“We can’t seem too eager, can we?” she asks me. “They’ll come the rest of the way.”

I nod, though I’m not sure she’s right. For an uncomfortable few moments, the Sta’Criverans stay put in their carriages, watching us like we’re a group of strange new beasts brought in for them to ogle. A handful of them bring gilded telescopes to their eyes for a better look. Under their expectant gaze and the hot sun overhead, I start to sweat more through my dress, and I will myself not to. That is hardly the first impression I want to make on King Etristo.

I open my mouth to suggest to Dragonsbane that we surrender what little pride we still have and walk the rest of the way to them, when the Sta’Criverans’ attention is diverted to something happening on their side, out of my view.

“Finally,” Dragonsbane mutters under her breath.

Four white-clad men are now making their way toward us, carrying a large cloth-draped box between them. They move quickly, the box balanced between them on metal rods, marching with such ease across the sand dunes that I’d imagine they do this regularly.

The rest of the Sta’Criverans hurry in their wake.

When they’re ten feet from us, the men all stop perfectly in sync before lowering their cargo as one. It’s impressive—I don’t think one of their corners touches the sand a half second before another.

For a long moment, nothing happens. Dragonsbane and the Sta’Criverans gathered behind the box all watch it expectantly, so I do the same. Finally, the white covering parts down the center on one side and a weathered copper hand emerges, pulling the cloth back. Then comes a cane of carved lapis lazuli. With a pained grunt, a figure emerges, hunched over and dressed in the same white as everyone else. The only difference is the crown that circles his bald, spotted head, an ornate thing of gold curlicues and jewels of so many different colors that I can’t name them all.

The man himself is unassuming, and if it weren’t for the crown, I don’t think I would look twice at him in a crowd. Swathed in white and hunched over his gleaming cane, he almost reminds me of a priest from one of the mines, before the siege. S?ren and Artemisia were both wrong in their estimates—he is eighty at least, maybe even ninety—and judging by his labored breathing and how painful every step seems to be, I wouldn’t be entirely surprised if he expired somewhere along the ten-foot walk to us. The Sta’Criverans who carried him seem to think the same thing, hovering just behind him as if he might fall at any moment. They must be his personal guards as well as his transportation.

With a wheeze, he waves them off and takes the last few steps alone, until he’s standing directly in front of Dragonsbane and me. Hunched over as he is, he barely comes up to my shoulder, and Dragonsbane towers over him even more in her heeled boots.

“Your Highness,” Dragonsbane says in Astrean, bowing her head. “It is a pleasure to meet you in person. You look very well.”

The King wheezes again, though I think beneath it is a snort of disbelief. He turns his eyes to Dragonsbane for barely a second.

“I never had the honor of meeting your sister, though they tell me you were twins,” he says.

Dragonsbane hesitates for only a beat but it’s long enough to glimpse her discomfort. “Yes, Your Highness. I’m Princess Kallistrade. As Dragonsbane told you in his letters, I’ve recently decided to come out of hiding to protect my niece, Queen Theodosia Eirene Houzzara of Astrea.”

She gestures to me. My full name sounds strange coming from her, like she’s draping a cloak around my shoulders that she doubts I’ll ever grow into.

“Shame he couldn’t make it to shore himself,” King Etristo says to Dragonsbane. “I would have liked to meet this elusive pirate.”

“But then he wouldn’t be elusive, Your Highness,” Dragonsbane says with a smile.

King Etristo makes an annoyed noise in his throat before finally turning to me. His watery eyes rake from the top of my head to my feet. I force myself to stand tall and proud.

“Queen Theodosia,” he says after a moment, his voice raspy and quiet enough that it nearly disappears into the air. Though the action costs him, he attempts a bow.

“King Etristo,” I reply, dipping into a curtsy. I decide to speak Astrean as well, since he seems to understand it. “I’m so grateful for your generous hospitality and your interest in my situation.”

“You’ve been through quite an ordeal, I’ve been told,” he replies. His Astrean is passable, but clumsy, too heavy to pass for a native speaker. “We are happy to come to your assistance against these Kalovaxian beasts, though I see you are bringing one into our midst. How peculiar.”

His eyes dart over my shoulder to where S?ren is standing beside Heron, Blaise, and Artemisia. King Etristo regards him in much the same way he looked at me, as if trying to decide exactly what he might be worth to him. He doesn’t spare so much as a glance at my other advisors—I imagine he doesn’t think them to be worth anything at all without a pedigree to back them up.

“The best sort of ally is one who understands the enemy, don’t you agree?” I say, looking back at the King with the kind of smile I haven’t worn since Astrea—the kind that’s been thoroughly coated in honey. “Who understands the Kaiser better than his own son?”

“Mmm,” King Etristo says, though his eyes linger on S?ren and his mouth purses.

“He’s proven his loyalty,” Dragonsbane says, drawing King Etristo’s eyes to her. “And if that loyalty ever falters, he will be quickly disposed of. Isn’t that right, Theodosia?”

I would be a fool to miss the tone of her voice, the condescending smile, the way she looks at King Etristo as if to say Children will be children, what can one do? I want to retort, but I hold my tongue. Let him think me a silly child—let her think me a silly child.

“Of course, Aunt,” I say.

King Etristo grunts before looking back at S?ren and switching to Kalovaxian. “Last time I saw you, Prinz S?ren, you were answering to another sovereign. Of course, you’re hardly the first man to be swayed by a pretty face.”

I worry that S?ren will say something we’ll all regret, but King Etristo doesn’t give him a chance to reply before continuing in Astrean.

“And what a pretty face it is, my dear,” he says, lifting my hand to his dry lips. “A shame for a girl like you to be alone in this world, but that is what we are here for, no?” he asks, glancing behind him. It seems to be a rhetorical question but the crowd murmurs in agreement. “Our other honored guests will arrive tomorrow, and you will all stay in the palace with me.”

Without another word, he drops my hand and turns away from us, hobbling toward his carrier and climbing inside. As soon as the white cloth settles behind him, he’s lifted into the air and we are ushered into an empty carriage led by a duo of bejewled horses. After we’re settled, the driver snaps the reins, and with a jolt, we begin our journey across the sand.

THE WALL THAT SURROUNDS STA’CRIVERO’S capital city is so tall that I can’t quite tell where it ends and the sky begins. During the hour-long journey, there was little more to see than sand. It stretched out in every direction, rippling over the land in wavelike patterns. Only twice, I spotted signs of a village in the distance, not large enough for more than fifty people.

“Eight in ten Sta’Criverans make their homes in the capital,” S?ren had said during our lesson. “The conditions outside it are brutal—scalding summers with little opportunity to find food and water, and the winters aren’t much better.”

“Why do even the two in ten remain outside?” I had asked.

Artemisia had shrugged. “It’s home,” she’d said.

Now, looking up at the wall from the outside, I wonder if it’s more than that. The city hardly looks inviting and I know that walls are generally built for one main reason—to keep people out.

Not us, though. We pause in front of ornate, heavy gates and they creak open, guided by an elaborate set of ropes and pulleys. It’s a slow process, but as the capital gradually comes into view, I gasp.

Though Astrea’s capital as it exists in my childhood memories is the most beautiful place in the world, even I have to admit that the Sta’Criveran capital might be her equal.