Page 13 of Harbinger

But doesn’t want living in his own residence. They aren’t mansions. They’re gilded cages for royal hostages.

“Is everyone in Wintour rich?” I know I’m staring, but I can’t help it.

“Hardly.” He snorts. “But the king has plenty of favorites in the other orders.”

“I can’t imagine leaving Damalis for this,” I admit.

“It’s considered an honor to live here at his request,” he says gruffly. His calculating gaze falls like dominoes on the sprawling estates lined up before us.

Being given a house like that is the kind of honor that might catch the attention of my otherwise oblivious sister.

I frown. “You wouldn’t actually move here, though.”

His head snaps to face me. “No.”

But he would. We both know my sister would prefer to live in the capital. Why do people always try to change for love?

Some of the houses bear the symbols of other orders. We pass ones marked with the sigils of Calix, Leontia, even Marius.

“Are we the only patron line that doesn’t have an estate close enough to kiss the king’s ass upon demand?” I ask as we reach a gate bearing the hydra of Velesont.

“Unfortunately, yes,” he says.

A few streets farther down, the stately homes give way to rows of elegant town houses lined up like trophies. Each still features a dark exterior to honor the Stars, but the black marble has been exchanged for stone, actual gold for paint. The entire capital is cloaked in darkness, broken only by gilded lines and domes of glass. The effect is a city that feels trapped in endless night, even at midday. It’s nothing like the simple wood buildings and limestone estates in Damalis. Although in both cities, we use heavy draperies and shrouds to protect the sky from our light pollution. A sign of respect to the Stars.

Guards stroll the streets. There’s less security here than near the palace, but I can feel them assessing us.

Kieren fiddles with a carved bit of bone as we walk, his thumb tracing the pegasus etched into it out of habit. He chatters away as I drink in the city, sharing everything he knows about the capital. Which apparently is a lot. He visited with Broderic last year when my brother attended his first annual council meeting as patron.

Kieren points out the way the city is stacked like the towering astrolatory at its peak, descending in tiers of power. The vespers sit at the top, because whoever reads the Stars first has all the leverage. Followed by the palace and the king himself to control the vespers and what they know. Then the aristocrats, the rich and the businesses that cater to them, and, at the bottom, the poor souls truly responsible for keeping it all running.

“Shouldn’t the astrolatory be for everyone, at least?” It seems unfair.

“It’s strategic,” he says, leading me toward a bustling city block. “The Weeping Sisters prevent attacks by sea.”

I roll my eyes. That’s why I nearly froze to death last night? Because the waterfalls serve as added security for what’s already the most inaccessible point in Antares? “No one has attacked us since the Last War.”

Of course, that’s usually the case.

A shadow passes over his face, but he shrugs and it’s gone.

Past the wealthy residential district, the city opens into the wide High Street lined on either side by shops and cafés. Shoppers spill out their doors, loaded down with packages wrapped in brown paper, bags hooked on their arms.

The morning sun catches the jewelry displayed in the nearest window. Poison rings with their delicate clasps opened to reveal hidden compartments, their designs refined for court but lethal at dinner parties. Next to them, a jewel-encrusted cane showcases its hidden dagger.

Maybe this is why Broderic doesn’t want any of us going into Wintour alone to explore. Beautiful things feel deadly here. Even the jewelry is made for those with too much money and even more enemies.

Although I suffer from neither problem, I still shiver as I drink it all in. I’ve heard stories—everyone has—about the mysterious or sudden deaths that seem to plague particular bloodlines. Mostly Order Calix, even if Velesont seems to be similarly afflicted. I suppose when you control all the commerce and transportation, you make plenty of enemies—even ones related to you.

The next shop is less dangerous, only hawking the latest fashions. Velvet overcoats with matching embroidered gloves, leather breeches, lace gowns with high necks that are far from modest.

By the time I’m forced to drag Kieren away from a display of corsets and frilly undergarments, I’ve relaxed a little, despite the prickling at the back of my neck that feels as though we’re being watched by the sentries posted on every city block.

“Look at that.” He stares longingly at a new astrolabe, one with a dial that sends and delivers messages. His is so old that it can only send a simple summoning signal.

I lean closer to read the attached price tag, my fingers brushing the few silver crowns in my pocket, but I nearly choke at the eye-watering price. “You could buy one of the houses outside the palace for that!”

“So, I won’t find it in my boot on Twelvetide?” he teases.