The musicians strapped their instruments to their belts and let the afternoon sky come alive with the sound of drums. Dancers, with their long dark hair tumbling down their shoulders and their midriffs exposed in their provocative costumes, moved their bodies to the seductive beat of the music and started past the open gates of the ward.

The parade was the fourth event in the week of a royal Eosliran wedding. It was something like a pageant, with stages on large wheels—on which actors acted out the history of the continent—pulled by four mustangs each. But instead of Eosliran history, scenes from The Penny Rose, by Terryn Malkyn. Which followed the romantic tragedy about Queen Penelope Rose and her paramour, who was later beheaded by the king.

Arynn and Iyer sat in the carriage at the front of the parade, tucked between the musicians and fire dancers. They sat next to each other, with their backs to the horses and smiled as they waved at the onlookers. They rounded a corner as they arrived in the square, which made Arryn's arm fly out to her side instinctively. It took her a moment to realize that there was no one at her there side; Keelie was still missing. "My arm is cramping already," said Arynn without letting the painted smile fall from her face.

"If you can spar for five consecutive hours with a broadsword in you hand, you can wave to your people," answered Iyer. He didn't look at her as he spoke, eyes trained on the fire dancers, who brought flaming sticks to their moths and breathed fire, instead. But then his hand covered hers, where it lay between their thighs, and he said, "It's alright."

"What do you mean," she murmured.

He finally shifted his gaze to her and let it fall on her eyes. His thumb moved over her hand in a slow circle, and didn't stop when she let her eyes fall to stare at it pointedly. Softly, with his head angling toward hers, he said, "I know that you're worried about Keelie. I know that he's missing. I've sent out soldiers to search the kingdom. I'm hoping they will have returned by nightfall, and hopefully Keelie will be with them."

Arynn tried not to let the glimmer of hope show in her eyes or spread in he chest. And then Arlington appeared in her mind, with her laughing eyes and sand streaked arms, and the glimmer hope was stomped out. "That wasn't necessary," she said as her face closed off. "Call back your soldiers. I imagine they have better things to do."

"I thought you'd be happy to hear this. I thought you wanted Keelie found," he said confusedly.

She couldn't help the sneer that contorted her face. In that moment, she looked like his mother—the side she only ever showed to Withian when she thought Iyer wasn't looking. "Why would I want to look for someone who willingly left me behind? I'm sure Keelie is perfectly content wherever he is now. Perhaps he followed Arlington across the ocean. I don't know. But wherever he is, I wish him well."

The painted smile fell from Iyer's face. "You can't be serious." And when he saw her hardened unmoving eyes, his face closed off as well. Tightness ran through his shoulder as he turned his face back toward the dancers, and sat up straighter. The angry set of his eyebrows were something foreign on Iyer's face, even though he had been named for the emotion—ire. After a moment, he said, "I'm not calling back the soldiers."

"They won't make it past the Tohari border. The Rattlesnakes won't let them."

Something dark glittered in his eyes. "Why would they deny passage to their own?"

When Arynn was angry, her face become thunderous and her hands became merciless, wrapping around throats and slamming bodies into walls and furniture. When Arynn was furious, the feeling burned at the bottom of her stomach and crept up her sided, until it reached her eyes and ended in an explosion. Her face hardened until it looked to be hewn from stone. His anger met her fury, and sent a shock of lightning through the air as they collided.

"The Rattlesnakes," she said, as the mock king on the stage walked in on his wife and her lover. Her thoughts went to Aleksei for a moment, who she had left in her bed at the palace, still drunk on wine and a lecture that had dragged for hours—a lecture that had ended in feverish kisses. Iyer knew about that, and she wondered how that was. She wondered how Iyer always just knew—about who she was; about Aleksei. She wonder what else he knew. "Are not yours to command. They answer to me, and I alone." But they hadn't.

"It would seem that's not very true," he said with a smug look that Arynn wanted to wipe from his face. "There are whispers about men who wish to challenge you for the position of Vaeilia. They say you haven't been much of one lately. When was the last time you wore armour?" But they weren't in the palace, where she could strike him across the face or slam him into a wall. Her eyes fell to the pale hand that still covered hers between their thighs, and let her sharp nails sink into the flesh. The mock king roared as Iyer's face contorted in pain.

She twisted her hand to dig her iron nails deeper into muscle and sinew. The wounds would close up to leave crescent scars on his hands, leaving him marked like she'd marked Withian. "While they have been practicing techniques I mastered at the age of eleven, I've been tricking an entire court into thinking I'm anything other than their enemy," she said, her voice dangerously low. " And what have you been doing besides tugging at strings and being afraid of your shadow?"

"Keeping your secrets," he gritted as he yanked his hand away and cradled it to his chest. "And caring more about your brother than you have."

The man on the stage pulled a sword from his scabbard, and charged the queen's lover. This is when it all goes to shit, said Arynn to herself. The pitter-patter of the sticks on the drums picked up as the fire dancers' movements quickened, their hands skilfully throwing their sticks in the air and catching them again. Her eyes caught on the dancer at the back of the group, whose hair and eyes were darker than anything she'd ever seen before, contrasting the paleness of their skin.

Something scratched at the back of her mind as she watched the dancer move their lithe body to the beat of the drums. The girl blew into the fire as she spun on her heel and missed a step. The stick fell from her hand and fell to the cobblestone road, and rolled underneath the mobile stage behind her before she could pick it up. The stage caught fire just as the mock king made to behead the other man, and then the world around them went to shit.

The crowd scattered as the stage was engulfed in flames, burning props and the ends of costumes as the actors escaped. Fights broke out at the side of the road as the Etrionarions tried to get to safety. Time slowed as the dancer took objection to Iyer's chest with an arrow, and the carriage leaned to the side as he fell from his seat. For a moment, Arynn thought that it was just a very bad dream, perhaps. But then she heard the popping of wood as the stage collapsed where it stood and the shouting of the townspeople.

The fury in her gut dissolved and froze into a bitter panic that consumed her as she scrambled out of the carriage. "Iyer," she said, voice rough, as she snapped the shaft in half and pulled his limp body onto her thighs. His blood soaked the fabric of her satin dress as she slapped his cheek with bloodied fingers. A scream that wracked the city, and left silence in its wake, was ripped from her throat as his eyes closed. "No, no, no," she cried as she shook his shoulders, desperately trying to wake him up.

Strong hands pulled at her shoulders as the soldier helped her to her feet. She stumbled and feel into his chest as her vision blurred. A single tear fell to the corner of her mouth and slipped onto her tongue as she watched the men lift Iyer into the chariot. Her fingers went limp, releasing the broken arrow shaft from her grip. It fell to the ground with a clatter—black wood with a black raven's feather for a fletching. Her face tightened. "Roven," she said as her rage was awoke again.