“I don’t know what you are,” Kasim reiterated, a knuckle grazing the fullness of his mouth. “Until I do, we cannot be allies.”

“Waedfrel, then we are in agreement.” Luscia tossed him the dirty rag, intending to find Tallulah so she could prepare for the event-filled day ahead. “But for the foreseeable future, we will cease trying to destroy each other.”

“Uni zà,” Kasim confirmed in his native tongue, “for the foreseeable future.”

Getting up, he stooped for his kopar, strapped it on, and bent over Takoda to whisper something in Andwele. Kasim reached around her torso to grip the handle and reenter the common room. Stilling, he took one last glance at his kinsman and then to her viridi box on the dresser.

Just before he walked out the door, he threw the rag back into her hands. “I’m no laundress, and neither are you.” He squinted at the apothecary again. “Maji’maia.”

Granting a wide berth to Tallulah, who’d been awoken by the dawn and was clearly startled by his noisy departure, Kasim thumped his slumbering beta’s leg, hanging off the edge of the chaise.

“Owàamo, cousin,” he announced, heading into the foyer. “We’re leaving.”

Together, the two Darakaians marched out of her apartments and into the morning bustle. But before entering the main corridor, Kasim’s beta rotated and bowed his head toward Luscia.

“Shàla’maiamo, Maji’maia.” The tall warrior looked up at her, smiled, and hit his chest.

Bewildered, Talluah closed the double door behind them. “Well, what in Aksel’s Keep is that supposed to mean?”

Utterly exhausted, Luscia rubbed her eyelids. “It means the House of Darakai is the least of our problems, Tallulah.”

THIRTY-THREE

Luscia

   Under a sea of colorful lamps and suspended lanterns, Luscia took a breath and smoothed the front of her gown, appreciating how the luster glinted off its detailed beading. Out of habit, she went to straighten her collar before wading deeper into Thoarne Hall, only to remember there wasn’t one on this dress. Careful not to disturb the intricate designs painted over her exposed neck, she lowered her hand, feeling a sudden flush beneath the iridescent artistry.

Unlike the temperate climate of the highlands, summer in the lowlands made it challenging to conceal the scar stretching toward her ear. Its ugliness had been camouflaged by Noxolo’s handiwork, and Luscia lifted her chin proudly, pleased to wear their Boreali custom in the Unitarian court.

“They will not notice,” Declan assured her, as if attuned to her self-consciousness. By the time she glanced in the direction of his voice, he’d disappeared to his post in the shadows like the others.

Luscia bypassed a huddle of courtier women near the towering windows, who relished the sunset view over the city below, and sought the prince in the throng of clinking glass and swirling skirts. She’d left the lycran behind tonight, as the event was not in her honor, but the Zôueli. Eyeing the roasted boar on a platter, surrounded by choice fruits, she concluded it was likely for the best.

From behind, a bronze arm snaked around her own, ensnaring it. “There you are, Loo-Shah,” the princess rolled her northern name, still unable to pronounce it. “Come with me, my friend. Missed, you have been.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Bahira’Rasha,” Luscia said with a wry smile. “Alloh’jom’yeh.”

“What does this mean?”

“May peace convene with you,” she translated.

Rasha repeated the Boreali greeting as she led Luscia deeper into the swarm of guests with an air of authority. As they passed a tower of bubbling effervescence and flutes of Galina wine, the princess plucked two glasses from the top.

“For you.” She extended the second to Luscia, taking a generous gulp of her own. “Now, teach me more of Boreal. Tell me of your trees, they are so tall?”

Her russet eyes lit up as she tucked in her chin, like they were two old crones discussing something scandalous instead of foliage.

“Wem, indeed, massive enough to host our village-fortress within the heights.” Luscia gestured overhead. “All Roüwen hangs off the earth. In my home, it is said that in Roüwen, man stands closer to Aurynth, for the distance is already a foot and a flight shorter.”

The train of the princess’s hybrid gown trailed their path through the solstice celebration, her billowy pantlegs swishing as she walked, seeming genuinely entranced by the account of Luscia’s homeland.

“The city among stars. It is…” Rasha’s tongue curled over her teeth, finding the right words. “…my dream to see such a settlement. In Razôuel, my cities are dressed in jewels. Jol’Nune would fall to the ground!”

Luscia laughed, imagining it. Rasha touched the flute to her lips, but the wine sloshed onto a nearby yancy when she abruptly changed course, dragging Luscia in tow. Meandering through the Hall, the princess brought them to Ira’s side. Buttoned into a pressed, velvet waistcoat, the al’Haidren almost looked sober, barring the bit of residual rouge across his cheek from his latest encounter with some nobleman’s daughter.

“Bahira’Rasha.” Ira lingered over her fingers, kissing them. “And my wintery rose!” He swiveled to Luscia next, scanning the pearly patterns on her neck as he raised her hand to his lips. “I bid you both a very sweet solstice.”

Lusica yanked her hand from his grasp. It was sticky, and she tried to convince herself it was only sweat.

“Lord al’Haidren—Ira, may I?” Rasha tested. “You’ve known each other now many years…or is it only a few?”

“You can call me whatever you please, whenever you please,” Ira simpered toward the princess, deepening his voice. “My acquaintance with Boreal is just as inadequate as your own, despite tremendous diplomatic attempts to bridge our…” Tilting his head, Ira admired Luscia’s fitted bodice. “…topographical differences.”

The princess eyed Luscia curiously, who vehemently shook her head at the prospect. “Our differences span wider than the Ileas, Ira.”

“Oh, I’m a fine swimmer.” He winked and thrust his palm in the air, looking past them as he called, “Sayuri, be a pet and fetch that attendant there. No, darling, the chubby one.”

Ira flipped his glass upside down, shaking it. Sayuri melded into their group, wedging herself into a gap between Luscia and the princess.

“We’re not here to grab things for you, Ira,” she said. “You insufferable snob.”

“But you’ve proven such an affinity for it, dear.”

Scoffing, she spun her back on Luscia to converse with the Zôueli princess, her features so similar to the other westerner. Sayuri’s coastal beauty was on full display for the solstice, her curves enveloped in gilded tiers of feathery lace. Her movements seemed labored, drowning under strings of Pilar’s famed pearls. Offset by the dark, glossy curtain of hair descending her back, Sayuri’s splendor was a clear show of rivalry with the princess. Luscia skimmed the room to find Dmitri in animated discussion with a trio of nobles, evidently indifferent to her efforts.