Page 15 of A Song of Ash and Moonlight

“What in the name of the gods,” she began. She took in the scene—Ryder, Alastrina, me, the discarded trick knife, Father still yelling in fury, the cackling man being dragged away by the royal guards. Yvaine, standing a little apart from us now, gazed distractedly into the starlit gardens.

The confused expression on Yvaine’s face gave me pause. What was she thinking?

Gemma pulled me into her arms and held me fast. “A prank?” she said, angrily. “Some sort of sick joke?”

“One of many we’ll have to deal with from now on, I’m sure,” Alastrina said, looking around us with barely veiled contempt. Her black hair was slicked back into a tight bun, making her look evenmore severe and formidable than usual. “Look at them all,” she muttered, jerking her chin at the whispering crowd. “That worthless shit of a man, whoever he is, will be famous for the rest of his life. And here we are, being stared at like an exhibition at a museum.”

“You do look marvelous though,” blurted Illaria, clearly more than a bit tipsy, but Alastrina didn’t seem to mind. In fact, her expression brightened, and she took in the sight of Illaria in her gorgeous green dress with obvious delight.

“The famous Illaria Farrow,” Alastrina said, with no trace of irony whatsoever. She moved as if to rush over to her, then hesitated, lookingbashful, of all things, which was not a word I’d ever assigned to Alastrina Bask.

Suddenly, as if he’d swept everyone aside like toys, Father was there in front of me, bigger than anyone watching, bigger than all of us.

“You’re unhurt?” he whispered. “Dear heart, he didn’t hurt you?”

He cupped my face in his hands and stared down at me. His palms were blazing hot; his body shook with restrained sentinel magic.

I shrank back from him and said nothing. My wrist twinged with phantom pain, and the ground seemed to tilt back and forth under my feet.

“We have a speech to make” was all I could say. My eyes stung at the sight of him standing there, dismayed and bewildered, looking from me to Ryder to the abandoned knife. What if all these people hadn’t been here to stop him? Would he have pulverized that man right before my eyes?

I strode across the veranda and into the ballroom, praying I wouldn’t fall on my face and gratified to hear Gemma, Ryder, and Alastrina right on my heels. The buzzing crowd parted before us. Distantly, I felt a kiss of cold air against my abdomen and remembered that my dress was torn. If I left to change, I’d never come back. I kept my fists clenched at my sides, determined not to fiddle with theripped fabric.

At the dais stood a man and woman, tall and dour, as pale and dark-haired as their children. Both of them stared at me with such scowling confusion that I, still reeling and unsteady, nearly laughed in their faces.

“What happened?” Lord Alaster Bask, patriarch of his house, hissed at Alastrina.

“Later,” Alastrina replied quietly, looking around the room with a sharp wariness I felt myself. What if the next blade was real?

“Lord Bask,” I said smoothly, curtsying before Alaster, and then before his wife, Enid, who looked at me with eyes as cold and distant as stars. “Lady Bask.”

I moved past them to the beguiled receiver hanging from the ceiling, a ball of tightly wound gold mesh that could have fit in the palm of my hand. As I approached, it buzzed quietly with magic, making my lips tingle.

Ryder cut in front of me and wrapped a hand around the receiver. He looked at me hard over his black-feathered sleeve. I noticed with irritated distraction the long dark lashes framing his eyes.

“We can do this later, or another day entirely,” he said quietly. “You were just stabbed, Ashbourne.”

I pushed past him as politely as I could manage. “I didn’t realize a prank as inconsequential as that one could frighten thefearsomeRyder Bask.”

He glowered at me—I could feel his gaze burning into my shoulder—but I ignored him and began to speak. “Friends old and new, citizens of this continent and of those beyond, we—the children of the Houses of Ashbourne and Bask—thank you for being here tonight. On behalf of my sister, Lady Imogen, and Lord Ryder and Lady Alastrina, and my father, Lord Gideon”—I gestured at my father, who stood uncomfortably halfway up the platform’s stairs, seeming distracted,much like the queen had been—“and on behalf of Lord Alaster Bask and Lady Enid Bask, I must tell you how honored we all are that High Queen Yvaine, the gods’ own chosen one, has opened her home to us tonight to commemorate the past and celebrate the future.”

Remarkable, how the words spilled out of me so easily. The slightly frantic thought occurred to me that perhaps I ought to be stabbed by a trick weapon before every public event. Apparently it did wonders for the nerves.

Then Alastrina stepped forward and began the next section of our address. “As you well know, our two families—Anointed long ago by the gods—have for too many long years been at war. A needless war, its origins lost to the dust of time.” She paused, solemn, the look on her face comically reverent. I knew very well how deeply everyone on this stage wished they were somewhere else,anywhereelse.

“When the gods Anointed our ancestors,” she continued, “they intended for their descendants to forever serve the world of Edyn by protecting it, cultivating it, and serving its citizens and its queen…”

“But in that,” Ryder said, stepping forward, “we have failed.”

And so they went on, and Gemma too. I didn’t have to speak again until the end and waited, swaying a little, then suddenly swayingmorethan a little. Everyone’s words turned to mush in my head; the sea of faces watching us became a swirl of muddy color.

I blinked hard, trying to clear my vision, but that only made things worse. And then a blazing pain erupted in my abdomen—red hot, violent—and the fiery tendrils of it shot up my arms and down my legs.

I stumbled. A strong hand fell to the small of my back, steadying me, but it did nothing for the sudden rush of sickness surging through me, building fast at the back of my throat. I needed air. I sucked in a breath, then managed another, and a weak third, before I discovered that Icouldn’tbreathe any longer, not more than a thinrasp of air. My throat felt thick and close, and the pain in my stomach kept shooting outward over and over, like the waves of some wicked hot sea.

A faint noise like distant thunder met my ears. Parts of my mind were still working—little corners, diamond-bright and spinning. I saw the gathered crowd applauding us, heard pleased cheers. Someone was helping me walk. The world dipped and darkened, and I fell forward, whacked my shin on a marble ledge.

“What’s wrong with her?” came a voice, familiar and frightened and far away. Gemma. Angry voices buzzed behind hers, a backdrop of fury. I heard my father among them.

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