There’s nothing endearing about the way she looks at me now.
“You’re putting your entire kingdom in danger by letting yourself be manipulated by a power-hungry princess who—”
She breaks off and looks to the floor with an unreadable expression.
“Lira.”
“Don’t.” She holds her hand up, keeping the distance between us. “You don’t owe me anything, especially if it’s an explanation. Royalty never owes anyone anything.”
Her use of the word royalty stings more than it should. I’ve spent so long trying to escape that as my only marker, and for her to say it with such certainty, as though she’s never once seen me as something else, pinches. Always a prince, never just a man.
I exhale carefully and shove my hands into my pockets. “I never said I owed you anything.”
Lira turns. Whether she heard me or not, I can’t be sure, but she walks away without looking back and I don’t follow. There’s part of me that wants to – a part larger than I’d like to admit – but I wouldn’t know what to say if I did.
I run a hand through my hair. This night really can’t end fast enough.
“I’m not blind to it.”
Yukiko steps out from the shadows like a ghost. In the pale torchlight, her eyes look near-white, and when she walks closer to me, the glow of the fire smooths the harsh lines of her face until she looks kind. Gentle.
The light really does play tricks on the mind.
“It just doesn’t matter to me,” she says.
“I’m pretty sure that I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That girl,” Yukiko says. “Lira.”
“I suppose she’s pretty hard to be blind to.”
“Yes.” Yukiko’s smile burns brighter than the fire. “It’s clear you believe that.”
I rub my temples, not up for yet another cryptic conversation. “Say what it is you have to say, Yukiko. I’m not in the mood for games.”
“A change from the usual, then,” she replies. “But I’ll grant the request, since you’re a guest in my home.”
She threads her fingers through her hair and bites down on the corner of her blue lips. The gesture looks far more foreboding than teasing. “You may care about her,” Yukiko says, “but it won’t change anything. Love is not for princes, and it’s most certainly not for kings. You promised me that you would become a king. My king. I want to remind you of that promise.”
The savage look in Lira’s eyes flashes across my mind. She didn’t even give me a second glance before she walked away. The last thing she seemed to want to hear were reasons or explanations. You’re letting yourself be manipulated, she said. Royalty never owes anyone anything. But that isn’t true. I owe a lot of people a lot of things, and Lira is no exception. Maybe I don’t owe her an explanation, but I do owe her my life, and that seems like the same thing.
I shift, and when I realize that’s exactly the reaction Yukiko wanted, I glare. “I didn’t promise you a king,” I say. “I believe the condition you were sold on was a kingdom. Do you even care which one it is?”
“That sounds an awful lot like you want to break our deal.”
“Not break,” I say. “Renegotiate.”
Yukiko grins and leans over my shoulder, brushing a catlike hand against my chest. Her cold breath presses against my neck, and when I turn my head away, I hear the smile in her voice.
“So many tricks,” she whispers. “You’ll need sturdier sleeves to hold them all.”
34
Lira
THE MOUNTAIN TIP IS hidden by its namesake clouds, and a never-ending snowstorm obscures most of its magnitude. Even so, I marvel. I know that long past the sky that hides half of the rock face is an endless peak. A gateway to the stars. The Cloud Mountain of Págos is the highest point in the world, farthest from the sea and so farthest from my mother’s hold. From mine. If the Second Eye of Keto really is on this mountain, then it would have been the perfect hiding spot. Far from where I could follow. Until now.
My face is covered by layers of thick fabric that obscure everything but my eyes. I itch to pull the cloth and furs from my face, but the cold is more than I can bear. And I dare not let go of the snow poles clenched tightly in my grasp. I’m not even sure I could if I wanted to. My hands feel like they’ve been frozen into solid fists.
We follow the trail up the great mountain for days that turn to weeks, with more silence than I’ve ever failed to hear from the crew of the Saad. Even Kye, who walks so perfectly in step with Elian, glancing back to Madrid every now and again – to make sure, perhaps, that she hasn’t turned into some kind of frozen sculpture or been blown from the cliff by the brutal winds – remains quiet. Elian is no different.