip from crystal glasses. A handsome young man quickly ushers us to an empty, private table in a back corner. I find myself wondering if that is simply how everyone is treated in places such as this, or if this, too, is Caro’s quiet planning at work.

“One bottle of your best red wine and one of madel, please,” Caro orders in her carrying whisper. She looks beautiful in this low light, her pale eyes glittering against her skin.

Before I realize any time has passed at all, two bottles appear: one dark green, one red. The waiter places three heavy crystal glasses in front of us.

When I drink a sip of the madel, the drink froths and burns in my throat; the fire shoots to my belly much faster than it did in Caro’s chambers. I sputter, and Caro laughs, a light tinkling sound of bells.

“Here,” she whispers. “Let me show you.” She pours a bit of red wine into her glass, then, carefully, adds a tiny bit of gold madel. The wine fizzes slightly, then settles. Caro extends the cup to me.

Cautiously, I sip. The wine has diluted the madel, making it strange and smoky. It still burns a little going down, but not enough to make my eyes water. As Caro grins and Ina laughs, a bolt of unexpected happiness surges through me. The moment stretches—Ina’s laugh turns into a song, and Caro’s smile melts over her face—into one shimmering, expanding bubble. Then Caro speaks, bringing the world back to a normal pace.

“Start with that,” she says, “and maybe we can work you up to straight madel by the end of the night.” She takes a long sip out of her own cup.

Ina giggles as she looks around the room, pure joy lighting her face. She raises her glass. “A cheer,” she says. “To three long-orphaned girls who found their home.”

I smile back and start to raise my glass, but the expression on Caro’s face catches me. For a moment, it’s shock, her eyes wide—then it solidifies into something close to anger as she looks between me and Ina.

“Jules,” she says, her voice even, but her eyes tight. “I thought your father only just passed.”

Hurt stabs through my chest at her bluntness. “He—he did,” I stammer. “But I found out that I was adopted a few weeks ago. Not that it matters,” I add quickly. “He raised me.”

Ina has finally noticed something amiss. She stares at me, her eyes apologetic, then words spill out of her mouth to cover the awkwardness of sharing my secret. “She might be one of those Briarsmoor children, Caro. We should convince the Queen to take us there. For Jules.”

“Perhaps,” Caro says blankly.

I look down, mortified at Ina’s request and embarrassed that Caro thinks I’ve kept something from her. But in the span of a breath, Caro’s face smooths out, her pleasant smile returned.

She gestures around us. “Ina, even if you have the best liquor in the palace next year, I don’t think you’ll find anything to match this atmosphere.”

I hear Ina reply, “Oh, I think Roan’s company will make up for that. He doesn’t want to stay around his older brother a day longer than he has to, and I like Everless well enough, but it’s nothing like Shorehaven.”

In the palace next year. I make some vague noise of interest, studying my drink intently and hoping Ina and Caro can’t see the wetness that has suddenly sprung to my eyes.

With all the furor and breathlessness pervading Everless over the wedding, it never occurred to me to wonder what would come after.

Ina will leave Everless. Roan will leave Everless.

The Queen will disappear, too, and I’ll be left with only the mystery of my father’s death for company. And Liam’s dark glares.

I mumble something about getting us another round of drinks and push back from the table, keeping my face angled away from Caro and Ina. A few moments before, the madel warmed my blood and loosened my limbs. Now I feel a little like I did at the mava pile—surrounded by a thin haze of fog, faces and voices swirling around me but never quite solidifying into sense. I can tell I’m swaying slightly as I walk but can’t steady myself.

My thoughts become jagged and sharp-edged: Ina and Roan are moving to the palace; and I’ll be alone again, my childhood love gone.

Maybe it wasn’t entirely the pursuit of truth giving me strength these past two weeks.

Suddenly, the heat and smoke are pressing in on me. The tavern feels like a furnace. Faces smear into blurs, voices and laughter muddle into one harsh sound. I grip the counter to keep my balance. My head spins.

Air. I need air.





20




Somehow I stumble away from the bar and toward the door—no one sees the panic in my eyes. When I emerge onto the quiet street, I gratefully gulp down the night air. It smells of melting snow. A gentle mist has begun to fall, and droplets swirl in the small spheres of light cast by the street lanterns. No one else is out here. I lean against the brick wall to let my heart slow.

Then, my feet start to walk away from the tavern, tracing the path we followed to come here. I slow to a stop in front of the squat brick teahouse, staring through the same glass as earlier. The window is almost opaque with fog except for one handprint-sized mark where the condensation has been smeared away. I peer inside. Even through the glass, I recognize the girl.

Addie.

The door opens up to a room of people, a different sort of scene from the tavern—this one dim and humble and quiet, filled with older townspeople who drink steaming cups of tea or chat quietly in groups of two or three. Addie is behind the counter, an apron pulled over her dress.

“Addie?” I say tentatively.

Her head shoots up; I see her note my cloak, and the Queen’s insignia embroidered on it. “You’re an Everless girl,” she says brusquely. Her name for me drips with scorn, but I don’t miss the currents of envy and fury underneath.

“What do you want?” She glances out the window, toward the tavern. “Has the Queen sent you to punish me further?”

“No,” I say quickly. “She didn’t send me. You don’t know me, but . . .” I can’t quite meet her eyes, awash with shame. I stayed while she was banished. I took her place. “What happened?”

But her face softens a little. “You helped me pick up the jewels.”

“And much good that did you,” I mutter.