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She sighed. “Which, unfortunately, is more likely.”

Today they had dispensed with the carriages and rode horses instead, though Corene wasn’t sure who had made that decision. Steff was a natural rider, of course—probably because of all those years spent around farm animals—and the other three women were equally adept on horseback. Corene had never spent much time in the saddle, since her mother despised unnecessary activity and her father was the consummate city man. But old King Vernon’s first wife had insisted that the princesses learn every noble skill, and she’d taken them out for long ninedays in the country to practice riding and hunting. Corene had been delighted at the invention of elaymotives, which didn’t require horses; she wouldn’t mind if she never saw a horse again for the rest of her life.

Still, she managed to control her animal creditably enough as they all gathered in the courtyard. She was interested to see that, with the help of his man, Garameno was able to clamber aboard and strap himself tightly into the saddle, where he looked extremely comfortable. She guided her piebald mare in his direction.

“Just from the way you sit, I can tell you’re an excellent horseman,” she greeted him.

He smiled over at her—
down
at her, actually, which was an odd sensation. She was so used to him looking up at her from his chair. But
she could tell now that he was a taller man than she had ever realized, with wide shoulders and powerful forearms. In fact, from this angle, she could see that he was built very much like the athletic Greggorio. “I love to ride,” Garameno admitted. “Whenever I’m in the country, I pick the best horse in the stable and race as fast as I can go.”

About half the empress’s guards clattered out of the courtyard, and the royal party fell in behind them—Liramelli and Steff in the lead, Garameno and Corene at the back of the column. Foley was just behind them, and the rest of the royal soldiers took up the rear.

“You’re not afraid the horse will stumble and throw you?” Corene asked. “It might be tricky for you to remount.”

Garameno’s eyes gleamed; she wondered if it had been indelicate to point out that Garameno might face challenges another rider might not. Then she remembered what Greggorio had told her on her very first evening at the palace—it was a riding accident that had left Garameno so gravely injured. So it
had
been an indelicate question, though now she wished she’d asked a different one:
Are you afraid every time you climb back in the saddle?
She would be terrified, she was sure. Though she was probably just stubborn enough to do it again anyway.

When Garameno replied, his voice was unruffled. “I don’t go alone, of course,” he replied. “I would advocate that nobody should.”

“No, I am just clumsy enough to fall and hit my head,” she agreed. “I would never go riding by myself. Actually, I never go riding just for pleasure since it’s not something I’m good at.”

“And yet you look completely at ease on horseback.”

She laughed. “You’re just being gallant.”

“People accuse me of that so often,” he murmured, which made her laugh again.

“Normally that’s not my adjective for you,” she agreed. “Clever. Crafty. Maybe even scheming. In so many ways, you remind me of my father.”

“You flatter me.”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

He smiled. “Oh, I forgot. You ran away from your father.”

“That’s what happens to people who try to control everyone around them,” she said. “They turn everyone into a rebel.”

“I don’t try to control people,” Garameno said. “Sometimes I try to control circumstances.”

“It ends up being the same thing.”

“More benign, I would think.”

“I’m not sure I would agree.”

He turned his head to survey her. His eyes were cool and assessing; again, she noticed how different he seemed when he watched her from horseback. “But then, you speak as someone who doesn’t bother to exercise any control at all,” he said softly. He was smiling but it wasn’t a particularly pleasant smile. “Over your temper—your tongue—even your wild red hair.”

When she laughed, she could see it surprised him; he had expected to make her angry. “And I thought I had been so well-behaved here in Malinqua.”

“So far,” he said. “But something about you always suggests the possibility you will throw a tantrum.”

“That’s what so many people think about me,” she said cheerfully. “But I learned self-restraint in the
cradle
. I know exactly what words are dangerous to say and what emotions I’d better not show if I want to survive at court.” She leaned a little closer, over the gulf that lay between their two horses as they jogged along. “So if I behave badly, I do it on purpose. Not because I can’t help myself—but because I don’t care about the consequences.”

He continued to watch her a few more moments in silence, and Corene took the opportunity to glance around. Until this point, they had covered familiar ground, taking the straight road that led to the iron gates. Their party was so large that most of the rest of the traffic had pressed to either side of the street to allow them to pass. The majority of the onlookers watched with curiosity and even excitement, waving to the royal party and calling out some of their names. Corene saw Jiramondi and Greggorio wave in response; Garameno seemed too intent on her to pay attention to the crowds.

Just now, they were trotting past the gate, leaving the relative safety of the walled city, and the royal guards drew a little closer on all sides. Liramelli called something out to the lead rider and the whole party
turned north, toward the gleaming white tower with its scoop of moon resting at the top.

“I think you do care about the consequences,” Garameno said at last. “If you make a fuss, it’s because you want to be noticed. You don’t care if people are angry at you. You only care if people are ignoring you.”

That was a blow straight to the gut, but Corene didn’t allow her reaction to show. Instead she favored him with a slight, quizzical smile. “So I’m not a rebel, you think, merely a spoiled child?”

“More interesting than that,” he said. “Someone capable of abandon.”

“I think I liked it better when you were being gallant.”

He laughed. “I intended it as a compliment.”

“Did you?”

“I don’t take you for granted, Princess Corene. That’s all I’m trying to say.”

It wasn’t; he was trying to warn her, though she wasn’t sure of the precise message. Maybe he just wanted her to know that he was paying attention. That he knew she didn’t mind stirring up trouble—and he didn’t mind being ruthless in quashing it.
So what happens when the girl capable of abandon meets the man who tries to control every situation?
she wondered.
Who wins, who loses? Is the man overwhelmed, or does the girl disappear?

And that led her to the next silent question.
What was Sarona capable of—and did Garameno try to control
her
?

But when she replied, her voice and her words were demure. “I’m glad you don’t take me for granted,” she said. “I like it when people realize I’m in the room.”

“Yes,” he said, “I’m sure you do.”

By this time their cavalcade had turned onto a wide boulevard leading toward the tower. Up till now, all of Corene’s excursions had been through the southern portions of the city, so she looked around with interest. The basic architecture was similar, most of the buildings being only two or three stories high, and most constructed of wood or stone in red, white, or marbled colors. But here everything looked crisper somehow, as if the stone hadn’t had time to wear down with decades of use.

It seemed a reasonable time to change the subject to something much
more conventional. “This part of town seems cleaner and fresher,” she observed. “Is it newer?”

“Yes, by about a hundred years,” Garameno said. “When the city was first laid out, the castle was built at the northernmost edge in the center of the labyrinth. Everything farther north was open land. At that time,” he added, “there were dozens of nomadic clans that roamed in the flatlands and hills.” He waved vaguely in the direction of the tower. “Occasionally they’d form some uneasy alliance and elect a temporary leader and attack the smaller towns and homesteads. Because there were miles of open land north of the palace, the royal watch could see the raiding parties for hours before they arrived and they could always assemble troops to greet them. The clans never mounted a successful attack against the palace.”

“Sounds exciting,” Corene commented. “So when was it safe to start building the city up this way?”

“Oh, the clans died out decades ago. They say there are still remnants up in the mountains between Berringey and Malinqua—wild men and women who live by no law but their own—but they haven’t been a real presence for at least a hundred years. As the land grew more settled, the city stretched northward. The inexorable march of civilization.”

“And what about the white tower? Was it built before or after the city came this far?”

“Before,” said Garameno. “I understand it was even more spectacular then, especially at night—this lone beacon of light surrounded by miles of emptiness, almost like a star fallen to the middle of the ocean. There are paintings of it, back at the palace, if you’d like to see them. Stunning, actually.”

“Yes, that sounds most impressive.”

“There’s a whole gallery of paintings of the landmarks of Malinqua. There’s a plain west of the city where the grass is always purple. No one knows why. When it’s transplanted, the colors gradually shift to green. They suspect some mineral in the soil, but even our eminent scientists haven’t been able to isolate it. Anyway, there must be several dozen paintings of that, as well.”

“I’d like to visit that spot someday.”

“I hope you shall.”

For the rest of their ride, he divided his time between describing other local beauties and pointing out key sights along their route—several of the scientific institutes that Filomara was so proud of, the homes of two well-known artists, a music school, a couple of open-air markets that were not nearly as big as the more famous venue to the south. Corene was heartily sick of Palminera’s attractions by the time they finally arrived at the white tower.

It appeared to be roughly as big as its red counterpart, its base the size of a bedroom suite back at the royal palace. The soldiers deployed around it while the royal party gathered at the entrance, a wide rectangular opening twice as high as a man.

“I suppose you plan to climb to the top?” Garameno asked Corene.

“I suppose I do.”

“Then I will await you here. Of course.”

She nodded and swung down from the saddle, already a little sore from the unaccustomed exercise. Most of the others in their party had dismounted as well, though Jiramondi and Melissande stayed on horseback.

“I do not have the slightest desire to traipse up
endless
stairs and begin gasping for breath and look altogether ridiculous,” Melissande explained. “All of you go. Go. We will amuse ourselves in some manner. Perhaps we will debate what we should wear to the empress’s festival.”

“Yes, because I am always interested in discussing fashion,” Garameno said sardonically.

Jiramondi was amused. “But there are so many questions to answer!” he exclaimed. “A partial mask or one that covers your entire face? Clothing in your usual style so that everyone knows who you are, or an entirely different sort of ensemble, so no one will guess your identity? These are important matters.”

“I am so glad you agree,” Melissande said.

Corene laughed and waited until all the others who wanted to make the climb had dismounted from their horses. Foley was among them. He didn’t say so, but Corene was sure it was because at the
last
tower, the excitement had occurred at the very top, while he had waited below. He did not want to be absent if anything dramatic occurred again.

All in all, six of them stepped from the outer sunshine to the inner
shadows and looked around as their eyes adjusted to the change in light. This tower was essentially a mirror image of the southern one, with a similar wood-and-metal stairway winding up and up and up the tall spire. The lighting was the same as well—a translucent tube that traced a thin line of illumination all the way to the distant top.

But despite the similarities in construction, the place had an entirely different
feel
, Corene thought. The fire at the crown of the red tower had generated enough heat to raise the temperature inside the whole column, and the light it had thrown down through its glass petals was flickering and warm, especially as it played off the rough cinnamon walls. But the smooth white stones of the northern tower seemed to absorb light, not play it back, and the fixed glow that filtered down from the white crystal was as chilly as starlight. The whole place felt cold as winter. Corene suddenly wished she’d brought a heavier jacket.

“It’s different here,” Alette said.

Corene nodded. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“I like the flame tower better,” Liramelli agreed. “Although sometimes if I’m in a certain mood—if I want to think something through very carefully—I find that this is a good place to come. It’s very still. You can focus your mind.”

“Not my mind,” Corene said. “The place just makes me cold.”

“You’ll warm up fast enough once you start climbing,” Steff said. He jerked his chin at Greggorio. “Want to race to the top again?”

Greggorio looked more animated than he had at any time since Sarona’s death. “It’s the only reason I came along. I’m taking the outer edge this time, remember?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t forget that.”

They positioned themselves at the bottom of the stairwell, each of them with one foot on the first step, jostling each other good-naturedly. “Someone give us the signal to start,” Steff called.

“Are you ready?” Corene said. “Then—
go
!”

They took off with whoops and curses, their boots pounding on the wood and metal. Foley tipped his head to critically watch their progress, but none of the women could be bothered to care.