by Frost Kay
“Who’s saying I’m not compromised?” Sage bit out.
Even though she had suspected something like that would be the case the reality of it still hit her hard. Sage had been kidnapped, attacked, and humiliated, yet she would have to bear the disdain, as if it was her fault. Even if she left the rebellion, the consequences of that situation could affect the rest of her life. The joke was on her. She had escaped, but she wasn’t free.
The expression on her mum’s face made her wince. The last thing she wanted was to hurt her. Chagrined that’d she’d allowed her bitterness to seep into this conversation with her mum, she immediately moved forward and clasped her mum soapy hands. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean that, I’m still adjusting to everything. I want to work through it, but for now, let’s be done with this.” Sage pecked her mum on the cheek and turned to the large wooden table, and began to scrub viciously.
Her mum’s gaze was heavy on her back, and Sage prayed that she would just let the subject drop. When the water sloshed in the sink behind her, she exhaled a sigh of relief.
As they continued their chores, Sage couldn’t help the fat tear that plopped onto the table as she scrubbed. She wanted a family. She wanted a husband who would love her in the same way her father loved her mum. Now though, she had lost any chance of that. Her chances died the day she got caught in that alley. This was the only time she would mourn for that future. She was the one who’d decided to join the rebellion, knowing full well there could be consequences. Now she had to live with them. As soon as the tears stopped, she wiped them away, as if they’d never been there. If only other things were so simple to remedy.
Thirty-Two
SAGE
Sage spent the rest of the week attempting to regain a sense of normalcy in her life. She helped her father in the forge during the day and celebrated the Midsummer Festival at night. The first time she left the house, their neighbors and friends refused to look at her, sneering and gossiping behind her back, but, by the end of the first week, their fascination had dwindled. Whispers still followed in her wake but she had at least a little reprieve from the open censure she’d received initially.
There were only a few interruptions to her life. At one point, Rafe dropped her a mixture with which she could remove much of the squid ink from her hair. The first time she looked in the mirror and saw her own brunette hair, she felt more grounded, like she was a step closer to her true self. A couple days later, a seamstress swept in, took measurements for her costume for the festival’s finale, and then bustled right back out. Apart from that one instance, she mostly ignored the rebellion and the plans for assassination until the last day arrived, and then her panic set in. She still hadn’t figured out how she would save the king but she had to try. When her costume arrived, Sage placed it on her bed and her mother, catching sight of it, sat down heavily, her jaw slack.
Sage understood the reaction. Never in her life had she seen something so fine. It must have cost a fortune. Every year prior, she’d gone as a maid of the sea, or something else similar, but the magnificent costume wasn’t something she could have imagined, even in her wildest dreams.
The bustier was a pale and shimmering aquamarine silk. Tiny, dyed seed pearls accented the edge of the cups forming intricate waves. Two delicate ties wound around the neck, the material fading from soft aquamarine to a silver that was almost white. On the ends of the straps dangled white, blue, silver, and green shells, pearls, and sea glass. A finely woven, silver net lay next to it on the bed, glimmering like early morning dew on a spider’s web.
What was that for? It certainly wouldn’t cover much.
Moving on, she examined the skirt. The shimmering transparent silk was hand painted with every hue of blue and green found in the ocean. Each individual thin strip of the skirt started off pale but intensified to a much deeper color as it reached the bottom. She couldn’t help herself; she ran her hand along the symphony of colors, her eyes widening as she realized the colors weren’t woven together. Each sliver of color was a separate piece of material! She raised the skirt, examining and watching it undulate before her. It reminded her of a jellyfish gliding in the ocean. Even though the length of the skirt seemed modest, her legs would peep out with every move.
She shook her head and carefully laid it back down. She turned around to her mum. “I can’t wear that.”
Gwen stared at her for a beat, then back to the garment. Her mum’s lips pursed, and she looked back at Sage. “It’s not so bad…” she trailed off.
Sage snorted. “My legs, midriff, and entire back will be on display. It will only give more fodder for the gossip mill, Mum. I don’t want to humiliate Papa and you.”
Her mum smiled wryly as she crossed the room, approaching Sage. “I won’t pretend that I don’t wish there was a lot more fabric to the dress, but you and I both know that with where you’re going, it will help you fit right in.” Her mum’s hazel eyes met hers. “This is a disguise, love. You won’t humiliate us. You will look regal in that dress, it’s fit for a queen. All we want is for you to come home safe to us. That’s it. If this disguise is what’s required for that to happen, then so be it.”
Sage searched her mum’s eyes for any doubts or condemnation but she found nothing. Sagging with relief she returned her gaze to the dress. “Quite the disguise,” she muttered to herself.
Gwen rubbed her hands together. “Let’s get started then.”
By the time her mum finished with her hair and some minimal cosmetics, her back and butt were smarting. Sage had forgotten how much time it took to get ready for such a fancy affair. She stood up with a groan, twisting from left to right to sooth her aching back. “Ugh… I am so old.”
Her mum’s response was a slap on the butt as she chuckled. “You’re not old until you have grown children, love. Now strip and hold still while we get that thing on you and get it all arranged.”
Sage did as she was commanded, ridding herself of the much humbler garments she usually wore. Her mother’s sharp inhale had her eyes snapping to her face, but she was busy with the skirt. “Everything okay?” she inquired.
“Mmhmm.”
She eyed her mum curiously. How odd. She shrugged it off and stepped into the skirt aided by her mum. The silk kissed her legs as it moved, tickling her skin. She giggled, reaching down to scratch her calf. Her mum smiled, twirling her finger at Sage, indicating she should turn around. Sage plucked the bustier from the bed and held it in place. Her mum brushed her hair aside and tied the straps around her neck and back. It pushed her chest up so high she thought her breasts would smother her. There were no hiding those.
“Oh, let me fetch the sandals and jewelry.” Her mum bustled from the room and Sage turned, viewing herself in the mirror.
The woman staring back looked nothing like her. The colors complimented her green eyes so well that they sparkled like emerald jewels. The stark contrast of white starfish combs made her brown hair seem even darker. She would never be tiny and delicate because of the physical work she did in the forge, but her voluptuous chest, tiny waist, and curvy hips made up well for her muscular arms and broad shoulders.
She stepped closer to the mirror, and all her joy drained right out of her. Faint pink lines marred the otherwise smooth skin on her stomach. Sage bit her lip and pushed her left leg out to examine the damage. One of the ragged lines was so long it wrapped completely around her thigh. She reached down to touch it, and the scars on her wrists glared up at her.
She was ruined. There was no way she could wear this to the palace.
A sudden noise startled her into looking up and she caught her mother’s gaze in the mirror. Sage couldn’t mask the pain that shone in her eyes. Her mum placed the jeweled sandals and a pile of jewelry on the bed next to her, coming to stand behind her. Clasping her arms, she soothed, “You are enchanting, baby.” Her mum reached down and caressed her wrist. “Everyone has scars, love. Some wear theirs on the inside, and some bear them on the outside. But you know what?
Those that allow the world to see their scars and move forward are the bravest and best of us. That is true courage.”
Sage teared up, touched by her mum’s simple words. Gwen squeezed her wrist once and reached down to the pile of treasure lying on her bed. She picked out two wide silver cuffs with seahorses and a few pearls on them. “As you know, your father made these for me when we were betrothed. They are not as fine as what you are wearing, but I guessed you might like them. Then you will carry a piece of your family with you and help you take courage.”
“I would be honored to wear them,” Sage choked out.
Her mum clasped them on her wrist and, although they didn’t completely cover the scars, they did help her feel less self-conscious. Sage reached down and fingered the large scar that ran diagonally across her abdomen. “Is there anything we can do to cover this?”
Gwen scrunched up her nose, deep in thought. A smile broke out on her face. “I have an idea.”
She gingerly picked up the fine silver netting and set to work. Right below the tie on her right shoulder her mum pinned the netting, draping it to the center of her chest and pinned it there with a pearl. She then draped it down Sage’s stomach and tied it in an intricate knot, attaching it to her left hip but allowing the rest of the material to drape down. She’d worked a miracle in a matter of moments! Her scars were now much less visible. She felt more comfortable having a little more covering.
“Well? What do you think?” her mum asked enthusiastically, her words coming out in rush.
“It’s so beautiful, Mum. Thank you.”
Her mum beamed at her and retrieved the sandals. “Your carriage should be here any moment. Let’s get these sandals on.”
Her mum was still fussing over her when the carriage arrived. After what seemed like forever, she was ready and putting on her finest cloak. Just before departing, she placed her leg on the bed and methodically placed her daggers into their thigh sheaths. She then dropped her skirts and swished around, eyeing herself in the mirror. Even with all the slits, you couldn’t spot her weapons. She grinned at the expression on her mum’s face and hugged her goodbye. “Mum. I have to be prepared. Don’t worry too much. I love you, and I will be home later tonight.”
Her mother clutched her hand. “You better be, love. I will rip Sanee apart looking for you if you disappear on us again.” Her mum’s face was serious. Sage didn’t doubt for a second she really would do just that.
“I promise, Mum.”
She dropped her mum’s hands and exited her room. Her father sat on a bench by the front door, his green eyes crinkling when he spotted her. “You are lovely.”
She stretched up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Papa.”
He touched her cheek and affectionately rubbed his thumb along her cheekbone. “Keep your head and be cautious.”
“I will.”
Her father opened the door, and she peeked out, surveying the area. No one was paying them any heed. A cloaked man emerged and opened the carriage door, and so, sparing a last glance to her parents, she slipped into the carriage. She shot a quick glance to the man holding the door and amber eyes peered in at her.
She sat quickly, with Rafe entering right behind her. He tapped the ceiling, and the carriage lurched forward. She tilted her head away from the window, hiding her face. Instead of moving into the city they traveled deeper into the country, entering a copse of trees, which hid another carriage. Rafe hopped out of their carriage and opened the door of the one alongside, holding out his hand to her. “My lady.”
Sage took the hand he offered, stepped down, and then right back up into the other conveyance. As soon as they were both inside, the driver started back toward Sanee. “Smart,” she mused, watching the sun set on the horizon. “Hiding the Methian’s carriage out here and conveying us to it from within the city? Good move, especially since no one will note an unmarked carriage heading to the country. Very clever, Rafe. ”
“I thought you might like that, little one.” She could hear the smile in his voice.
He had no right to call her that anymore. He had betrayed her. “I am not your ‘little one’, my lord. If you recall, I am a lady of station.”
She frowned at him when he merely chuckled. “Forgive me, my lady, I meant no offense by it.” Another more muffled snigger followed his comment.
There was no way they could keep up this ruse, especially in front of actual dignitaries. “They will throw us out or lock us up as soon as we speak. You know that right?”
“I think not.” Rafe was silent for a moment. “How do you like your costume?”
She pushed back her hood and glared at him. “It is beautiful to be sure, but it’s also entirely inappropriate.”
Rafe flipped his hood down as well, leaning toward her. “It’s more modest than what you will see there, I give you my word. And,” he enunciated, “it is entirely appropriate for someone of your station.” He shifted in his seat and then asked, almost self-consciously, “Did you truly dislike it?”
She smiled and patted his leg. “It is incredible. I have never seen painted silk like this. The colors are unreal. The fabric-maker must have been quite skilled, it’s as if he took the sea and imprinted onto the material. I reckon I’ll never see the seamstress again but make sure she knows she did a fantastic job.” She paused. “And Rafe? Thank you.”
He nodded once, looking out the window. As they entered the city and made their way up the hill, Sage drew her hood to once again cover her face. Ahead of them was the palace, and unease rolled through her even looking at it. She still had no clue how she could save the king. Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t realize they’d already covered the distance. It wasn’t until the carriage stopped that she looked up, a million butterflies taking flight in her stomach. She swallowed back the nausea that accompanied them and took several shallow breaths in an effort to alleviate her anxiety. Salty air wafted through the door as Rafe held a hand out to her. Her eyes bounced from his outstretched palm to him and back again.
Get it together! she scolded herself.
Sage grasped his hand and gracefully descended the stairs, murmuring a soft, “Thank you, Your Highness.”
Rafe bowed and tucked her hand into his arm, leading her up the steps and into the palace foyer. Well-dressed servants were directing people here and there. Voices and soft music echoed from her left. A servant bowed to Rafe and guided them to the anteroom outside of the ballroom. As she moved, the shells, sea glass, and pearls hanging from the back on her top tinkled in a melody of sound.
Sage murmured a quiet, “Thank you,” as the servant divested her of her cloak. As she straightened her netting and brushed her skirt out, a choking sound caught her attention. Sage glanced to Rafe as he sidled closer to her, looking utterly transfixed. “Little one,” his voice deepened. “There just aren’t words. You are breath-taking.”
A blush crept up her neck and into her cheeks. She tugged at her cuffs, self-conscious. His hand reached down and touched the edge of her scarred wrist peeking out from underneath the cuff. She grimaced. He missed nothing.
“Are there more?” he whispered.
She eyed the servants milling around them and bobbed her head once.
He stiffened. “We will talk about this later.”
Sage batted her eyelashes at him. “No, we won’t, Your Highness. I’m done.” She placed her hand in the crook of his arm and faced toward the herald. Rafe’s gaze burned into her until their names were called. They both straightened as the door opened. She pasted a demure smile on her face.
Into the dragons’ nest we go.
Thirty-Three
TEHL
His head was pounding.
Adjusting his crown, Tehl moved the blasted starfish, so it’d stop poking him in the ear. Slowly, he stretched his neck and scanned the sea of costumed people. The air buzzed with excitement. Tehl wished he had their energy. For him, this week had been brutal. Between getting ready for tonight, lead
ing each festivity every day, and the late nights and early mornings that were usual to festivities, he was already dead on his feet.
He shifted in his chair and peered at his brother. Sam was eyeing a pretty redhead across the way, winking at her before moving onto catch the eye of another young woman. Same old Sam.
Catching his expression, his brother shrugged and gave him a smirk before turning to lazily glass the room. “Don’t give me that look. It’s my responsibility to have enough fun for the both of us. You obviously look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”
Tehl frowned and tugged at his costume. Generally, he didn’t mind being bare-chested, but here it left him feeling like he was being hunted, surrounded by leviathans. Sam had no problem with being ogled though. It seemed like his goal was to show as much skin as possible. “Are you aiming to add more women to your harem with that getup?” Tehl quipped.
“God, I’d better.” Sam grinned, a wicked gleam in his eye.
One of the noble families made their way toward the dais to pay their respects. If it hadn’t been for the constant greeting from guests, he’d likely be asleep in the chair. Tehl straightened, swapping pleasantries. Their youngest son, perhaps three by the looks of him, was scowling and tugging on his own costume. The poor little guy looked as miserable as Tehl felt so he searched a nearby platter for something to improve the little man’s night. As he did so, he heard Sam and a duchess chattering about the lovely decorations.
Good. After all the stupid work I put into picking them out, they should be impressed.
He spied a lemon tartlet that might tempt the boy. Plucking it from the platter, he stepped down to the duke and his family. Each bowed or curtsied, and the little one wobbled, frowning at the floor.
