I remember the beaches of Aphelion and the day I was dangled on a rope over the water. I’ve decided I hate beaches and sand and maybe the ocean, too, as pretty as it is. This one’s probably also filled with deadly, flesh-eating creatures.

I pull off my boots and then curse when the hot sand instantly burns my feet.

Yes, I fucking hate the beach.

Loathe it, in fact.

I move quickly, attempting to find relief from this cursed stretch of blazing sand.

Finally, a stone pathway appears, winding towards the palace. In the distance, I make out a pair of guards flanking an entrance.

It feels as though I have no choice but to walk up and introduce myself. I could try to find a way to sneak in, perhaps get a job as a servant like Willow in Aphelion, but the clock is ticking on an impossible timeline, and I only have five days. This will require directness.

I make my way up the path. The stones are warm, but at least they don’t singe my feet. When I’m in view of the gate, I stop, again trying to smooth down my hair to make myself appear somewhat like the queen I apparently am. I’m sure it’s hopeless, though.

I consider putting my boots back on, but my feet are covered in sand, and the idea is deeply unappealing.

So I straighten my shoulders, trying to radiate confidence.

Fake it until you make it, they say.

I have a feeling I’m about to become the world’s biggest imposter.

I blow out a breath and then march towards the gate with my boots dangling from my hand and my chin held high, clinging to the promise of my certain failure.

CHAPTER 3

ALLUVION—THE CRYSTAL PALACE

Ilimp my way up the path as the Alluvion guards eye me with understandable suspicion. They wear light clothing—swaths of blue fabric slung across their broad chests, leaving slivers of exposed sun-kissed skin, and knee-length skirts draped around their hips. Silver shoulder plates, vambraces, and shin guards complete their armor.

They each hold a spear in one hand and wear a sword strapped to their back. My lightning magic buzzes under my skin, and I’d have no problem dispatching these two obstacles, but I don’t want to make that sort of entrance. Cyan will never trust me with the ark’s location if I go around maiming his guards without provocation.

The palace glints in the sun, reflecting so brightly its brilliance sears my retinas. The guards wear shields over their eyes made from pairs of oval-shaped lenses, obviously meant to protect from the glare.