by Janeal Falor
After a second look, I still see nothing. “Trouble?”
“Nothing new.”
But from the set of his jaw, I can tell it is serious. He hurries me into the carriage and gives directions to the driver to head home. My gut twists. I think someone just tried to kill him. Again.
Chapter Thirty
The last chair is set in place. I survey Zade's room. A few servants are putting the remaining pieces of the desk together. The woodworker did a good job adjusting things to the proper size. Or at least it looks that way. It will be hard to know until he uses it. As long as everything is big enough, it's perfect, and the project somewhat helped to distract me from the fact that someone is trying to kill him.
All his chairs have been replaced with larger ones, except for one, which is left for a guest. The bed matches my new one perfectly, except mine has a canopy with a soft indigo cloth draped across it, an idea I borrowed from Julia's room. The size of the bed is too much, but something about the folds of cloth around me is comforting. Cynthia and I couldn't see Zade wanting the canopy, so his is plain.
The new desk will be left by the old one when it's assembled. There are so many papers, we didn't want to move any of them. The woodworker said if it works, it would be easy enough to make a second for his study. I rest in an over-sized chair, Cynthia across from me in the regular sized one.
“You did a good job. Thank you,” I say.
“Do you think Chancellor Zade will like it?”
I shrug. Maybe? It's hard to know, but I like it. I hope he does, as well. If it helps him feel more comfortable, it will have been worth the work. I want him to be comfortable. And safe, but I can't do anything about the latter. “We'll see.”
“If he doesn't like it, he can donate his bed to me and we'll get another canopy. Yours is fantastic.”
“It's big enough, I could probably go back to sharing it with you and our sisters and not even notice.”
She giggles. “It is most likely. Perhaps we should go to dinner.”
“What we should have done was think ahead and had it brought to us. I'm exhausted.”
Me, too, but hopefully it is worth it. “If the Chancellor doesn't like the furniture, we'll tell them to put it in another room up here so the servants don't have to keep moving everything.”
“We could ask them to bring dinner up, I suppose.”
“After all that, I'm not really hungry.”
BAM!
I twist toward the noise. In the open door way, Zade's a tower of rage. I freeze in place. Cynthia cowers in her chair.
“Get out!” he yells.
I can't move. The remaining servants scamper away. He pounds into the room. Black spells fly from him darting through the room. One zips close to me. I jolt back in my chair. After it whizzes past, I spring from my chair and hover in front of Cynthia.
“What are you doing in here?” He thunders closer, dark spells stained with red darting around him.
I flinch. He stops, smashing his palms across his face. The spells finish rushing around the room, rebounding to him. Some of the tension seeps out of him, his shoulders slumping. My own pose doesn't relax. I realize I'm shaking.
“Sorry for losing my temper.” His face tightens and he closes his eyes for a moment. After several deep breaths he opens them again and his face eases. “The council meeting didn't go as planned and I've been worried about—” He sighs. “Never mind. It doesn't matter. I still shouldn't have lost my temper.”
He collapses onto the chair I vacated, face drawn except his lower lip which is pushed up. With a more subdued voice, he says, “What's going on?”
Still uncertain, I stand at attention making sure I'm blocking Cynthia from view as well as I can without looking at her. “It's my fault. I thought you could use some furniture that fit you better.”
His gaze roves around before glancing at the chair he occupies. “I didn't realize...” With another glance at me, he hunches in the chair and his voice softens further. “I'm not going to hurt either of you.”
I stare at him, knowing there's going to be more.
“Sometimes I lose my temper and yell more than I should, but I'll never purposely hurt you. I won't break that promise.”
It's true, he hasn't yet, but those spells were dark and flying fast. I struggle to normalize my breathing. Cynthia nudges my leg. I glance back at her.
She mouths, “I'm fine.”
The expression on her face is sincere. I purse my lips. After considering a moment, I move to the rug next to her, curling my legs beneath me.
“Don't sit on the floor.” He stands, moving toward the desk. “Let me get you a chair.”
“I prefer the floor.”
He grumbles back into his seat. With another survey of the room, he says, “This is great. The desk looks like it'll fit my needs. This chair is the best I've sat in since I got here. I can't believe you both did this for me. I'm such a fool.”
“You didn't tell Serena to do it?” Cynthia asks.
I cringe. For a moment, he's thoughtful. “I guess I did. It just turned out so great.”
My face heats. “Glad it meets your expectations.”
It's clear he doesn't know what to think as he cocks an eyebrow at me.
“We're delighted,” Cynthia says. “We've been waiting for it and worried you wouldn't like it after all the work we've been through.”
“It's really great work.” He sets his elbow on the arm of the chair and rests his chin on his palm. “While you were getting it ready, did you happen to come in here?”
Trouble. “Yes. Sorry, I wanted it to be a surprise when it arrived.”
“Of course. When did you come in?”
“A couple weeks ago,” Cynthia answers. “You should have seen the shopkeeper's face when we went without you. But as soon as he realized the order was for you, he promised he'd have his servants working full time on it.”
“I expect he'll be sending you a rather large bill soon,” I say. Will it bring more trouble, or does he really like it?
“I'll watch for it.” He chuckles. “Next time you want to surprise me, don't use my room. Or tell Waverly. I knew someone had come here and was worried.”
The comment about Waverly bothers me, but I focus on his last thought. Did he think we were one of those trying to take his life?
“How did you know we were here?” Cynthia asks.
“A spell that always wards my room. Usually, it tells me who's been here. But it didn't this time. I thought it must have been a powerful warlock, but now I'm wondering if it's the strength of magic concentrated in you two interfering. Naivety can be powerful. And Serena's blood is strong with magic. Its made my own powers increase ever since...”
“Ever since what?” Cynthia asks.
But I know he won't say. He can't say anything about the ceremony when my blood, teeming with magic, joined his. Did that mean something more than just tradition? I shyly peer at him. It's not like I can ask with the spell preventing me from talking about it.
“Not important.” After gazing back at me a moment, he shakes his head. “I wonder if you're as strong as your sister, Cynthia.”
Behind me, she wiggles. “You can check if you'd like. But I must warn you, blood isn't my favorite thing.”
The fact that she asks should surprise me more than it does, but I must be too used to her talking of marriage. This is a way to know what her offers will be like. It breaks a rule though, to ask Zade to do it. She's spending too much time around me. Becoming more and more outspoken and careless of the rules. I doubt it was a side effect of spying Father wanted. “She usually faints at the sight of it.”
Something whacks me on the shoulder. I twist and wink at her.
She blushes. “It's true.”
“Blood isn't necessary. It's a little more accurate, but not much,” Zade says. “I'd only need to hold your hand. It's not a problem for me, but are you sure you want to?”
“I'm sure.”
&nbs
p; He crosses over to us and sits next to me, but facing her. His body heat brushes my arm. A faint of scent of citrus drifts from him. I move around so I can watch.
Cynthia holds her hand out to him and he envelopes it with his own. He stares into her eyes. It's uncomfortable to watch. I brush a speck off my dress. This is silly. She's bound to be like me. We shouldn't have him check. It could get us in trouble if someone finds out.
“Amazing,” he whispers. They let go of each other, but he stays next to me.
Cynthia looks like a Chancellor's wife situated above us. Straight back. Head lowered. Hands clasped on her lap. Her silver earrings and necklace wouldn't be allowed, but otherwise, she's perfect. Except it's not her. I'm the one who will fail at it.
“Well?” She says.
“I almost don't believe it,” he says, “but it's true. You possess even more magic than your sister. I've rarely, if ever come across such strong magic. Just think what you could do with that kind of power.”
“Father will be anxious to marry me off.”
“No,” I shout. Their gazes flash toward me. I swallow and lower my voice. “She doesn't need to worry about a husband, yet. There are a few months left.”
When she doesn't contradict me right away, I wonder if she's too angry to speak.
“Surely not,” Zade says, his voice going cold. “I forgot myself. If you ladies will excuse me, I've had a long day.”
I bound to my feet. “Yes, of course. Will you be joining us for dinner?”
“No, I'm afraid not. I asked cook to send a tray.”
Cynthia stands. “Thank you for checking.”
He nods, but says nothing.
With no sign of hesitation, she wraps her arm around me. The gesture is new, but feels as if it's meant for sisters. She must not be cross with me. “We'll see you later.”
I follow her example and we're out the door. When we're part way to our room, I work up the courage to ask, “Are you well?”
“I'm fine.”
“Indeed?”
She sighs. “It wasn't a shock, but something I hoped for. Now that I know for sure, well, I guess I'm glad.” It takes her a moment to continue while we walk through the passage. “It's just, seeing your relationship with Zade, I don't know if anyone who asks for my hand will be able to compare with that.”
Our feet shuffle through the hall. I let her words absorb into me. She's right. No one can compete with how Chancellor Zade treats me, but does he see me as more than just a possession? I want him to, but I'm afraid to hope.
Chapter Thirty-One
A knock startles me awake. It's still dark. I groan. It sounds again. Not one of the servants or my sisters, they would just come in. Who would want to bother me? There's no one else. I haul myself out of bed. After throwing on my robe, I rub my eyes. The knock comes a third time before I answer it.
Zade stands before me, dark circles under his eyes. “Better get dressed if you're coming to the council meeting with me.”
I slam my door closed and stare at it. Did he really just say that? I open it again. One of his eyes is partially closed and his forehead wrinkled.
“What did you say?” I ask.
“If you still want to go to a council meeting, get dressed.”
“That's what I thought.” A long moment follows. He's really going to let me do this. Do I really want to? I don't think anything like it has ever been done. My pulse accelerates. “Why did you change your mind about letting me come?”
The line of his mouth tightens on one side. “Women in Envado are part of parliament. Did you know we have a queen?”
“What's a queen?”
“She's sort of like the equivalent of the Grand Chancellor.”
“How can that be? A woman not only in government, but ruling? It's not possible.” I try to imagine what it would be like to have a woman on the council with Father. I can't picture it.
He looks away from me. “The use of magic isn't a requirement for parliament.”
“What a different place you come from.”
In a voice so quiet, I almost can't hear him. “You have no idea.”
It's even more different than I think? I can't imagine what else would surprise me more than a woman leading their government, but right now I need to focus on the council meeting. “I suppose I'll get dressed then?”
“It's up to you, but if you're going to come to one, you'll want to make it to this one.”
What does that mean? I'm not sure if I dare ask and have more of my curiosity make him change his mind again. I can't believe he's asking in the first place.
“There's a condition.”
Holding the door steady, I brace myself against it. “What is it?”
“You'll practice using your gun more and carry it with you at all times.”
Which do I want more, to go to the meeting or to avoid the gun? I lick my lips. “I'll be ready.”
A black cloak appears from behind him. “Wear this over your clothes. You'll stand out less.” He starts down the stairs and calls over his shoulder. “Remember, forty minutes. If you're not there, I'm not waiting.”
Without bothering to close the door, I ring for Waverly. I rush to my wardrobe wondering what to wear. None of my new things will suffice. Something more conservative. I grab the dress Father most approved of, though it doesn't have a slot for a gun like the others. I suppose I could still strap it to my leg, though I doubt there'll be time to grab it if needed.
Waverly enters with her usual tea tray.
“That was faster than expected,” I say.
She sets the tray down. “Zade said you might need me early this morning.”
I take off my robe and nightdress. “Yes, would you help me into this, please?”
She grabs the black dress. I step into it, already dreading it. As she works on tightening the back, I feel confined. I miss the freedom.
When I'm cinched, she puts things away while I eat breakfast. Nothing looks appetizing this morning. I grab a biscuit.
“What's the excitement about? Are you doing something for the ball? I haven't heard of anything.”
I sip some juice. “No. Zade decided to let me go to a council meeting.”
She drops the brush. “A council meeting?”
I put the barely touched biscuit back on the tray. “Yes.”
After retrieving the brush, she says, “I'd better give you one of those boring buns then.”
The tugging on my hair is familiar, though uncomfortable. I hadn't realized how much I've enjoyed her new way of styling my hair over the tight pulling. “Thank you, Waverly.”
“No problem. If it's what Zade wants, I'll do what I can to help with it.”
If she knew it was my idea and he's reluctant to let me, would she still be willing?
“There,” she says. “All set.”
The clock says there's still twenty minutes left.
“Would you mind giving me some face paint as well?”
“But you never paint your face.”
“Today, I do.” Though I'll hate every minute of the cakey mixture. “I want to make a favorable impression for Zade.”
Without another word, she deftly applies a hefty amount of face paint. More than I've ever worn before, though not more than mother. Its chalky, fatty smell makes me sneeze. How have women worn this for years?
“It'll smear, so let it dry.”
With pink cheeks and lips, eyes lined with black, I don't look like myself. But neither do I look like countless other woman who have painted their faces. There are angles to it, subtle, but there. Slashed at the corners of my eyes and across my cheekbones. I'm owned by a Chancellor, but on closer inspection, I'm different.
I close my eyes and take a breath. “Thank you.”
She places a hand on my arm. “Courage.”
I open my eyes and force a smile. After pulling on the cloak Zade gave me, I head for the door. I can do this. I will do this. The carriage leaves in ten minutes. I will not mi
ss it.
***
Zade holds out a hand and helps me from the carriage. Despite his spell aiding my carriage sickness, my stomach still feels off. Once I'm steady, I realize we're at Councilman Daniel's and Annabelle's house. This makes some of the tension leave, but not enough to really do any good.
A footman opens the door for us. He pauses when he sees me. Zade stares at him until, without saying a thing, he leads us to a long room. I hesitate at the door. The footman scurries back the way we came. Conversation drifts to us.
Zade's mammoth arms cross and a scowl mars his face. “Come along, woman.”
Feeling shamed, though he's probably only doing it for show, I follow him alongside the table. It's almost as long as the room, with twelve chairs around it. A few warlocks are already seated. They fall silent as Zade passes. Or rather, when I trail after him. I hasten my pace.
A servant is behind every chair. They each wear a cloak like mine. That explains why Zade wanted me to wear it. At least I'll blend in a little more. At the end of the long table is another one, smaller and placed across the end to create the shape of a T. Three softer looking chairs spread across it. Two windows, behind the smaller table, let in light. When Zade reaches the chair furthest to the left on the smaller table, a servant moves toward it. He holds out a hand to stop the servant.
“My chair, wench.”
The command is foreign coming from his lips, but I've lived in a world with commands longer than without them. I automatically do his bidding. When he's seated, I step behind him and slightly to the left since the servant is on the right.
The light from the window warms my back, but I don't move the cloak. I clasp my hands together beneath it. My body is rigid. Though I don't look up, I feel eyes on me. Watching me. Wondering about me. Waiting to hear a reason for my presence. Or to shun my presence.
Others enter, but I don't look at them either. I focus on the swirling pattern in the rug.
Someone asks, “What's she doing here?”
It takes me a moment to realize why I've stopped breathing. Father. He can't hurt me. I'm not his. I take a deep breath. No reply comes. I chance a peek at Zade through my lashes. He's scribbling away, pointedly ignoring Father. The floor returns to being my main focus. This is pointless. I'm not going to learn anything, but rather be reminded of how life is. How it still should be.
