That was how the Royal Conduits were created. The monarchs of the world ordered their conduits made first, connecting them to their bloodlines through even more magic. But those ended up being the only conduits ever made, because just after the eight Royal Conduits were created, the entrance to the chasm disappeared and our world changed forever. Not only did we have magic now, but we had prejudice too—the Rhythms hated us for losing something so vital. They might have hated the Seasons before anyway, for any number of reasons, but it’s the loss of the magic source that hangs with them to this day, even when no one can remember our lives being any different than they are now. There have always been the eight Royal Conduits, nothing more, nothing less.
That’s all I can decipher. And the more I stare at Magic of Primoria, the more my flicker of doubt grows into a full-on flame. What am I even looking for? I’ve had the same Hannah dream every night this week, the one where I see her surrounded by the refugees in the study. But I can’t figure out any connection between the dream and the things I do or don’t do—I even tried hiding the lapis lazuli ball and not touching it for a few days, but I still had the dream. So it isn’t magic? But what did I even want to find, anyway? Some long-lost source of magic that I could present to Sir, proving that I can matter to Winter in my own way in addition to linking us to Cordell?
I slam the book closed and press my back into the balcony railing behind me. The early morning light casts yellow rays through the towering windows on my left. It’s almost time for more queen lessons, but days of being awake so early are catching up to me, and I just want to crawl back into bed and forget about trying to be a proper Cordellan lady. My fingers tighten on the book’s cover and I regret leaving the chakram in my room this morning. A few easy slices and this uncooperative tome would be nothing but confetti.
“Sustenance?”
I look to my right to see Theron peeking over the top of the staircase that leads to the third-floor balcony where I set up camp. A tray of steaming dishes sits in his hands, and my stomach answers with an unladylike gurgle. Theron is the only person who knows about my early morning sessions—he comes here each morning himself to return books or get new ones, and running into him was an inevitability I didn’t mind.
He continues up the stairs, dropping to sit beside me but facing the library below. “I figured you’d be hungry, since you didn’t attend breakfast again,” he says, and sets the tray between us. “My father is appeased that you’re attending those lessons, but your friends are—”
“Deserving of every speck of worry and stress I give them?” I fill in, reaching for a crusty slice of bread from a basket.
Theron laughs. “I was going to say that they’re scaring my court with how often they have whispered disputes behind potted trees, but deserving of stress works too.”
“Someone should tell them potted plants don’t keep sound from carrying.” I stuff small bits of bread into my mouth but keep talking, reveling in this small act of impropriety. It’s all too easy to forget that Theron’s a prince, that his station is so far above mine I couldn’t reach it if I was standing on top of the Klaryns, that I should be proper and ladylike and curtsy when he approaches, all things I learned in yesterday’s etiquette lesson. It’s too easy to do a lot of things around him, and I’m still trying to figure out why that is.
Theron nods toward the book still pressed between my legs and chest. “Dare I ask how it’s going, or are you going to threaten to cut it apart again?”
I groan. “I don’t want to talk about it. This porridge is good. What’s in it, strawberries?”
“You’re still not going to tell me what you’re doing?”
“No,” I say to the food tray. There’s no scenario in which telling someone you’ve been having dreams about a dead queen ends with them not believing you’ve fallen into the dark abyss of insanity.
“I can be helpful,” Theron offers, his voice light. “I am, in fact, trained to help an entire kingdom, so I think I can channel some of that training into helping one beautiful woman.”
I look up at him, my eyes narrow despite the smile that crawls across my face. “That’s not fair, throwing out compliments like that. Do you know how dangerous those things can be?”
Theron shrugs, grinning, his cheeks tinged just the slightest bit pink. He’s embarrassed? I must be as red as the strawberries in the porridge.
He drops his grin into a pout, puckering his lips and pulling his eyebrows tight over his nose.