“My lord,” Josten called.

“I’ll be back,” Kestrel said before hurrying forward, not wanting it to look like Aramy was leading him. He was the energos here, after all.

As strange as this might be, he still preferred it over Josten’s tour. Aramy made for much better company…and this was the first time they’d been so close. Some dim part of Kestrel noted that the ministra was a little bit taller than him.

Then Aramy’s voice brushed his ear, soft enough to tickle. “I must say, Lord Knight, that you’ve got amazing self-control. I don't mean to flatter myself too much, but I'd have expected you to dissolve into a slobbering puddle by this point."

Ice twisted in Kestrel's gut. Winds, Four Winds. Had Aramy seen right through him? Who knew what he could do, with his aether aura and those strange Ahui eyes.

"It's not a bad thing. Self-control is a valuable skill for any energos to have.”

"Uh, yeah," Kestrel said once he unstuck his throat. "I guess...I'd just...I'd like to be better than other energi."

Aramy laughed. "An admirable quality, Lord Knight.”

Kestrel managed to crack an answering smile. So Aramy just thought he was an energos with exceptional self-control. Nothing incriminating about that.

"Shall I take you to my favorite reading room?" Aramy said as he continued walking—really, more like steering. "It's one floor up. Very nice and secluded, unlike that hideous atrium."

This isn't right. He has total control of this conversation, Kestrel thought, sweating. You're the energos—take the initiative! Say something!

"Oh, right, Lord Basquiale," he blurted. "I forgot to congratulate you. For last night's performance, you know. That was amazing!"

He turned toward Aramy, hoping with all his heart that he'd said the right thing. For a wild moment he feared he hadn't, for a strange tension came over Aramy's face, tautening his muscles. Then his smooth smile slipped back in place.

"Thank you very much, my lord. Though I'd say His Highness deserves most of the accolades."

"I wouldn't," Kestrel said, startled by his confidence. "If it weren't for you, he'd have never been able to do that.”

"Hmm." Aramy tilted his head. Then he wrenched on Kestrel's arm, pulling him toward a winding spiral staircase just beyond the hall. "Well, I suppose I've gotten used to taking my power for granted. I sometimes forget how unusual aether aura is."

Taking my power for granted... With a start, Kestrel wondered if he did the same thing—but of course not. When his abilities were so unusual, so dangerous, he couldn't let himself forget their importance for a second. He breathed in, as if to torture himself, because all he could smell was Aramy's moonflower perfume.

Why did it disappoint him so much? He should have gotten used to it. Maybe he'd hoped Aramy would be different, this ministra unlike any other he’d ever met.

But he's still a ministra, and you're...you're just a freak.

As they walked up the stairs, Kestrel's mind brimmed with questions, all about Aramy's aura. When he'd discovered it, whether it had frightened him at first. What his family thought about it. His peers. Did they fear it? Was it the reason the Crown Prince had bonded with him?

But if Kestrel acted too interested in this one subject, someone as sharp as Aramy was bound to get suspicious.

The second floor was smaller and more intimate than the atrium, floored in honey-colored wood and illuminated by aura spheres as well as patches of colorful light from the stained-glass windows. As he and Aramy passed beneath a window, Kestrel watched the light play across Aramy's face, flooding it deep green, then a red that matched his eyes exactly.

Then Kestrel realized he was staring at a bound ministra and averted his gaze.

At last Aramy stopped before a nook lined with cushioned benches. A clear window let natural light spill through, and when Kestrel peered out, his breath caught. From here, he had a magnificent view of a park that stretched to the east of the library. Before the park rose the implacable wall of the Consort's Court, so high he still couldn't see over it.

"You know," Aramy said, sinking onto a bench, "I've heard that the eastern windows of the highest tower used to be the favorite gathering place of unbound energi. They claimed the lighting was best there, but really they wanted to spy on the Consort's Court. The Queen—that's Myrenia Azed, our dear Queen Hyderia's mother—caught wind and had the windows replaced by stained glass."

The Queen. At last Kestrel might have an opening. He asked, "The Queen...I haven't seen her yet? I mean, uh, I'm not saying that I should, but I just thought—"

"Hmm?" Aramy rested his chin atop clasped hands. "You didn't know?"

"Know what?" Kestrel was becoming sadly familiar with the feeling of being much, much stupider than Aramy.

"Her Majesty isn't at court. Hasn't been for the better part of a year. Last spring, she left on an expedition to the southern seas, seeking the merfolk's homeland.”

Kestrel had heard about that expedition back in Mount Jaeg, but he'd assumed it had long finished. "I...see."

"Don't get it in your head that you will see her often," Aramy said with a careless shrug. "I have been bonded to her son for a year and can count the number of times I've spoken to her on one hand. Word is she despises court."

"What about the Consort?" Kestrel asked uncertainly. "I was told he never leaves the Consort's Court..."

"I have been here for eight years. First at the Consort's Court, then by His Highness' side." Aramy craned his neck, gazing at the looming coral wall. "I have never seen the Queen's Consort emerge from those walls. Not once."

Maybe Kestrel was getting a little better at this, a little wiser, because he thought he understood Aramy's real meaning: The true power at court is the Crown Prince.

So what did that mean? Kestrel should try to stay in the prince's good graces? Even an idiot knew to do that. Aramy was trying to tell him something more, something vital, but Kestrel couldn't divine it. He could only think about the banquet, how Aramy had licked Carnelio’s fingers, how Carnelio had pulled him into the kiss. The pouring rain. The broken glass. The prince proclaiming the royal house’s power.

"Is there anything else you'd like to know, Lord Knight?" Aramy fixed Kestrel with those intense red eyes, and Kestrel swallowed.

So much. He had so many questions. But was it wise to trust Aramy?

That was when he heard a faint creak above him. And another sound, like a breath.

Alarmed, Kestrel looked up.

A shadowy shape dropped from the ceiling. It flowed across the nook, a knife gleaming in hand.

Straight toward Aramy.

Kestrel’s body moved for him. He reached for his knife holster—but his hand smacked against his pants. Shit. Weapons were not allowed inside the palace complex; the guards had taken away his two regulation knives when he’d arrived.

Only one thing to do. A spell, any spell. But no words came to his mind.

His aura roared. You don't need words!

Kestrel released it.

The wind exploded out of him with enough force to knock him back. Cuts tore across his skin, stinging like needles.

Aramy cried out. The assassin whirled, trying to face him.

Kestrel gritted his teeth and concentrated on shaping his aura. His lips moved, but he didn’t know if he was even saying a spell or not. Didn’t matter.

He flung out his hands. The wind twisted into a narrow spear, then surged forward and slammed the assassin into the window.

Glass shattered. The shards exploded everywhere, lancing at Kestrel's skin. He hit the floor so hard his teeth rattled.

He heard screams, faint and distant. Footsteps rushing toward him. The smell of moonflowers as Aramy knelt beside him.

"Lord Knight," Aramy said, his voice oddly distorted. "Lord Knight, are you all right?"

I’m fine, but Kestrel couldn't move his lips. Couldn't move anything. His eyelids drifted shut, and he sank into warm darkness.