“How sweet.” Nadine flashed a smile. “Fortunately, I was so startled that I didn’t even think about it in the moment.”
“What, exactly, did Rune side with his father on?” Hanne asked.
Quiet fell across the table. Then, Prudence said, “Presumably, the king had been considering whether to strike Embria before your parents found out that you were missing, Your Highness. And though Prince Rune’s first instinct was to do anything to get you back—Well, when it seemed you must be dead—”
“He agreed with his father.” Hanne nodded slowly. It made sense, in a Caberwilline sort of way. Hanne probably would have done the same, had their positions been reversed, although she wouldn’t have begun with a military strike. No, it would have been a move so swift that Caberwill wouldn’t even notice until it was too late. “Well. It’s a good thing I arrived when I did.”
“Indeed,” Victoria said. “Your very presence here has prevented an unnecessary war.”
All of Hanne’s ladies hurried to agree.
As the conversation circled back to the Nightrender, how frightened everyone had been at her arrival, and the likelihood of another Incursion, Hanne contented herself to observe her four ladies, her spymistress, and the two women who would build on her authority here. And with each course that arrived, every bite of Embrian cuisine, Hanne grew more certain: she was on the correct path once more. All the things that had happened in Ivasland—she could move past them, fix them, and overcome them.
Soon, the world would see Hanne for who she truly was: a queen made for conquest.
Yes. Tuluna’s whisper sounded in the back of Hanne’s mind—wonderful and welcome after weeks of silence. A queen. My queen. The world’s queen.
26.
NIGHTRENDER
The wedding was just a wedding. Nightrender had been to dozens before—there was always a place set above where she could watch (or doze off) without anyone bothering her for favors—and she found them a little boring, to be honest.
Humans and their happiness. You should put an end to it all right here.
This wedding, however, was a little more interesting than the others, as Embrians occupied half of the Caberwilline temple. The nobles important enough to be here sat on the western side, dressed in bright colors that showed off their obsidian jewelry. They were a strange field of wildflowers in this large and somber chamber, surrounded as they were by carved stone, ancient tapestries, and shrines to the major Numina the Caberwillines worshipped. Elmali’s was the largest and most prominent, but a shrine to Tuluna—the patron Numen of Embria—had been hastily erected and placed beside it.
On the eastern side, the Caberwillines sat in their neutral colors—grays, the occasional cream or tan if someone felt extravagant—and eyed the Embrians as though they gave off toxic fumes. King and Queen Highcrown sat at the front of the room, with two young girls at their sides. If they noticed the tension behind them, they didn’t show it.
And then there was Prince Rune. He stood by the mahogany doors, his gaze locked on the floor in front of him, his expression like granite.
Nightrender started to look away, to give him some privacy while he considered his long future as a married man, but just then, the prince glanced up to find her watching. Their eyes locked, making her breath catch and a deep sense of longing stir in her stomach.
He started to smile, but a swish of fabric in the hall caught his attention. He looked away, that almost-smile replaced by a mask of royal poise.
A sliver of gold appeared first, shimmering just over the floor like the edges of a dragon’s hoard, followed by Princess Johanne herself, immaculate in layer after layer of silk like she’d been wrapped in summer sunshine. She was beautiful, golden hair swept up into artful disarray beneath her black crown; a pair of curled locks hung around her face to soften her.
But there was nothing soft about this princess. Nightrender had seen that yesterday, and now, with that obsidian crown atop her head, there was no question about what kind of image she wanted to project. Hard, ambitious, and exquisite: she would permit no rivals.
Nightrender sucked in a sharp breath. She knew that crown—the Black Reign, humans had named it millennia ago—because it was one of the Relics created by the Numina to help protect Salvation. She hadn’t seen it in centuries.
In ancient times, warrior kings and queens defending the people had worn the crown into the Malice, to protect them from rancor. It was a powerful ward against such creatures—and here was Princess Johanne, wearing it as a political prop.
And though the jagged spikes of obsidian must have been heavy, the princess kept her head high, her neck long and graceful, showing no discomfort as she took Prince Rune’s hand.
Sparks of an ugly, slithering emotion coiled through Nightrender’s heart, but she tried to stuff it down where she didn’t have to look at it.
Are you jealous?
She was not. She had no reason to be jealous.
Do you have feelings for the prince?
She had no feelings for him beyond the intense protectiveness she felt for her soul shard in any incarnation (she still believed it was him, evidence or not). It wasn’t possible. The Numina hadn’t made her that way.
But you’re broken, aren’t you?
She was, perhaps. She had no idea what was stealing her memories or if there was even an end to this. But that didn’t mean she was jealous.
Movement continued in the hall below, in spite of her roiling emotions. Everyone had risen to face the doors where Prince Rune and Princess Johanne stood, her hand resting delicately in the crook of his arm.
Embrian weddings had music here, as well as flowers and lengths of bright silk thrown over the couple as they walked by, but the Caberwilline version was far more subdued. The pair went alone and in silence, to symbolize the long journey of a marriage during which they must rely solely on each other, or something along those lines. Nightrender wasn’t completely sure.
She closed her eyes and thought about killing rancor, distracted only by the sound of the grand priest at the fore of the temple. His voice lifted over the congregation.
“Tradition tells us of the Numina’s immense love for us here on the laic plane,” said Grand Priest Larksong, “and the sacrifices they made to ensure our existence. Both the Known and the Unknown are our great benefactors.”
Nightrender knew the story of creation; the human version was flat-out falsehood, which stemmed from their limited understanding of the universe. (She tried not to think about how her understanding was growing more limited with every passing moment.) But they told the story again and again, because it made them feel better to believe they’d been crafted by divine hands.
It wasn’t even a little bit true.