He took in her desperate expression. “I’ll go back first thing in the morning. But I can’t promise anything.”
“You’ll find him, Pip. You have to.”
He nodded. “I’ll do my best,” he promised.
The king was watching for her when she returned to the hall, and as soon as she took her seat he rose and tapped his glass with the edge of a knife, waiting as the guests joined him on their feet. “Thank you for joining us as we witnessed the claiming of Lady Snowlark.” He turned to look at her. “My beloved niece, as my son has claimed you to be his bride, so I claim you as my daughter.”
“You honor me, your majesty, with your kindness and benevolence.” She rose to her feet and lifted her glass as Val snorted beneath his breath, but he followed her lead and raised his glass. “Let us all drink to the health of our mighty king.” She took a sip as the rest of the room joined in the toast while the king nodded and smiled.
“Thank you, Snowlark.” He turned back to the crowd. “I hear the musicians readying their instruments in the ballroom. Prince Valiant and Lady Snowlark will lead us in our first dance.”
Stepping from the dais, the king made his way to the adjoining room and Lark and Val followed behind, as the guests stepped back to clear a path. A soaring domed ceiling of glass held aloft by gleaming columns of marble crowned the circular room. An ornately carved throne stood on the far side, and it was here that the king made his way, taking the proffered hand of a nobleman as he climbed the raised platform. Music began to swell as he took his seat, and Val held out his hand to Lark. “Shall we?”
“If we must.”
She allowed him to lead her to the center of the floor as guests crowded in behind them. Years of lessons ensured that Lark and Val were both excellent dancers, and Lark knew that she and Val made a handsome couple as they made their way around the floor.
“That was a pretty speech,” Val said as he swept her in a wide circle. “Kind and benevolent? I am impressed.”
“You’re just jealous I don’t say that about you.”
Val smiled. “Those are the last words I want you to use when describing me. I want you to say things like glorious. Astounding. Incredible. Or you don’t have to say anything, just gasp in pleasure.”
His eyebrow quirked as her gaze met his, and she quickly looked away, turning her attention to the people standing around the room. He closed the distance she had created. “It will be a challenge, making the Ice Queen melt. But you will enjoy it, you know. I am well versed in the art of pleasure.”
Lark’s gaze swept over the assembled crowd. “Indeed. I can see dozens, nay hundreds, of women who have already tasted that pleasure and will be hanging around you like flies around a honey pot for the rest of the night. I’m sure you will enjoy every one of them.”
“I know you take me for a god, Lark, but not even I can enjoy a hundred women in a single night. No, I’ll pick out one or two pale beauties for the evening.” He laughed at the tightening of her jaw. “Come now, Lark, you can’t expect me to deny myself pleasure just because you refuse to pleasure me.”
The music came to an end, but his hand stayed on her waist as he leaned closer. “Soon, Little Lark, you will be lying soft and pliable beneath my hand as I claim not just your body, but your soul.”
“You might be able to claim my body, Val, but you can never claim my soul,” she said, before turning on her heel and marching away. She almost collided with Lord Falcon who was heading in her direction. He held out a hand as she came to a stop.
“May I claim the next dance, my lady?” he asked.
“I need a few moments to regain my breath, Lord Falcon. Perhaps you’ll be so kind as to bring me a refreshment?”
He gave her a bow. “Of course, my lady.”
It was hours past midnight by the time Lark was finally able to plead exhaustion and leave the ballroom. Val was nowhere to be seen, but that was not a surprise – she had noticed him leaving the hall a few hours before with a pretty woman she did not recognize hanging on his arm. The cuffs chafed her skin, making her arms itch, but it was not until she was in the privacy of her chamber that she let out a groan of frustration.
“I need a rasp,” she told Neta, who was waiting to help her undress and prepare for bed.
“A rasp, my lady?” she said in confusion.
“Or a file. Something to get these cuffs off!”
Neta stared at her stupidly. “Off?”
“The prince had them sealed with magic,” Lark explained wearily.
Neta drew a quick intake of breath, before recovering herself. “I’ll find something right away,” she said.
“Neta?”
She paused. “Yes, my lady?”
“Not a word about this to anyone.”
“Of course not, Lady Lark,” she said stiffly, before exiting the room. She returned a few minutes later with a file that she handed to Lark without a word.
“Don’t be offended, Neta,” Lark pleaded. “I know you wouldn’t say anything. It’s just, well, it’s humiliating.”
The severity in Neta’s expression immediately disappeared, and she took the file back from Lark’s hand. “Let me do that,” she said gently. She sat down beside Lark and applied the file to the cuff. No sooner had she done so than silver sparks flew from the metal, and Neta dropped the file with a startled cry. It tumbled to the floor, but Lark quickly snatched it up and placed it against the cuff. The file had only just touched it when a shock passed through Lark’s hand and it flew from her grasp. Lark stared at it in shock.
“Only magic can undo magic,” Neta whispered.
“Then I have to find someone who can do magic,” Lark said.
“My lady!”
“It’s the only way, Neta. I refuse to be cuffed like a royal prisoner. I will search the whole kingdom for someone to remove the magic if I must. Hopefully, it won’t come to that.” She rose from her seat. “It’s been a long night. I think I’m ready for bed.”
“Yes, my lady.” Neta placed the file in her pocket and hurried to the antechamber, where she filled a bowl with warm water to clean away the silver dust from Lark’s skin. When she returned to Lark’s room she helped her into a nightgown. She was brushing Lark’s hair when Lark turned to her.
“I almost forgot – send a note to Madam Breena in the morning and ask her to come attend my mother. She did not look well this evening.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Neta left the room a short while later and Lark lay down on her pillows, but despite the heaviness of her eyes, sleep was a long time in coming, and the weight of the cuffs grew with each passing moment.
Chapter 3
Despite the late night, Lark woke early the following morning to the sound of a maid tiptoeing around the room, clearing the clothes from the previous evening. She mumbled a greeting and fled the chamber when she saw that Lark was awake, and a few moments later Neta entered carrying a tray. She looked, as she always did, as though she had already been at work for a few hours. In fact, Lark could not remember a time when Neta had been anything but perfectly dressed and ready for whatever lay ahead.
“Up already?” Lark asked.
“Of course, my lady,” Neta replied primly. “I am up before dawn every morning.”
“You work too hard. You should take a day off every now and then.”
“And leave you to manage without me?” She sounded shocked at the idea.
“I think I can survive one day without you. Perhaps you can get one of the maids to help me … or not,” she trailed off when she saw Neta’s look of horror.
“I wouldn’t know what to do with a day off,” Neta said firmly. “Besides, I have plenty of hours to myself when you’re occupied with other matters. Now, I have picked out a dress for your tea this morning.”
“Tea with whom?”
“Lady Brooke, my lady, along with the Ladies of the Crimson Guard. They put together care packages for our bra
ve soldiers.”
“Ah! Anything I should know about Lady Brooke?”
“She has a son in the Crimson Guard and a daughter who is very disappointed not to be the next queen.”
“I see.” Lark reached for the hot chocolate from the tray that Neta had placed beside her bed and leaned back against her pillow. “What about this afternoon?” she asked, taking a sip of chocolate.
“A reception with the Ladies of Benevolence, my lady. They will be presenting you with a gift for your joining.”
“Any idea what it is?”
“A tea set, my lady. And this evening you will be the guest of honor at a performance by the King’s Players. But before that you have a fitting for your joining gown.”
“What about tomorrow?”
“There’s a fitting for your crown first thing in the morning. Lunch with Princess Fern, immediately followed by a reception at the art academy of which you are a patron. They have arranged a special viewing for you, my lady, and will present you with a piece of artwork by Sir Grouse.”
“Sir Grouse? But his paintings are ghastly!”
Neta smiled faintly. “Apparently they are quite highly regarded.”
“Really?”
There was a tap on the door and a maid entered the room. “Excuse me, my lady, but the mantua maker is here, and Madam Breena wondered if she could have a word.”
“Tell the mantua maker to come back this afternoon when the dressmaker is here,” Neta said, “and let Madam Breena know –”
“I’ll speak to Madam Breena,” Lark interjected.
“There isn’t much time before your tea, my lady,” Neta protested.
“There is plenty of time, Neta.” She turned to the maid. “Show Madam Breena in. I can talk to her as I dress.”
The maid curtsied. “Very good, my lady.”
Madam Breena was the owner of the Dragon’s Philipot, an apothecary shop in one of the winding back streets of Lenora. She had been attending Mother for years, coming to the palace once a week to check in on her. Of course, the court physicians would quite happily have attended the commander’s wife, but Mother declared them to all be quacks and refused them entry to her chambers.
Madam Breena followed the maid into the room a few minutes later.
“My lady, thank you for seeing me. I know you’re very busy, so I’ll only take a few minutes of your time.” She gave a small curtsey as a lock of silver hair escaped her cap. Her face was gently lined with wrinkles, but her blue eyes were clear and sharp. Her gaze dropped to the cuffs and she stared at them for a moment, before recovering herself and lifting her eyes to Lark’s. “They are very beautiful,” she said, and Lark felt both relief and disappointment that the apothecary had not recognized the magic imbued in them.
“Is it about Mother?” Lark asked, stepping into the dress that Neta held out for her.
“Yes, my lady. I came as soon as I received your note. As you know, her headaches grow worse and nothing in my ready supply of tonics is effective anymore.”
“What do you recommend?”
“The only thing that can help her now is dragonsbane, but it is very rare. There’s only one place I know of where it grows, and I’m afraid my tired bones can no longer travel the distance. I can send someone to collect it, but Lady Finch insisted that I discuss the matter with you, as she was sure you could find someone. But with your joining only a few weeks away, perhaps you would prefer me to manage it?”
Lark suppressed a sigh. As much as she wanted to hand the task to Madam Breena, Mother’s wishes were clear. “You can provide instructions on where to find it?”
“Yes, of course. It grows behind a waterfall on the Teesbeck, a little upstream of where it meets the Cambria. It must be collected before noon, or it loses its effectiveness.”
“Very well. I’ll find someone to fetch it as soon as I can.”
“Very good. They will need to collect the entire plant, my lady. And be sure to warn them to be careful of the leaves. They have very fine barbs that will numb a hand to the point of uselessness if touched.”
“Does it wear off?”
“Eventually.” Madame Breena gave a wry grin. “It hurts like hell as it does so.”
“I’ll be sure to pass that information along,” Lark said with a smile. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Neta will start beating me with a hairbrush if I don’t allow her to do my hair.”
Madam Breena smiled. “Good day, my lady,” she said as the maid showed her out. Neta pointed to the chair before the mirror, waiting as Lark sat down, then proceeded to yank the brush through Lark’s long locks.
“Is this my punishment for seeing Madam Breena with my hair undone?” Lark asked in amusement. She reached for the small celeste studs that she usually wore and slid them into her ears. They had been a gift from Pip on her eighteenth birthday.
“Your mother should not be burdening you with this.”
“It’s nothing. I just need to find someone to send. Any thoughts?”
“I couldn’t say, my lady.”
“Lieutenant Rill is in Lenora, perhaps he could go.”
“While recovering from an injury, my lady?”
Lark glanced at the handmaid in the mirror; from the set of her shoulders, she was clearly piqued. “Perhaps one of the footmen?”
“They cannot leave their duties, my lady.”
Lark sighed at Neta’s contrariness, then rose once the last lock was pinned in place. “If you think of someone, be sure to let me know,” she said, as Neta handed her a cloak and ushered her out the room.
The rest of the day passed in a whirl of activity; people wanted to discuss the upcoming joining, and more than one person admired the cuffs. Lady Brooke asked Lark to remove them so she could examine them more closely, but Lark replied with a laugh that she had promised Val she would keep them on, and who was she to break a promise to the prince.
The question of whom to send to collect the dragonsbane did not occur to her again until that evening. She had thought of no other possibilities, and she resolved to discuss the matter with the commander in the morning. With hundreds of men at his disposal, she was certain that someone could be found to retrieve the necessary herbs. She sat down at her desk, and reaching for a stack of papers placed there by Neta, she appended her signature to the first on the pile.
Lark woke the next morning to light streaming across her bed as Neta opened the curtains. She raised her hands to ward off the sun, then winced when the cuffs clanged together. With a huff of annoyance, she sat up and threw off the covers and reached for her morning cup of chocolate.
“Good morning, my lady,” Neta greeted her. “The jeweler has already arrived to do the fitting.”
“Fitting?” Lark repeated dumbly.
“For your crown,” Neta explained. She went to the wardrobe and withdrew a dress.
“Remind me again what I have on today.”
“You mentioned last night that you wish to see the commander this morning. Lunch is with Princess Fern, and directly after lunch –”
“Of course, the commander.” Lark placed her feet on the floor. “Do you know if my brother is around?”
“Lord Iron? He left with his unit.”
“Not Iron. Pip!”
“Of course!” Neta laid the dress on the bed and turned away. “I believe he’s already left the palace, my lady.”
“What a nuisance! I was hoping to speak with him.” She had not seen him the previous day and was anxious to know if he had found any trace of the magic maker. Neta held out a dress decorated with tiny seed pearls across the bodice and embroidered swirls of silver over the skirt. As Lark waited for Neta to fasten the buttons, she considered the day ahead. She was anxious to discover a means of removing the cuffs, but her first priority was to find someone to run Madam Breena’s errand.
The fitting with Master Goodgold took longer than Lark expected. He had brought an assistant to help with the measure
ments but had then insisted on redoing them himself to ensure their accuracy. He had also brought a number of precious stones for Lark to examine, including a pair of celestes as large as robin’s eggs, but as she was making her selection, it occurred to Goodgold that her crown should match the prince’s, and Neta was dispatched to find Val’s personal attendant to retrieve the crown. By the time they were finished, half the morning had passed. She beckoned to the page who stood at the door.
“Go see if the commander can receive me now,” she said. The young lad scampered away and returned with the news that the commander was waiting for her, and with a nod of thanks, she made her way from her chambers and headed towards the east wing where the commander had his offices.
A guard was waiting to grant her admittance, and he showed her into an office where the commander sat behind a large wooden table, strewn with papers. A map of Valoria covered the wall behind him, with red pins clustered around the northern provinces, close to the mountains, and more scattered across the center. The commander pushed aside a paper and looked up at his daughter.
“Snowlark, what’s this about? Now’s not a good time, so keep it brief.”
“It’s about Mother, sir.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. “Well?”
“Madam Breena says her headaches are getting worse.”
“Nothing that a little exercise wouldn’t fix.”
“There’s a herb called dragonsbane that she thinks may help. The problem is, it only grows in one place, and she has no way of collecting it. I said I would find someone to collect it.”
“That was foolish of you. I suppose you’re hoping one of my men can go.”
“That’s right.”
“And where exactly is this dragonsbane to be found?”
“On the banks of the Teesbeck. She will provide directions.”
“I’m afraid I can’t spare anyone at the moment.”
“But sir, if it will help Mother –”
“Our country’s on the brink of civil war, Lark, and I will not send my men chasing around the countryside in search of a plant. Send someone from the palace. That boy from the stables – I’m sure he can go. Or speak to Val about sending someone. A footman, or a guard perhaps. Now, is there anything else?”
Into the Shadows Page 3
