Chapter 1 #3
Although what did I expect? I can’t say for sure, but royalty wasn’t on the cards.
What do I know about royalty? About a life of ruling?
My childhood was spent learning about potions and tinctures and plants, not politics and war plans.
Whoever these men hope I am, one thing’s for certain: I’m going to be a terrible disappointment.
Trying to fight the quickening of my pulse, I inhale deeply.
Kyor’s scent – the warming aroma of vanilla and lemon balm – floods through me, grounding me.
It’s hard not to see the irony in how his presence now calms me.
I cast another glance back at the prince behind me, but his blue eyes are not fixed upon me.
Instead, they’re scanning the city, which is when I realise that we have finally descended beneath the blanket of cloud.
A gasp catches in my chest at the sight of the iridescent city of phenomenal proportions spread out before us.
From where I stand, the buildings appear to be made of ice or glass, as are the roads and the land that stretches beyond, yet the colour found in such homogeneity is jaw-dropping.
Cobalt shadows bisect the icy cyan streets, while the crisp morning light bounces off domed roofs and spired edifices, creating spectrums of the deepest indigo, which reflect on the windows and sloped rooftops – rooftops that stretch far into the distance before fading into the white of the horizon. Isthyr.
‘Be careful with your steps here, Your Highness,’ Toren calls, ignoring my earlier request to call me Rose and bringing my attention back to the path. My stomach somersaults as I realise that in my awestruck state I have moved closer to the edge. ‘The ledges here are slightly narrower than before.’
‘Thank you.’
The gradient of our pathway is definitely less steep than before, and the view of the city becomes more and more limited as we descend in silence. The closest of the icy buildings is within touching distance when the Issen guards draw to a sudden stop.
A sharp female voice cuts through the air. ‘What are you doing? Why have you left your post?’
I press up on my tiptoes, trying to see who’s ahead, but I can’t see over Fen and Ruben. Instead, all I can go on are the voices as they bounce off the mountainside.
‘There was a woman at the pyrrhic, General Ranveeg.’ I recognise Toren’s voice. ‘We believe it is the princess.’
‘The princess?’ Her angry tone is replaced with disbelief.
‘The lost princess,’ Toren adds for good measure.
A mumble reaches my ears, though whether it’s one of disbelief or veneration, I can’t tell. But when the woman’s voice next reaches me, it’s perfectly clear how she feels.
‘Where is she?’ she spits.
The Issen guards step to the side and I can see her now.
Her icy eyes scan over my group, but it’s her pale skin I focus on.
There’s not a hint of a lacy pattern on it.
No thin wisps like on the lead guard. No thick, veiny tendrils of white like on Toren.
Hope lifts within me. If she is without patterns, then that almost certainly means there’s a way to stop it. A way to keep William safe.
Flanked by Fen and Ruben, who have shifted closer to me, I step forward and stretch out my hand. ‘My name is—’
‘You think this is the princess?’ she barks at the men. ‘Idiots! The princess would be almost double her age. Kill them now before they get away, and inform—’
‘No!’ I jump forward, keeping myself as close to the mountainside as possible. The drop might not be enough to kill me anymore, but it would certainly break a few bones, and something tells me she wouldn’t bother to fetch me a healer. ‘Look. This is mine.’ I flash her my ringed hand.
‘Where did you get that?’ Before I can answer, a snarl twists her lips as she accuses, ‘You must have stolen it!’
‘What? No! I got it from my mother,’ I snap back.
Behind me I hear the crackle of static. Kyor is ready – more than ready – to put a bolt of lightning through her heart. If she thinks we’re going to go down without a fight, then she is very, very mistaken.
Still, I hold my hand out behind me, telling him to wait.
Killing is a last resort. One unlikely to get me the answers I need.
Fighting to control the pulsing in my throat, I steady my voice to speak.
‘This ring was given to me. My mother was half Issen. That’s why I’m here – because I need to protect my family and the only way to do that is to get answers. ’
Her cheeks draw inwards, her attention still fixed on the ring.
Then, as the silence stretches to breaking point, General Ranveeg tilts her head upwards, a gesture that I’m almost certain is merely so she can peer down her nose at me, despite the fact that she’s a good two inches shorter than I am.
‘I will fetch Magnus,’ she snaps before turning her head to look at Toren and the other guards. ‘Take these intruders to the fengsel.’
Unease unfurls within me, a cold weight settling in my gut. I might not know much about Issen culture, but the way she snarled the word, and the way Toren winced, I’m certain that whatever the fengsel is, it’s not good.