Attendants ushered Kelena out of the burning sunlight and into the castle’s dark halls, promising to bring a hot bath, food, and fresh clothing to her room as soon as it could be fetched from the baggage train. Kelena didn’t recognize either of them, but that was hardly unusual. She had never had servants of her own, had rarely seen any of the staff in any royal residence face-to-face, in fact. These two didn’t know that they weren’t supposed to talk to the nothing princess. They must have come on after Mother had left for the north.

  Kelena could scarcely pay attention to what they were saying, anyway. She had hardly even noticed the small uproar caused by her brothers in the carriage yard. At the first sight of Castle Sangmere’s looming tower, her skin had begun buzzing and nettling as if angry bees crawled just beneath the surface.

  Flashes of an old day terror came back to her as they climbed the tower stairs, something from her time in the chest. She had dreamed that Etian rescued her—strange, because it was usually Izakiel who saved her in her dreams—but then the king and queen had murdered Etian and sent a horrible dead creature to lock her back in the chest. She remembered waking from that terror whimpering in the darkness.

  They passed windows at irregular intervals, first slitted archer loops, then higher up glassed openings big enough to leap from. Through those, she knew, one could look down on the western courtyard and see the comings and goings of knights and grooms and the exercising of the royal mounts, but neither she nor Alaan glanced at the windows as they ascended.

  When they reached her bedchamber, the relief that flowed through the grafting was so keen that it hurt. Not her relief—Kelena could never feel safe in the tower—his. She blinked away the sudden welling of someone else’s unshed tears and tried to see what her Thorn was so grateful for.

  The room was just as she had left it, furnished in the pinks and blues of childhood, all of it fundamentally untouched. There was the square cut from the carpet where she used to stand. That stain was where the chest used to sit. She swallowed the memory of the close, stinking darkness.

  There was the bed she had only been allowed to use on those rare, precious occasions when she had done something that pleased Mother, though she was never told what she had done, and the fearful questioning of whether Mother would be angry that she was too stupid to figure it out had more often than not kept her awake through the days.

  Once, while Kelena was inside the chest, she’d heard servants talking as they cleaned. The older told the younger that, long ago, the tower room had been used to keep a dangerous royal hostage captive. That was why the chamber had no windows and only the one door. There wasn’t a connected side chamber or even a hearth. Kelena remembered shivering through frozen springs there, but this year servants had brought up two large braziers to heat it.

  Alaan must like the chamber because the lack of entrances made it easier to defend. Finally, he would get to sleep.

  Wearily, the Thorn searched the windowless tower room for dangers. He was too tired to speak, and Kelena was too afraid. Mother wasn’t there to hear her, but Kelena had never said anything right in Castle Sangmere before, only idiotic things that brought consequences. Better if she kept her mouth shut.

  A steaming bath was brought up, along with a whole roast duck, pickled vegetables, a wedge of cheese, and a braid of brown and yellow bread still warm from the ovens. Enough for both princess and Thorn.

  The attendants left. Alaan attempted to shove the bed against the door, but the rounded walls of the chamber and flat rail of the bed left enough room for the portal to swing partway open.

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  Instead, he returned her bed to its place and laid a rug in front of the door. He took off his swordbelt and lay his blades within reach. Then he stretched out, turned his face to the wall like he always did to afford her some privacy, and fell instantly unconscious.

  Kelena watched the back of his head for a long time. The straight sandy hair, some of it still stiff with mud from his fall. The jaw furred by whiskers a shade darker than his hair and without the streaks of lighter yellow.

  Usually, Alaan hung up his uniform jacket and changed into his common clothes before removing his blades and lying down. Today he hadn’t. It was uncomfortable, but through the grafting she could sense that he was too deeply asleep to notice the rigid collar digging into his throat.

  Alaan had been at the end of his endurance that evening; she’d felt it, and she had feared for him. Her Thorn would never have forgiven himself if her father had seen his collapse.

  There must be something Kelena could do to help him. She might be too stupid to figure it out, but Izak would know. She would ask him morrow night.

  The pirate stirred and turned onto his back. She caught a glimpse of his lowered lashes, his parted lips, in the split-second before she snapped her gaze down to her boots. He started snoring softly. Still asleep.

  The stones around her feet looked just as they had when she was little, the same pits and cracks and worn-smooth spots, but she had grown. Her boots now took up most of the square where Mother had cut the carpet away. The toe of one boot touched the ragged, uneven edge. Kelena turned her ankle inward a little so it wouldn’t.

  Hours passed. Outside, the sun sank, and the ghost city faded into the sky, raining rays of ghostlight through the ceiling of her windowless room.

  The coals in the braziers burned out. The untouched food and bath went icy. Kelena ached with the effort required to hold her leg at the unusual angle.

  Her Thorn slept on.

  ***

  Most of the time, Izak led the first watch of the day, but with his brother indulging in his new consort, Izak couldn’t stomach being the self-sacrificing commander. As soon as he finished searching Etian’s bedchamber, he assigned Sketcher as watch leader and left Hare, Dolo, and Phriese on duty with the huge rustic, giving the rest of the men their freedom until the watch changed.

  “Where to first, Commander?” Rake asked, keeping pace with Izak as he strode through the corridors.

  Izak smirked. “If I could still get drunk, the casks in the cold dungeon.”

  “Not even going to try it?” The wiry Thorn shrugged. “I’d keep you company while you puked up all that royal vintage.”

  “I’ve seen the grafting empty your guts of excess alcohol often enough to know I don’t want any part of that.” Izak stopped at the door of his old apartments. “Wait if you want. Get a head start on the debauchery if you don’t.”

  “I’d hate to waste any time.” Rake shot him a wink. “I’m gonna see if I remember where that busty beauty’s whoring house was. I think she liked me.”

  “Ask her if she’s got a few friends looking to pass the day with a former crown prince. I’ll be there before long.”

  In his chambers, Izak found that the clothes he used to keep at Sangmere had been replaced with Etian’s—the crown prince must not have enough room in his own bedchamber for his summer wardrobe—but the brothers were a similar enough size that Izak didn’t need to go searching for suitable clothing.

  He stripped off his uniform and tossed it onto the bed.

  How often had his uncle wished he could throw off duty so easily? How many times had he smiled at Hazerial while seething with envy?

  I’ve known him all my life, Izakiel, Uncle Ahixandro had said. I know the man he can be. My brother can see around corners, but he can’t see what’s right in front of him. That’s why he needs me.

  Etian had the birthright, a wife, a son, a gorgeous consort; every man, woman, and child in the Kingdom of Night hailed him as the second coming of the warrior strong god. By all accounts, the brothers should be able to live long, happy lives, one wallowing in the good fortune bucketed down upon him by the strong gods and the other drowning his bitterness in women.

  But Etian refused to see what was right in front of him. He wouldn’t be satisfied until Hazerial was dead.

  That’s why he needs me, Izak thought as he dressed.

  He knew the king his brother could be. If he could just convince Etian to inherit the throne instead of dying in the attempt to take it by force, then the Kingdom of Night might have the benefit of knowing that good king as well.