Chapter One

Princess Teressa gazed past her horse’s ears at the city gate, hoping to see a short figure with thick braids sitting on a battlement and swinging her feet. Cold rain stung her face, but she ignored it until disappointment made her drop her head. All she saw were the customary sentries, alert at their posts despite the weather.

Wren had to still be visiting her aunt up north in Allat Los. Teressa tried to banish the sharp sense of disappointment. She’d known her best friend’s visit was to last the month that the Cantirmoor School of Magic was closed down, but still she’d hoped that some kind of miracle would bring Wren back. During the last half a year, ever since Teressa had begun going out on diplomatic missions, she’d always returned to find Wren sitting atop the gate, waiting for her.

Not that she had anything good to tell her this time, Teressa thought wearily. She tried to straighten her aching back as she and her escort cantered their tired horses up the cobbled streets.

It hurt to see how silent the streets were. The rare pedestrians hurried, glancing uneasily over their shoulders, as the gloom deepened toward night. She pushed her anonymous black cloak aside so that her gown was visible. Though she was muddy to the waist and her long braided hair dripped rain like a rat’s tail, she was still the Princess, and she knew that eyes behind shutters and casements watched. A year ago — even last season — folk would have been coming out despite the weather, to wave and cheer as she and her detachment of Scarlet Guard dashed by, trying to reassure the citizens that The King Was Doing Something About It.

She wished she really could do something.

They clattered into the main courtyard, and stable hands ran out, torches hissing and streaming.

Two approached Teressa, a tall blond boy she recognized and a girl she didn’t. The girl carried a golden cup in both hands.

“Welcome home, Your Highness,” the boy said, bowing. “Thanks . . . Alif, isn’t it?” Teressa dismounted carefully.

Pins and needles stabbed her legs.

She leaned against the horse. The girl stepped close, holding out her cup. “Something warm to drink?”

Teressa gladly accepted it. Apple and cinnamon-scented steam rose from the cup, and she drank deeply. A bitter under-taste made her tongue tingle, but she ignored it, glad of the cider’s warmth.

“Ah,” she said, lowering the cup. Torchlight played over the beautiful shape. On its side Teressa saw the expected four stars, the symbol used by Meldrith’s four royal families. But below the stars, instead of the Rhisadel crowned sun, there was an engraving of a bird in flight. Surprise made Teressa look up, but before she could ask about it, the girl took the cup from her hands.

“Thank you,” Teressa said, then she glanced around for the crowd of servants who usually appeared when she arrived home. “Where’s Fleris? Or Tamny and the others?”

“Most of them are on errands. Duke Fortian’s orders,” Alif said. “He also said that you’re to go to the Rose Room. Hot food is coming.”

Teressa wanted to see her parents, not hot food. She almost said it, but didn’t. She never argued with servants. They were obeying orders. She thanked Alif again, then shivered.

Though the cider had warmed her insides, her outside felt colder than before.

“We can go with you,” Alif offered, moving to one side of her.

Teressa laughed. “After three years, I do know my way around the palace — ”

A man’s voice echoed from the torchlit main entrance across the courtyard, angry even when drawling in courtly accents, “Where is everyone? Where’s the Steward? Find Helmburi!” Teressa recognized her uncle Fortian Rhismordith, and from the sound of it, he was in a worse mood than usual.

Teressa caught a quick glance between Alif and the girl. She said quickly, “You don’t have to go with me if you’ve got other orders. But first, please take care of that poor horse. I can get to the Rose Room on my own.”

The girl went one way and Alif threw Teressa a grateful smile as he took the horse.

Picking up her soggy skirts, Teressa hurried, not to the main entrance, but to a side door seldom used by any but servants.

Inside was warmth, and light. No one was about, though she heard someone’s voice echo from the stairs above: “Hurry! Hurry!”

Teressa moved toward the door opening onto the main hallway, wondering if there were some kind of Court function going on. The Rose Room was not far, but she hesitated, then shook her head.

She’d see what it was after she greeted Mother and Father, she decided. The prospect of seeing her parents lifted her spirits, but her limbs felt heavy. She yawned, her eyes stinging and the room shifting subtly around her, a little like a treehouse platform swaying in the wind. Teressa yawned again, reminded of Wren, and the old days at Three Groves Orphanage . . . Wren’s plays. . .

She found her eyelids drifting down. Odd. Maybe before climbing all those stairs, she might sit down for a moment. Catch her breath. Spotting a shadowy alcove, she sank gratefully into it, ignoring her wet clothes.

She had every reason to be tired. Although she had a splendid carriage, well-appointed with every comfort, she and her honor guard had felt it safest to send the carriage one way as a kind of decoy while they rode cross-country on a faster route, Teressa swathed in a plain black cloak. The Scarlet Guards were the best of Meldrith’s warriors, and they rode fast and hard. It had been a matter of pride to Teressa to keep their pace — if they slowed it was not to be on her account. Today’s ride had begun at dawn, with only two stops to change horses.

Teressa rested her forehead on her knees as she tried to gather her vanishing strength. She thought of her parents, waiting upstairs for her in the Royal Wing. As always, her mother would have hot chocolate ready for her, even if she’d had to order fresh three or four times. And later, she’d play her lute and sing all Teressa’s favorite songs — the old folk songs that Teressa and Wren had sung at the orphanage where Teressa had been hidden for twelve years.

And her father would grab her in a bear hug and whisper, “I’m proud of my girl,” even if her trip had not been completely successful. Or a disaster, like this one had been.

She’d traveled through the northern provinces, listening to bitter complaints about how bad the roads were, how bold the brigands, and how trade was not being protected — yet how Duke Fortian had enough tax money to add a new wing to his palace.

Her uncle Fortian had hurt the entire kingdom with the way he ruled his province. Teressa knew that her father could not interfere directly, but something had to be done. Once she was alone with her parents she could tell them everything. Then they’d eat supper together, just the three of them—such a rare, precious occurrence. One she’d felt apprehensive about for so long, and only in the last year had come to look forward to it as she got to know her parents as people—family—and stopped thinking of them as king and queen.

Or, maybe Tyron could come visit — or Connor would have returned from border duty. Andd one of them was sure to have heard from Wren.

Besides Wren, Tyron and Connor were her closest friends, one the heir to King’s Magician Halfrid, and the other a royal connection from Siradayel — on the family tree a kind of half-uncle, but he felt like a distant cousin.

Thinking about Connor cheered her a bit. She knew it was wrong to favor anyone at Court, especially nowadays, but she liked him the best of all her relatives. However, she was careful to keep her feeling strictly to herself.

Her uncle Fortian’s sharp, commanding voice echoed from the main hallway and pierced the fog of sleep closing around her: “The Princess — where is she?”

“We haven’t seen her, Your Grace,” a frightened servant answered. “Perhaps she went to the Magic School to see her friend?”

“Send someone over there,” the Duke ordered.

Alarm banished the tiredness enough to enable Teressa to get to her feet. She knew it was cowardly — she should stand up and say Here I am — but she was too tired to face him just now.