She turned and left the room in a rustle of silk.

But time passed, and soon they would have to leave for the temple, and still her father did not come. Raisa peeked out into the corridor, and a stocky young guardsman snapped to attention outside the door.

“Your Highness?” the soldier said. “How may I assist?”

“Oh. I was just looking.”

They stood there awkwardly for a moment. Then Raisa said, “Well, carry on,” and pulled the door closed.

Unable to sit still, Raisa threw open the doors to the terrace and walked out into the sultry evening.

Thunder grumbled over Hanalea, Rissa, and Althea. Great pillars of clouds tumbled over the peaks, underlit with green-and-yellow lightning. The air was thick with the scent of rain, almost too thick to breathe, and the hair on Raisa’s arms and the back of her neck prickled.

The wind picked up, setting the clouds in motion like gray wolves prowling over the distant hills. Raisa hunched her shoulders. Jitters, she said to herself. Just jitters.

Magret was as jumpy as Raisa. She picked through the messages on the front table as if she might find an undiscovered note from Averill. She fussed with Raisa’s hair, her hemline, her makeup, and tugged at her laces until Raisa had to struggle not to scream at her.

Every time Magret opened her mouth, words spilled out in a nervous cascade. “Did you hear? Prince Gerard Montaigne of Arden is here. Right in the middle of the war, he’s come up here, probably meaning to go home with a marriage contract in hand. He’s the youngest of five brothers, so I don’t know why he thinks the princess heir of the Fells would give him the time of day. That Prince Liam, now, he’s a handsome boy, and such good manners. He’s the heir to the throne of Tamron, you know.”

Finally there was a knock at the door. Raisa jumped to answer it, but Magret, of course, beat her to it.

It was not her father. It was Gavan Bayar, High Wizard of the Fells, resplendent in silver and black to match his mane of silver hair and thick black brows.

“My Lord Bayar,” Magret stammered. “I thought…We were expecting…”

Lord Bayar stepped past Magret and bowed low to Raisa. “Your Highness, you are a vision. I wish I were a younger man.” He paused, his eyes traveling over her from head to toe. “Unfortunately, your father still has not returned from Chalk Cliffs. The queen has asked me to escort you to the temple.” He offered his arm. “It would be my honor.”

Raisa backed away, shaking her head. “Perhaps…he’ll still come.”

“Everyone is assembled,” Lord Bayar said. “It is time. The queen requires your attendance.”