She frowned. “And what? Hope he doesn’t ask what this egg-shaped thing is doing with this very Rhodairen-looking girl? You can’t trust him.”

I spun the paper so the writing faced me. “First, he’s Ambriellan, so I don’t think he’ll be looking to turn me over first chance, particularly if he’s a rebel. And second, I’m not planning on bringing him the egg. But a few theoretical questions won’t hurt.”

Kiva leaned back, folding her arms. “I don’t like it, but I don’t have another idea.”

I smirked, scanning through the flyer again. At the bottom, written in almost illegible handwriting, was the address and his name: Caylus Zander.

Fifteen

It felt good to have a plan again, as difficult as it would be to enact. It relied on me playing a part I wasn’t sure I could. Razel wanted to control me, to break me, and like a desert snake with its prey, the more I riled against her, the more she’d constrict. So I had to stop reacting, stop challenging her, and instead play the demure, compliant little princess she wanted.

It started with asking for permission to leave the castle.

After my morning check on the egg, I sent a note to Razel asking to take a trip into the city, then left with Kiva for the training grounds, where we found a small space far away from Illucian soldiers to train. It felt like walking into a den of wolves. The force of their glares was palpable, as if each one of them were imagining the feel of their blade piercing my flesh.

Their treatment of one another wasn’t much better. All around us, they bested one another viciously in the sparring rings or at swordplay, leaving their opponents bleeding in the dust. There was no camaraderie here, no love or respect. Just sharp blades and the smack of bone against flesh.

My focus waned as Kiva and I stretched. I kept catching groups of soldiers looking at us, then quickly away, their laughter echoing across the foggy grounds. News of my encounter with Razel last night must have spread.

“Ignore them,” Kiva said.

I tried. I really did. But when one soldier imitated me cowering in fear to the snickers of her cohorts, I snatched up my bow, seized a dulled practice arrow, and nocked it. In one smooth movement, I turned, drew, and loosed. The arrow struck the practice dummy they were standing around between the eyes.

They stopped laughing.

Kiva grinned. “I forgot how good you were with that thing.”

Satisfaction warmed my blood, but as I turned the gold-veined black bow over in my hand, thoughts of Estrel crept in, and the feeling faded. How many hours had she spent teaching me to shoot with this bow?