“I have my mother’s coloring. She was fair, like me. Talin was fortunate to inherit his mother’s looks and constitution.” His tone was begrudging, despite the compliment.

I hadn’t seen Talin in days. I was about to ask how he was faring when Ceren stabbed another chunk of meat and waved it at me.

“I’m happy to say everything went well last night, and we are ready for the next phase of my experiment.”

I kept my eyes on my plate. “Congratulations.”

“Since you seem so curious about my work, I thought you might like to join me next week when I test it out.”

A chill ran up my bare neck into my hairline. “Join you?”

“Come now. You should be excited. It involves your favorite thing.”

I kept my face blank. “And what would that be, Your Highness?”

He laughed. “Water, of course.”

I wouldn’t go back down to that lake for all the pearls in the Alathian Sea. I smiled, hoping I looked more coy than terrified. “You’re mistaken. Water is not my favorite thing.”

He leaned closer. “No? Then please, enlighten me.”

“Sunlight is my favorite thing, or at least the thing I miss most about Varenia.”

“Not your family?”

“I don’t consider them things.”

Ceren scratched at his chin for a moment. “Well then, you’re still in luck, my dear. My experiment also involves sunlight. Assuming the weather cooperates.”

I turned toward him, my mouth dropping open in surprise. “Do you mean...?”

“Yes, we’ll be going outside. Of course, only if you want to.”

I had to force myself not to bounce in my chair. “When?”

“Tuesday,” he said with a chuckle. “If that suits your busy schedule.”

It didn’t seem possible, but I’d been away from Varenia for nearly two weeks. Tuesday was three days before the market—enough time for someone to deliver a message for me, if I couldn’t make it there myself. “That should be fine.”

“Then it’s settled. Come, there’s something I want to show you.”

He led me down several corridors until we came to a hall I’d never seen before. Torches lined the walls, each illuminating a painting. As we walked, I realized what I was looking at: the portraits of every Varenian woman who’d come before me. And oh, how beautiful they were, each as fresh and vibrant as a seaflower. Now that I’d been away from my home and spent some time among the Ilareans, it was easy to recognize what made the Varenian queens special. Even rendered in paint, they seemed alive in a way no one here did.

As we approached the end of the hallway, I slowed further. The third portrait from the end was the girl who should have come instead of Melina. The engraved plaque on the frame bore the words The Lost Princess Zita. Next was Talia’s portrait. She had olive skin like mine, curly golden-brown hair, and eyes shaped like Talin’s, though more green than his. And there was a softness to her gaze that made her appear gentle and kind. If it was a true likeness, the elders’ decision had been fair, I thought. And Mother would never have any idea how lucky she’d been.

Ceren took a step toward the next portrait. He’d been observing me the whole time. “I thought perhaps you’d like to see how your own portrait looked.”

I joined him in front of the painting, but before I could study it he turned me around to face him, so that the portrait and I were side by side.

“The likeness is very good,” he said. He placed one long, pale finger against my jaw and tilted it to the right. “Yes. I was quite pleased when I saw whom your elders had chosen as my future wife. You looked strong and healthy. Though I must say, he got the eyes wrong. There’s a fire in them that the artist didn’t capture.”

Fear coursed through me as his finger traveled up my cheekbone to the outer edge of my eye. When I blinked, a tear seeped out.

He wiped it away and examined his fingertip for a moment. “Did you know that tears have approximately the same salt concentration in them as blood?” He put his finger to his lips absently and turned me around to face the painting. “What do you think, my lady? Did the artist do you justice? Or should I have him beheaded and use another artist the next time?”

His words had faded into the background by now, the rush of blood in my head drowning them out. Because for the first time since leaving Varenia, I was staring at my beautiful sister. I was looking at Zadie.

“You seem upset, my pearl,” Ceren said. “Is everything all right?”

I forced myself to breathe deeply, though I was constrained by the dress Ebb had chosen for me: a tight black corset covered in iridescent feathers that fanned across my chest, leaving my neck and shoulders bare. I looked like a silly little bird, one who had willingly hopped into a gilded cage, only to find her wings had been clipped when she tried to fly away.

“I’m fine. Just homesick, I suppose.”

“And that is completely understandable. Come, I have one more portrait I’d like to show you.” He led me down another hallway into a large chamber. He stopped in front of a portrait of a pale woman with hair almost as fair as his own, framed in gold-leafed rosettes and scrollwork. Her gown was a luminous white, trimmed with lace and pearls. The only color in the painting was the pink of her lips and cheeks. I had to admire the artist who was able to paint that much detail in shades of ivory, eggshell, and bone.

“My mother,” he said, confirming my suspicions. “She was beautiful, wouldn’t you agree?”

I nodded. “I can’t help but notice she’s wearing white.”

“This was her marriage portrait. Even Ilarean royals don’t wear mourning clothes to weddings.” He glanced at me. “Father knew he should marry a Varenian woman. But he’d already fallen in love with my mother, whose family had been at court for generations. It’s a rather romantic notion, to marry for love, don’t you think?”

“I suppose so.”

“Of course,” he continued, “it didn’t work out so well for them. Mother died in childbirth, and Father ended up marrying Lady Talia anyway. But I suppose I should be grateful he chose love first. Otherwise I would never have been born.”

How lucky for me. I took in the room, pretending to be fascinated by its contents while I sifted through possible topics of conversation. As I scanned the oil paintings and tapestries, my eyes landed on a small glass dish piled with pink pearls. Varenian pearls. They were what would be considered inferior in quality, unevenly shaped or too small. We got very little for them at market.

“Ah yes, my pearls,” Ceren said. “I take one every day for my health. Such powerful little things, aren’t they?”