by Mary Weber
My dress almost rips as I scramble up beside her. “What’s that mean? Is your brother the one being trained? Is he an Elemental?”
“You’ll find out tomorrow, won’t you?” Her tone makes it clear that’s all I’ll get from her. “An’ never mind seeing the king, right? We can look at ’im later. Let’s go get more food from the kitchen.”
I don’t want more food. I want to know more about Colin and how he’s like me. “Has he learned to control his curse?” I start to ask Breck, but she’s already halfway down the hall. I shut my mouth and stack the plates with my good hand. Balancing them against my bowed one, I follow her, paying attention to where we’re going this time.
When we reach the cookery door, Breck takes our dishes and tells me to wait in the hall. But as soon as she disappears, I turn about to investigate the wood-paneled corridor that continues on down this section. I need to know more about this house, about Adora and Colin and Eogan, if I’m going to stay here.
But all the doors I come to are locked.
I’m just about to pick my way up a thin flight of stairs I hope will lead to Adora’s quarters when voices erupt behind the door closest to me.
Footsteps. Two sets of them coming toward me.
A lock clicks and the handle turns, and I lunge for the stairwell, practically tripping over my ridiculous dress in my haste. The satin rips beneath my foot. I tug my legs and the full skirt out of sight, disappearing into the shadows just as the door opens.
I hold my breath.
The male voices drop to angry whispers. “I’m telling you, Bron will win this war. And when they do, their King Odion will take over. You and I will be slaughtered with the rest of these pompous foolsss.” The speaker draws out the ending, like a snake.
“You’re insane,” a gravelly voice says. “King Sedric won’t allow it. He’ll find a way for Faelen to win.”
“Sedric can’t stop it! He’s in over his head, and the High Council’s still stuck in the old way of acting as advisors when they should be forcing his hand. Mark my wordsss, Odion will win. And when he doesss, I intend to stand at his mercy, with a record of supportive initiatives.”
“Listen to yourself. You’re talking treason!”
“I’m talking survival. What benefit are we to Faelen if we’re dead? You’ve heard the rumors. They’re advancing weapon technology beyond imagining while we’re here fighting with horse and sword. You’ve heard of the plaguesss.”
My chest is up in my throat, clamoring, clawing, cutting off my air. I make myself smaller against the stairwell and fight the desire to look at the speakers. A real traitor? Here?
“Even if Sedric can’t stop it, the kingdom of Cashlin will step in. Their queen’s already considering their involvement. Why do you think Princess Rasha is here?”
“Princess Rasha is less experienced than our king. Have you met the girl? She’s a frothy bottle of drink, all giggles and no brainsss. Fates doom us all if that’s where we’re investing our hope.”
“Maybe Drust will help, then. The Lady Isobel’s set to arrive—”
A trumpet blast from nearby threatens to peel me from my skin. The voices halt.
I close my eyes and concentrate on breathing quietly in the echoing hall.
A floorboard creaks.
Another trumpet blast ricochets through. Coming from the direction of the dulled party music and laughter.
One of the speakers mutters something, followed by the sound of shuffling footsteps, and for a moment I think they’re headed toward me. My heart pounds, and I’m about to make a dive up the stairs when another door opens almost opposite my position. Their steps hesitate. For the briefest second, I get a partial glimpse of two men’s backs as the music swells through the open doorway. One tall and thin, the other shorter with a shock of orange hair topped by a dark-feathered cap. The men appear to match each other in silk doublets designed to look like birds. Ravens, I think.
“I’d like to show you something outssside later to change your mind,” the tall one whispers. Then the door shuts without the speakers looking back, and their steps fade.
I wait a few breaths before peeking from my hiding spot to examine the empty corridor. The hum of the festivities now lilts, faint in the distance.
One, ten, twenty . . . I count to a hundred before getting up. It’s still quiet. I slip over to the door the men disappeared through, then press my ear against the wood to listen. The music is louder on the other side. Are those men really traitors? Another thirty counts and I open the door a crack and peek around it. Nothing but party noise fills the vacant hallway. I pause before sliding inside.
After sealing the passage behind me, I tiptoe in the direction of the merrymaking, which is growing louder by the second. The short hall passes by two doors, both locked, and then abruptly spits me out into a tiny alcove that is smack inside the house’s tall, albeit not very big, ballroom. The excited buzz of voices hits a new high alongside the music and smell of strong perfume.
I’m in a serving alcove, but it’s obviously not in use tonight. Drapes hang across the front so that while one could adjust them to peer out on the dancing couples, no one would see in unless on purpose. Did the men come through here? I scoot to the curtain’s edge and peek out, but the amount of people jostling toward the ballroom’s front entrance is overwhelming, and with so many wearing black it’d be impossible to identify the men, even with that orange hair.
Just as I stick my head farther through the curtain, a trumpet blasts next to my face. I jump and blink, then look to see if anyone has seen me.
Doubtful. They’re all looking in the same direction, waiting for something. The sea of voices diminishes to a low, excited rumble, thick with anticipation.
Then a loud voice is announcing King Sedric and the Cashlin ambassador, Princess Rasha. I scramble for a better look but can’t see either of them. Too many people are in the way. Charged whispers sweep through the crowd.
“They’d make a handsome couple.”
Someone giggles. “I hear they already are.”
“Not likely. He’s only just met her. She’ll have to be on good behavior for a bit.”
“I hear she only got the ambassador position because of her queen mum. They want . . .”
I’m leaning out to hear more when Breck’s angry whisper barks out behind me, “Nym! Where in hulls you at?”
Jumping back, I turn to find her standing with one hand on the hallway wall and the other laden with a plate piled high, a drinking jug in the crook of her arm. I purse my lips and move to help her. “Here, Breck.”
“I been lookin’ all over! Don’t you ever do that again, right? Or I swear I’ll poke the eyes right out a yer head an’ give ’em to Adora myself!” Shrugging my helping hand off, she feels along the wood paneling, then sets the tray down in a nook in the wall with an expression that reminds me of an owner who’s been disrespected. She glares not quite at me and waits, as if expecting an apology.
I turn back to the curtain.
She’s not going to get it. She’s not my owner.
“The king’s just arrived,” I say instead.
The plate Breck sets down clatters as if she’s almost tipped it over. Then she’s cramming in next to me. “Is the Cashlin ambassador with ’im?”
“Yes, but I can’t see either of them. Too many people. Everyone’s saying she and the king might be lovers.”
“I ’ope not. I hear she’s a bit of a piece, if you know what I mean.”
I have no idea what she means. “A piece?”
“She’s a witch,” she whispers. “The kind that can see into yer soul. At least that’s what Adora says. And while Adora might be dense on men, the ol’ crazy’s spot on when it comes to the females.”
“What do you mean ‘see into your soul’? That’s absurd.”
“She’s Luminescent. The Cashlin version of a Uathúil. Like you’re Elemental? She can see past a person’s facade to who, or what, he really is.”
&nb
sp; I’m instantly uncomfortable. Into a person’s soul?
Maybe Breck senses my unease, or maybe she’s uncomfortable too, because her voice lowers. “Eerie, right? I told ya. A witch.”
I don’t know whether I believe the witch part or not, but something tells me not to find out. I can only imagine what someone with that ability would see if she looked inside my soul.
Death? Hatred? Self-contempt?
Murderer.
Elemental.
I glance back out over Adora’s ballroom and search through the unfamiliar faces for the king and the Cashlin princess, suddenly desperate to know what she looks like so I can avoid her.
Breck grunts. “You see her?”
“No.”
“Well, this is only ’er second visit to Faelen, so not a lot ’ave. When you do, describe ’er to me. Gotta see what all the fuss is about. Cuz if you ask me—which no one is, mind you—she sounds like a floozy.” Breck leaves the curtain and moves over to nibble on her food.
“Why did Adora invite her?”
She shrugs and takes a bite of oliphant meat. I force down a gag. “Adora has to,” she says with her mouth full. “Princess Rasha is an ambassador. Meaning she might be useful, you know?”
Right.
“You want some?” Breck offers a slab of what she’s inhaling.
“No thanks,” I mutter, and try not to vomit. Is she aware it’s oliphant meat? But then, the smell is unmistakable. I’m tempted to ask if she’s ever truly eaten at peasant level, but maybe she has, and that’s why she’s so keen on the food here.
“Is there a way I can get closer to see the ambassador and the king?”
She smacks her lips and uses her dress to mop the horse grease from her face. “We can go around and haves a look out onto the banquet room. It’s where they’ll be headed.” She takes a gulp from her water jug. “I’ll take you in a minute.”
The trumpet blares again, and it’s just as disconcerting as the other times. But Breck just goes on with her second dinner as if having your eardrums shattered by the sound of a honking monkey was the height in luxurious music for dining.
I sit. And glare. And tap my leg.
An eternity later, she wipes her fingers and stands. Burps. “You ready?”
I follow her back through the hall the men came down, past the doors in the first passage, and around the house kitchen, where Breck stops to drop off her plate and jug. She then leads me down another hallway, this one ending in a different kind of nook. It’s shallow and walled in on all sides except the point where we entered. She pats her hand along the wall until she hits a square panel that’s made to look like a miniature window. Sliding it open, she beckons me to peek out.
It opens straight into the main banquet room.
Party guests are already pouring in from one end, and the place is teeming with laughter and music.
Breck shifts aside to make more room for me and stands stock-still as if she’s listening for bits of conversation floating about.
“How will I know which is the king?” I look around.
“He’ll be seated next to Adora.”
I search the room for the frog-queen amid a sea of gossamer gowns and brocaded vests. Guests in costumes ranging from rabid ladybugs to purple bears surround rows of food-laden banquet tables, while images of countless years of starving women and sick babies drift through my mind. I wonder if the king is as grandiose as his politically positioned subjects.
How can these people be so lard-headed?
Or worse, so unconcerned?
Someone in black steps right in front of my peephole and startles me. I begin to duck, afraid I’ve been spotted, but then realize he’s not fully facing me.
I start to move my gaze on when the man moves his hand in a tipsy, familiar gesture. I squint and peer closer.
Breck is still chattering on about Adora and the king.
I stop listening.
The man. He’s the pontiff from Poorland Arch, home of my seventh owner.
A sour bubble emerges in my stomach and pushes up my throat, making it hard to breathe. I pull my dress sleeves higher, tugging them close to my neck. The last time I saw him, he was flirting with a slave girl my age who kept trying to duck his advances. She disappeared that night, and no one saw her again.
He’s babbling about the Bron king’s missing twin brother, who’d been master general of their army, and how if he’d become ruler instead of Odion, Faelen wouldn’t have lasted even this long. I can’t see who he’s talking to, but everything within me is recoiling. Without taking my gaze off of him, I interrupt Breck. “Do you know anything about the pontiff from Poorland Arch?”
“Describe ’im.”
“Grayish-blond hair, drunker than a nursing—”
“I meant describe ’is voice. But yeah, I know who you’s talking about.” She hesitates. “Last week Colin ’ad a run-in with ’im over a servant girl they was both flirtin’ with and almost got in trouble with Adora. I hear he’s quite popular with the ladies. Why?”
I bet he is. My mouth turns tasteless.
“Why’re you asking?” she asks again.
“Have you ever seen any of these people when they’re not at Adora’s parties? Like when they visit the villages they oversee?”
“Nah. But most of ’em don’t seem so bad. Why? Have you?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. Because I don’t want to explain something she obviously can’t understand.
“You ever been to the High Court afore?”
Suddenly I don’t know how to do this. I don’t want to talk about any of it. I don’t want to be here. The closest I ever got to the High Court was when the politicians came to collect taxes or announce a proclamation. A few officials were nice enough. But most? Most were known for eating all the food and then complaining it wasn’t good enough while grabbing some poor slave girl’s thigh beneath the table. Or worse. I glance back at the man standing close enough for me to slap. They have a smell you can never get rid of.
And now Adora’s house is full of it.
“Let’s go outside and find fresh air.” I need to breathe. I need to be doing something, anything—cleaning, cooking, shoveling manure from the animals’ stalls—other than just sitting here discussing an uppity world I can’t relate to and recalling memories I can’t bear.
Breck frowns. “Not allowed to. Adora’s orders.” She sits on the bench against the wall and leans her head back against the wood. “Methinks it’s time for a nap, idiot girl. What say you?”
I don’t say anything. I yank my wretched sleeve back up my shoulder and quietly slip away to find a corridor that’ll lead me out of this blasted place.
CHAPTER 6
OUTSIDE, THE SALT-LACED BREEZES COOL MY face. My blood reacts to the briny air, pulsing in unison with the waves beyond the mountains.
I hurry along the cobbled path leading away from the servants’ exit, staying in the shadows until the house is far enough behind. When I do pause to look around, it’s amid the back area I’d seen from Adora’s upper-story window. The loud music and laughter float away in the quiet expanse, as the candlelit lanterns swing in the breeze, illuminating the air above and the gardens around. The spacious lawn is edged on two sides by miniature ponds, and along the other sides are two structures. One, directly across from me, is a small cottage. The other, on my right, is a massive barn and stables. I can hear horses stamping and nickering within. The barn Adora warned me to keep away from?
I hike up my dress skirts and head for it.
The horses’ musky scent envelops me before I reach the door. Familiar. Earthy. Manure and sweat and peasant life. I close my eyes briefly and drink in a host of images—brushing down farm horses, fieldwork, housework, babies.
A noise behind me interrupts my thoughts, and I turn to snap at Breck for finding me.
But no one is there.
Tugging the barn door open, I step onto the slightly raised wood flooring and slip inside. A soft whi
nny greets me. Then others. Without the moon’s enhancement, the space is murky, even with the lit lanterns hanging from the ceiling. When my eyes adjust, I’m staring at countless rows of stalls housing stately, midnight-colored, colossal-size horses.
The animals stamp their hooves and bob their heads. The one in the stall beside me huffs a greeting. I smile, and she gives me a responding click with her mouth. Then nudges her nose toward me.
“You’re a friendly one, aren’t you?” I murmur soothingly. “And pricey.” I suspect much of Adora’s money comes from inside this barn. I shuffle closer and almost slip in a puddle. A shock of cold oozes through my shoe as I catch my balance.
“What the—?” I pull my skirts up and look down to curse the dung I’ve stepped in—except it isn’t dung. It’s a pool of liquid slowly soaking into the floor and into my slipper, and it’s surrounded by more dribbles leading farther into the barn. Each one an uncomfortable shade of red.
My mouth goes dry just as I note the clump of bright orange tufts stuck in the blood-colored fluid. It’s the same fiery shade as the hair of one of the gentlemen in the hall earlier.
I straighten and shake my head.
It’s just from an injured ferret-cat.
The horse nearest me whinnies again, as if calling for my attention and telling me to shake it off. I move to the beautiful mare and am just reaching my deformed hand up for her to smell me when I see specks of foam around her lips. Her neck has a slight glisten, too, like she just got back from a run.
“I wouldn’t advise touching them.”
I spin around to see a man standing at the door. His dark skin blends into the shadows, making his green eyes stand out like fireflies in the lantern light. They’re shocking in their brightness.
“Who’re you?”
He doesn’t respond. Just tips his head toward the horse. As if I should pay attention.
I glance at the black beast distractedly just as the animal tips her nose down to meet my outstretched fingers. So beautiful. Then her mouth is opening wide, displaying razor-sharp teeth about to take my hand off.
What the—? I yank away right as the teeth snap closed. The beast gives a piercing whinny of anger and bites at the air where my arm just was.
