that held a handgun and extra ammunition and pushed it across the desk, through the opening in the bars.
“There was also a knife.”
The man scowled, as if a missing knife were the biggest hassle of his day, and crouched down to peer into the cupboard.
Jacin dropped the gun’s magazine, reloading it while the man riffled through the cabinet. As Jacin was tucking the gun into his holster, the man tossed his knife onto the desk. It skidded across, off the surface. Jacin snatched it from the air just before the blade lodged itself in his thigh.
“Thanks,” he muttered, turning.
“Traitor,” one of the guards at the door said beneath his breath.
Jacin twirled the knife beneath the guard’s nose and sank it into the scabbard on his belt without bothering to make eye contact. His early rise through the ranks had earned him plenty of enemies, morons who seemed to think Jacin had cheated somehow to earn such a desirable position so young. When really the queen just wanted to keep a closer eye on him and, through him, Winter.
The click of his boots echoed through the tunnel as he left them behind. He turned a corner and neither flinched nor slowed when he spotted Aimery waiting by the elevator.
When he was six steps away, Jacin came to a stop and clapped a fist to his chest.
Stepping aside, Aimery swooped his arm toward the elevator doors. The long white sleeve of his coat swung with it. “Let’s not keep Her Majesty waiting.”
Jacin entered without argument, taking up his usual spot beside the elevator’s door, arms braced at his sides.
“Her Majesty and I have been discussing your role here since your trial,” said Aimery once the doors had closed.
“I’m eager to be of service.” Only years of practice disguised how abhorrent the words tasted in his mouth.
“As we wish to once again have faith in your loyalty.”
“I will serve in whatever way Her Majesty sees fit.”
“Good.” There was that smile again, and this time it came with a suspicious chill. “Because Her Royal Highness, the princess herself, has made a request of you.”
Jacin’s gut tightened. There was no way to stay indifferent as his thoughts started to race.
Please, please, you hateful stars—don’t let Winter have done something stupid.
“If your service meets with Her Majesty’s expectations,” Aimery continued, “we will return you to your previous position within the palace.”
Jacin inclined his head. “I am most grateful for this opportunity to prove myself.”
“I have no doubt of it, Sir Clay.”
Eight
The elevator doors opened into the queen’s solar—an octagonal room made up of windows on all sides. The cylindrical elevator itself was encapsulated in glass and stood at the room’s center so that no part of the view would be obstructed. The décor was simple—thin white pillars and a glass dome overhead, mimicking the dome over the city. This tower, this very room, was the highest point in Artemisia, and the sight of all those buildings white and glittering beneath them, and an entire jewelry case of stars overhead, was all the decoration the room required.
Jacin had been there dozens of times with Sybil, but never for his own audience with the queen. He forced himself to be unconcerned. If he was worried, the queen might detect it, and the last thing he wanted was for anyone to question his loyalty to the crown.
Though an elaborate chair was set on a raised platform, the queen herself was standing at the windows. The glass was crystal clear and showed no hint of reflection. Jacin didn’t know how they’d managed to make glass like that, but the palace was full of it.
Sir Jerrico Solis, the captain of the guard and technically Jacin’s superior, was also there, but Jacin didn’t spare him a glance.
“My Queen,” said Aimery, “you requested Sir Jacin Clay.”
Jacin dropped to one knee as the queen turned. “You may stand, Jacin. How good of you to come.”
Now, wasn’t that
“There was also a knife.”
The man scowled, as if a missing knife were the biggest hassle of his day, and crouched down to peer into the cupboard.
Jacin dropped the gun’s magazine, reloading it while the man riffled through the cabinet. As Jacin was tucking the gun into his holster, the man tossed his knife onto the desk. It skidded across, off the surface. Jacin snatched it from the air just before the blade lodged itself in his thigh.
“Thanks,” he muttered, turning.
“Traitor,” one of the guards at the door said beneath his breath.
Jacin twirled the knife beneath the guard’s nose and sank it into the scabbard on his belt without bothering to make eye contact. His early rise through the ranks had earned him plenty of enemies, morons who seemed to think Jacin had cheated somehow to earn such a desirable position so young. When really the queen just wanted to keep a closer eye on him and, through him, Winter.
The click of his boots echoed through the tunnel as he left them behind. He turned a corner and neither flinched nor slowed when he spotted Aimery waiting by the elevator.
When he was six steps away, Jacin came to a stop and clapped a fist to his chest.
Stepping aside, Aimery swooped his arm toward the elevator doors. The long white sleeve of his coat swung with it. “Let’s not keep Her Majesty waiting.”
Jacin entered without argument, taking up his usual spot beside the elevator’s door, arms braced at his sides.
“Her Majesty and I have been discussing your role here since your trial,” said Aimery once the doors had closed.
“I’m eager to be of service.” Only years of practice disguised how abhorrent the words tasted in his mouth.
“As we wish to once again have faith in your loyalty.”
“I will serve in whatever way Her Majesty sees fit.”
“Good.” There was that smile again, and this time it came with a suspicious chill. “Because Her Royal Highness, the princess herself, has made a request of you.”
Jacin’s gut tightened. There was no way to stay indifferent as his thoughts started to race.
Please, please, you hateful stars—don’t let Winter have done something stupid.
“If your service meets with Her Majesty’s expectations,” Aimery continued, “we will return you to your previous position within the palace.”
Jacin inclined his head. “I am most grateful for this opportunity to prove myself.”
“I have no doubt of it, Sir Clay.”
Eight
The elevator doors opened into the queen’s solar—an octagonal room made up of windows on all sides. The cylindrical elevator itself was encapsulated in glass and stood at the room’s center so that no part of the view would be obstructed. The décor was simple—thin white pillars and a glass dome overhead, mimicking the dome over the city. This tower, this very room, was the highest point in Artemisia, and the sight of all those buildings white and glittering beneath them, and an entire jewelry case of stars overhead, was all the decoration the room required.
Jacin had been there dozens of times with Sybil, but never for his own audience with the queen. He forced himself to be unconcerned. If he was worried, the queen might detect it, and the last thing he wanted was for anyone to question his loyalty to the crown.
Though an elaborate chair was set on a raised platform, the queen herself was standing at the windows. The glass was crystal clear and showed no hint of reflection. Jacin didn’t know how they’d managed to make glass like that, but the palace was full of it.
Sir Jerrico Solis, the captain of the guard and technically Jacin’s superior, was also there, but Jacin didn’t spare him a glance.
“My Queen,” said Aimery, “you requested Sir Jacin Clay.”
Jacin dropped to one knee as the queen turned. “You may stand, Jacin. How good of you to come.”
Now, wasn’t that
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