Chapter 2

SERILDA

My house among the oaks was empty now.

My stomach cramped with hunger. I crouched by the cold hearth and realized I didn't even know how to cook.

A Summer princess should be able to summon flame with a snap of her fingers. I'd never learned. All I managed with the flint was to slice my finger open.

I'd never needed to. My lip started to wobble out of sheer habit, and then it hit me: there was no one left to fuss over me.

I shot to my feet and ran.

The gloaming sun hung low, and the wind still carried the day's heat, prickling my skin like needles. I fell more times than I could count. By the time I knocked on the little wooden door by the herb garden, I was a complete mess.

It wasn't Orian who opened it.

Finnian went still when he saw me. His gaze dropped to my scrapes, his face unreadable.

"What are you doing here?"

He was my first consort. He'd hated how I ran around, always afraid I'd get hurt. He'd frown and call me reckless, then trail quietly behind me and clean up every mess I made.

But I remembered the rest, too. Every time he'd gone cold on me, a raven would land on my windowsill and become a man again beside my bed. He'd brush away my angry tears with his thumb. And while I pretended to sleep, he'd press kiss after kiss against my skin. Clumsy. Burning.

I didn't look at him now. I craned to see past him into the house.

The doorframe creaked under his grip. He laughed, cold, and called over his shoulder, "Getting sloppy, Orian? You brought Serilda right to our door. It’ll break Nerysah’s heart if she finds out."

All I wore was a thin silk nightgown, torn to ribbons by brambles, and my feet were bare. I stood there, pale, as Orian came out of the back room.

His shirt was half undone, his hair a mess. And on the side of his throat was a fresh bite mark.

The bitter smell of herbs drifted out, laced with something faint and sweet. Dark flowers.

He shot Finnian an irritated look. Then his eyes found me, and annoyance flickered across his face.

A chill ran through me. I stepped back.

Then a weight settled on my shoulders. A cloak of black feathers, still warm, smelling of wormwood, hiding my ruined nightgown. I looked up, but all I could see was the hard line of Finnian's jaw.

Orian came to me wearing the same gentle face I'd always known. It almost made me believe I'd imagined the rest.

"Sera? What happened to you?"

I bit my lip. "Orian, I won't make you fetch blushberries from three valleys over anymore. I won't complain that the dawnsilk isn't soft enough. I won't pester you when you're tired. You'll be my only consort. I don't want anyone else. Just don't leave me. Please?"

I was too frantic to notice the look on Finnian's face.

Orian listened, but his eyes kept drifting to my knees, scraped raw and bloody.

Without thinking, I slipped back into my old petulance and reached for his hand. "You promised you'd stay with me! You can't go back on your word! I—"

My fingers closed on air. He'd stepped out of reach.

"Your knees need looking at. Come inside and we'll talk. Okay?"

Inside, it was cool. Damp reed blinds let in a steady breeze. Everything was tidy and well cared for.

I thought of my own house, lifeless and empty. After the others left, Orian had kept looking after it, but his mind was always elsewhere. The crack in my ceiling that let the rain in never got fixed. On sweltering gloamings when I couldn't sleep, I didn't dare complain anymore. I was too afraid he'd leave too.

Low voices drifted from the back room.

"What, going soft on her? If you're having second thoughts, don't bother coming back."

Then Orian, cold as anything: "No. I just don't want her running to the king in tears and making trouble for Nerysah again. Relax. She's easy to sweet-talk."

My mind went blank.

Finnian huffed a laugh. Footsteps faded.

Orian crouched in front of me and dabbed the blood from my knee with a cloth, eyes lowered, voice as gentle as ever.

"Sera, I'm with Nerysah now. You're the king's daughter. You can have your pick of any male in the court." He smiled faintly. "Didn't you always say you'd throw all three of us out and find yourself better knights?"

That was just something I said when I was angry. Wasn't it? Why hadn't any of them cared then, and now, suddenly, they believed me?

I shook my head through a blur of tears. "I didn't mean it…"

Something dark crossed his face. He wiped the tear from the corner of my eye and stroked my hair the way you'd soothe a child. Then he rose to fetch water and salve.

Something heavy slammed into my back.

I whipped around. Nerysah’s son, Moren, stood in the doorway, clutching a steaming cinder-clay jar against his chest, his little face twisted with rage.

"Bad lady! You're mean to my mama! Get out!"

He hurled the glowing brew at me. I threw up my forearm, striking the jar mid-air. It shattered against the jamb, showering scalding amber liquid right back at him. A spray of hot embers hissed against his bare shins and hands.

He went still for half a heartbeat. Then he burst into earsplitting wails.

The front door flew open. A gust of hot wind—

And a hand closed around my throat.

Joren's green wolf eyes were locked on mine. He laughed, but there was nothing funny in it.

"Tormenting Nerysah wasn't enough, so now you're burning her kid? Wow, Serilda. You really are something."