In the carriage stood a man and a woman, holding hands, crimson cloaks pouring from their shoulders and pooling on the polished carriage floor. They were tan, both of them, with sun-kissed skin and black hair that showed off the gleaming gold crowns nested there. (Royalty, thought Lila. Of course. It was a different world. A different king and queen. But there was always royalty.)

And there between the king and queen, one boot up on the seat like a conqueror, stood a young man, a thin crown glinting in his dark, tousled locks, a cloak of pure gold spilling over his broad shoulders. A prince. He raised his hand in a wave to the crowd, and they devoured the gesture.

“Vares Rhy!” A shout went up from the other side of the parade, quickly taken up and carried on by a dozen other voices. “Vares Rhy! Vares Rhy!”

The prince flashed a dazzling smile and, several feet to Lila’s left, a young woman actually swooned. Lila scoffed at the girl’s silliness, but when she turned back to the parade, she caught the prince looking at her. Intensely. Lila felt her face go hot. He didn’t smile, didn’t wink, only held her gaze for a long, long moment, brow crinkling faintly as if he knew she didn’t belong, as if he looked at her and saw something else. Lila knew she should probably bow, or at least avert her eyes, but she stared stubbornly back. And then the moment passed. The prince broke into a fresh smile and turned back toward his subjects, and the carriage continued on, leaving ribbons and dancers and excited citizens in its wake.

Lila dragged herself back to her senses. She didn’t realize how far she’d pressed forward with the rest of the crowd until she heard the cluster of girls chattering at her elbow.

“Where was he?” murmured one of them. Lila started, relieved to hear someone speaking her language.

“Ser asina gose,” said another, then, in heavily accented English, “You sound good.”

“Rensa tav,” said the first. “I’m practicing for tonight. You should as well, if you want a dance.” She rose up onto her toes to wave at the disappearing prince.

“Your partner in dance,” said a third in broken English, “is appears to be missing.”

The first girl frowned. “He is always in the procession. I do hope he is well.”

“Mas aven,” said the second, rolling her eyes. “Elissa is in love with the black-eyed prince.”

Lila frowned. Black-eyed prince?

“You cannot deny he is dashing. In a haunted kind of way.”

“Anesh. In a frightening kind of way.”

“Tac. He is nothing compared to Rhy.”

“Excuse me,” cut in Lila. The trio of girls twisted toward her. “What is all this?” she asked, waving her hand at the parade. “What’s it for?”

The one who spoke in broken English let out an amazed laugh, as though Lila must be joking.

“Mas aven,” said the second. “Where are you from that you do not know? It is Prince Rhy’s birthday, of course.”

“Of course,” echoed Lila.

“Your accent is remarkable,” said the one who’d been searching for her black-eyed prince. Elissa. “Who is your tutor?”

Now it was Lila’s turn to laugh. The girls only stared at her. But then trumpets—at least they sounded roughly like trumpets—began to sound from the direction the royals and the rest of the festival had come, and the crowd, now in the procession’s wake, moved toward the music, taking the cluster of girls with it. Lila stepped out of the throng and brought her hand to her pocket, checking to make sure the black rock was still there. It was. It hummed, wanting to be held, but she resisted the urge. It may be clever, but so was she.

Without the procession blocking her view, Lila could fully see the glittering river on the other side of the road. It shone with an impossible red light, as if lit from beneath. A source, Kell had called the river, and Lila could see why. It vibrated with power, and the royal procession must have crossed a bridge, for now it trailed down the opposite bank to far-off chants and cheers. Lila’s eyes trailed along the water until they reached a massive, vaulting structure that could only be the palace. It sat not on the banks of the river, like parliament, but over the river itself, spanning the water like a bridge. It seemed carved out of glass, or crystal, its joints fused with copper and stone. Lila took in the structure with hungry eyes. The palace looked like a jewel. No, a crown of jewels, better sized to a mountain than a head.

The trumpets were issuing from the steps, where servants in red and gold half-cloaks were pouring out, carrying trays of food and drink for the masses.

The scent on the air—of strange food and drink and magic—was utterly intoxicating. Lila felt her head swimming with it as she stepped into the street.

The crowds were thinning, and between the emptying road and the red river, a market had blossomed like a hedge of roses. A portion of the masses had gone with the royal parade, but the rest had taken to the market, and Lila followed.

“Crysac!” called a woman, holding up fiery red gems. “Nissa lin.”

“Tessane!” urged another, with what looked like a steaming metal teapot. “Cas tessane.” He waved two fingers in the air. “Sessa lin.”

Everywhere merchants announced their wares in their strange tongue. Lila tried to pick up terms here and there, to pair the shouted words with the items held aloft—cas seemed to mean hot, and lin, she guessed, was a kind of coin—but everything was bright and colorful and humming with power, and she could hardly focus long enough to keep track of anything.