Not seeing Tipp or anyone else as she left her suite, Kiva walked silently behind her escort, wondering if any of the servants dotting the hallways were rebel spies who would report where she was going and why. But then she decided that she didn’t care. She wouldn’t think about her mission, her family’s cause, anything. Tonight was hers to enjoy, to recover, to heal.
After a quick walk across the golden bridge to the western palace, the queen’s personal chambers came into view, being almost a straight shot over the river from where Kiva had started. Her escort ushered her directly into the room, before backing out and closing the gilded doors behind him.
Kiva paused at the entrance, spinning around to take in the sheer opulence surrounding her.
The queen’s sitting room had high ceilings, lush carpet, and windows that looked out at both the Serin and the gardens, the latter dotted with luminium beacons like fireflies stretching into the distance. An elegant chandelier hung like a collection of teardrops, the walls were mounted with framed artwork, and an assortment of fresh flowers and leafy potted plants brought a dash of color to the otherwise gold-and-white décor. As Kiva continued turning, she saw a crackling fireplace nestled into one wall, the flames warm and inviting, and opposite it was —
Kiva gasped and was unable to resist moving toward the grand piano. She’d never seen anything like it before, the legs, cover, and sides made entirely out of transparent, sparkling crystal.
“’S lovely, isn’t it?”
Kiva was admiring the black and white keys, the only part that was ordinary — and yet still beautiful — when the voice reached her. She whirled around to see the queen reclining on a red velvet chaise, watching her over the rim of a wine goblet.
“Do you play?” Ariana asked, her voice slurring slightly.
“Uh, no,” Kiva answered, looking closely at the queen, and wondering just how much she’d had to drink.
“Jaren used to play all the time,” Ariana said, her gaze turning distant. “He doesn’t now.”
Kiva walked slowly forward, an inner sense warning that something wasn’t quite right. But her trepidation eased when she saw the tray of hot cocoa and an assortment of mini cakes, her insides warming as she noted the effort the queen had gone to.
“He doesn’t?” Kiva asked. The thought of Jaren playing the piano was too beautiful for her poor brain, so she pushed it away before it could take hold. “Why not?”
Ariana took a large gulp of her wine. “He won’t come here anymore.”
The five slurred words had Kiva freezing to the spot — but it wasn’t only them, it was also that she’d moved close enough to note what she hadn’t seen from further away.
Ariana’s glazed eyes, waxy skin, trembling hands . . .
. . . and the golden powder smeared around her mouth, beneath her nose, inside her nostrils.
Angeldust.
The queen was high.
And when the queen was high —
He won’t come here anymore.
Kiva backed away, seeing the glorious room with new eyes.
This was where the queen had hurt Jaren. For years.
This was where she succumbed to her addiction, lost control, inflicted untold amounts of pain.
And Kiva was alone with her, no one but the male servant even knowing she was there.
“Have some cocoa, Kiva,” the queen slurred, elongating Kiva’s name into three syllables. “I had it made ’specially for you.”
Kiva’s heart raced as she considered her options. She could flee, risking an overreaction but ensuring her own safety, or she could sit where Ariana was patting the chaise beside her and have a drink as planned. While her hunger had vanished at the sight of the golden powder, Kiva knew choosing the latter would limit the probability of offending the monarch. But she also knew that angeldust users, especially functioning addicts, were unpredictable, prone to mood swings and violence, often forgetting their actions once the drug passed through their systems. The danger was simply too great for her to chance.
Decision made, Kiva took another step backwards and said, “I’m suddenly not feeling very well, Your Majesty. Please excuse me — I think it’s best if I retire.”
Kiva dipped into a respectful curtsey. Sober Ariana might not expect her to stand on ceremony, but there was no telling how the drug affected the queen’s memory. Rising swiftly again, Kiva offered a shaky smile and turned toward the door.
“Not so fast.”
The three words held no trace of Ariana’s usual warmth and kindness. Instead, they were as cold as ice, imperious and demanding all at once. They stopped Kiva in her tracks — but not because she thought it wise to listen. She was more desperate than ever to flee the room, consequences be damned.