“The empress? How does she know who I am?” I didn’t bother denying the truth of my identity. “And who are you?”
He swept a hand across his chest, bowed, and rose in one fluid, graceful movement. “Otokar Kouzlo, the court’s Magician.”
The fire in my throat turned to ice in an instant. I gasped and stumbled back. “M-Magician?”
Otokar nodded, and a swath of dark hair fell over his brow in a roguish way. Something about his sudden dishevelment eased my dread. So did his grin. “Of course. How else do you think Tereza and I were able to find you?”
Without waiting for an answer, he turned on his heel, and his dark robes swished around his feet. He gestured for me to follow and led us through a slim archway in one of the surrounding walls. I hadn’t noticed the doorway before, but the passage opened to another, larger courtyard ringing a fountain spewing water in tall plumes. Beyond the fountain, a grand staircase rose to meet a set of heavy doors that opened as we approached.
Two men in servant’s attire bent their knees as we passed into an interior hallway. Dark shadows fell over marble floors, and the atmosphere reminded me of the inside of the Katedrála z Vzrostl Syn. Otokar paced beside me like a tall, dark wraith.
“I’ve been taken against my will before,” I said in hushed tones. “It didn’t go well for me.”
My escort peered at me from the corner of his eye. “We mean you no harm, m’lady, if that is your worry.”
“Of course that’s my worry. Why did the empress bring me here this way? She could’ve extended an invitation. It would’ve been much less alarming.”
“Would it? Would you have come if she had sent a messenger? Or would you have run like a rabbit sensing a fox?”
I bit my lip and looked away. We turned a corner and climbed a steep staircase. Light spilled into the second-floor hallway, revealing gold tones in the plush carpets and wallpaper. A cathedral-sized window framed the wall at the hall’s opposite end, and sunshine burned through clear glass panes. A flutter of hope awoke in my belly. Perhaps the empress and her Magician meant me no harm, after all. I swallowed my denial and answered Otokar plainly. “You’re right. I would have run.”
“For someone who seems to crave anonymity, you did a terrible job of hiding. Do you not know we could sense you out in that field, grasping for the thunder and storms?”
Stunned by his claim, I stumbled and lurched against him. He grabbed my elbow, holding me steady until I regained my footing. We stopped next to a potted fern perched atop a tall plantstand. More bristling green fronds adorned the hallway, placed evenly against the walls between doorways and framed portraits of Bonhemmish royalty. “What do you mean you sensed me?”
The Magician’s broad mouth turned down, but a playful light shone in his eye. “Tereza will be angry I told you so much already. She wanted to be the one to reveal everything to you. Might I beg you for patience, m’lady?” He winked. “Save me from the wrath of the empress?”
Moments before Otokar had me fearing for my life. Now he made me want to laugh. Was it Magic, or simply his natural charm? “I don’t owe you any favors.”
He ducked his head and lowered his gaze, playing humble. “You do not. But the issue is irrelevant, now.” He raised his knuckles and rapped on the door beside us. A feminine voice answered from within, and the door opened. He motioned for me to enter, and I stepped past a waiting footman into a sweeping, sunny room full of light and color. Thoughts of oyster shells came to mind as I noted the fabrics, paintings, and fixtures all done up in nacre iridescence, a cacophony of pastel, rainbow hues. At the center of it all sat a beautiful young woman, a dark pearl among the light.
Not knowing Bonhemmish court protocol, I paused and averted my eyes. I struggled to keep my mouth closed and not gape at the splendor any more than I already had. I must look like a complete rustic idiot. Fallstaff had been grand, but it had never been a castle or a palace. We had been comfortable there, and I never wanted for anything, but compared to Prigha Castle’s magnificence, my former home had been humbler than I’d realized.
Since fleeing Fallstaff, I’d lived in an attic, a ship’s hold, roadside camps, and a shabby apartment. Perhaps part of me had forgotten places like this still existed.
Otokar appeared at my side and issued another of his graceful bows. I shifted into a curtsey and spotted several loose threads along the hem of my trousers. Mud had dried in crusted splotches on the tips of my boots, and several dark spots of dubious nature stained my cuffs. A flush rose in my cheeks, but I endured the empress’s scrutiny in silence.
Like a bird, she twittered something at Otokar. He answered in his low rumbling voice and motioned to me. “May I present Evelyn Stormbourne,” he said in Inselgrish. “Lady of Thunder, Crown Princess of Inselgrau.”
I straightened my spine and held myself rigid while the Empress of Bonhemm smiled as though she had a secret. Ebony curls crowned her head, and a sparkling comb pinned her complicated coiffure in place. A faint olive tint relieved the paleness of her creamy complexion, and her eyes were dark but bright. “Welcome, Lady Thunder.” Her melodious voice revealed undercurrents of a Bonhemmish accent even thicker than Otokar’s. Everything about her was lovely, petite, and perfect. “I have been so anxious to meet you, although I suspect you will not say the same about me.”
“Your Highness, you have me at a disadvantage. I wasn’t aware you knew of me.”
She rose from her chair, a golden padded settee, and approached. Her blue gown captured the color of the clear sky outside, and I half expected her to sprout wings and flutter away like a dragonfly. “Please call me Tereza. I did not bring you here for such formalities. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
I swallowed an expression of surprise and nodded. “Then please call me Evelyn—Evie. It’s difficult to accept a title when I have no throne.”
Tereza snorted and rolled her eyes in an exceedingly unroyal expression. “You may be a long way from your homeland, but that does not change who you are, or what you are.”
I paused and contemplated her meaning. “What I am, Highness?”
She scowled. “I told you not to call me that. Come.” She motioned to a table and chairs nearby, all pale wood inlaid with mother of pearl accents. “I have ordered luncheon.”
Otokar pulled out a chair for the empress then for me. “May I take your cloak?”
I fingered my Thunder Cloak’s lapel and shifted my feet “I’d, um—I’d rather keep it with me.”
The Magician’s eyebrow twitched, but he backed away and drew out his own seat. Servants scurried, bringing trays laden with roasted hen, potatoes, and a tureen of soup. “Let us not pretend,” Tereza said. “I know your father was the Lord of Thunder, that he was one of the last elementals gods who still had any claim to power. I also know what you have been trying to do in that field outside the city. Otokar can sense you.” She flapped her hand at our imposing companion and pointed at herself. “Even I can sense you.”
I blinked at her, wide-eyed. “You can sense me?”
She removed a napkin from the table, shook it out, and laid it in her lap. A servant leaned in and poured wine from a shimmering bottle the color of a sunrise. He made his way around the table, filling my goblet and Otokar’s as well. “We may not have the god’s ways in Bonhemm anymore,” she said, “but we are still their descendants. My great-great-grandfather was Lord of Ore. Iron, lead, copper, silver, gold—he could...what is the word?” She glanced at Otokar and waggled her fingers.
He grinned. “Manipulate, I think.”
“Yes, yes.” The empress rolled her eyes again. She plucked a roll from her plate and tore it open. “Man-ip-u-late. He could find these metals anywhere, and he could make them into anything.” She snapped her fingers. “Simple as that. Very useful.”
“But you don’t have those ways anymore?” I nearly bit my tongue for asking something so gauche.
She flicked an eyebrow in the way an annoyed horse flicks an ear. “I do not. Although I would say I am still very...em...sensitive.” Her gaze flashed to Otokar. “Sensitive?”
Otokar flipped an affirmative wave and forked up a slice of meat. Someone had filled my plate with a quarter of roasted bird and several small potatoes gleaming in butter. For propriety’s sake, I picked up my fork and stabbed a potato that smelled of rosemary. My formerly absent appetite stirred and pronounced its interest.
“So,” I said. “You’re sensitive to metals. What does that mean, exactly?”
Tereza scooted to the edge of her seat. “If you were to hide a bit of iron in this room, I could find it, perhaps, the way a hunting dog finds a pheasant in the tall grass.”
“You smell it?”
