Tav swung an arm around Lila’s shoulders. “Where you been, Bard? Hardly seen you!”

“I get enough of you all aboard the Spire,” she grumbled.

“You talk tough,” said Vasry, eyes glassy from drink, “but you’re soft at heart.”

“Soft as a knife.”

“You know, a knife’s only a bad thing if you’re on the wrong side.”

“Good thing you’re one of us.”

Her chest tightened. They didn’t know—about her ruse, about the real Stasion Elsor somewhere on the sea, about the fact that Alucard had cut her from the crew.

Her eyes found Lenos across the table, and there was something in that look of his that made her think he knew. Knew she was leaving, at least, even if he didn’t know the why of it.

Lila got to her feet. “I need some air,” she muttered, but when she made it out the door, she didn’t stop.

She was halfway to the palace before she realized it, and then she kept going until she climbed the steps and found Master Tieren on the landing and saw in his eyes that something was wrong.

“What is it?” she asked.

The Aven Essen swallowed. “It’s Kell.”

* * *

The royal prison was reserved for special cases.

At the moment, Kell appeared to be the only one. His cell was bare except for a cot and a pair of iron rings set into the wall. The rings were clearly meant to hold chains, but at present there were none, only the cuffs clamped around his wrists, the bindings cold and cut with magic. Every piece of metal in the cell was incised with marks, enchanted to dull and dampen power. He should know. He’d helped to spell them.

Kell sat on the cot, ankles crossed, his head tipped back against the cold stone wall. The prison was housed in the base of the palace, one pillar over from the Basin where he trained, but unlike the Basin the walls were reinforced, and none of the river’s red light seeped through. Only the winter chill.

Kell shivered slightly; they’d taken his coat, along with the traveling tokens around his neck, hung them on the wall beyond the cell. He hadn’t fought the men off. He’d been too stunned to move as the guards closed in, slamming the iron cuffs around his wrists. By the time he believed what was happening, it was too late.

In the hours since, Kell’s anger had cooled and hardened.

Two guards stood outside the cell, watching him with a mixture of fear and wonder, as if he might perform a trick. He closed his eyes, and tried to sleep.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Who would it be?

Tieren had already come. Kell had only one question for the old man.

“Did you know about Lila?”

The look in Tieren’s eyes told him all he needed to know.

The footsteps drew closer, and Kell looked up, expecting the king, or Rhy. But instead Kell beheld the queen.

Emira stood on the opposite side of the bars, resplendent in her royal red and gold, her face a careful mask. If she was glad to see him caged—or saddened at all by the sight—it didn’t show. He tried to meet her eyes, but they escaped to the wall behind his head.

“Do you have everything you need?” she asked, as if he were a guest in a plush palace wing, and not a cell. A laugh tried to claw its way up Kell’s throat. He swallowed it and said nothing.

Emira brought a hand to the bars, as if testing their strength. “It shouldn’t have come to this.”

She turned to go, but Kell sat forward. “Do you hate me, my queen?”

“Kell,” she said softly, “how could I?” Something in him softened. Her dark eyes finally found his. And then she said, “You gave me back my son.”

The words cut. There had been a time when she insisted that she had two sons, not one. If he had not lost all her love, he had lost that.

“Did you ever know her?” asked Kell.

“Who?” asked the queen.

“My real mother.”

Emira’s features tightened. Her lips pursed.

A door crashed open overhead.

“Where is he?” Rhy came storming down the stairs.

Kell could hear him coming a mile away, could feel the prince’s anger twining through his own, molten hot where Kell’s ran cold. Rhy reached the prison, took one look at Kell behind the cell bars, and blanched.

“Let him out now,” demanded the prince.

The guards bowed their heads, but held their places, gauntleted hands at their sides.

“Rhy,” started Emira, reaching for her son’s arm.

“Get off me, Mother,” he snapped, turning his back on her. “If you won’t let him out,” he told the guards, “then I order you to let me in.”

Still they did not move.

“What are the charges?” he snarled.

“Treason,” said Emira, at the same time the guard answered, “Disobeying the king.”

“I disobey the king all the time,” said Rhy. “You haven’t arrested me.” He offered up his hands. Kell watched them bicker, focusing on the cold, letting it spread like frost, overtaking everything. He was so tired of caring.

“This will not stand.” Rhy gripped the bar, exposing his gold sleeve. Blood had soaked through, dotting the fabric where he’d carved the word.

Emira paled. “Rhy, you’re hurt!” Her eyes immediately went to Kell, so full of accusation. “What—”

More boots sounded on the stairs and a moment later the king was there, his frame filling the doorway. Maxim took one look at his wife and son, and said, “Get out.”