Ipsit’s palace, The Bastion, rose like a spearhead out of the valley the capital city was nestled within. Four wide bridges—fixed on the cardinal directions—sloped down to the city, each laden with green gardens.

Violet saw all this from the balcony of Curzon’s war room. The gardens had no blooms, only a kaleidoscope of sage, emerald, and olive, freshly manicured. Sunlight pierced through the trees but brought little warmth, even to her high spot in the palace. Ipsit was a cold ...