Beneath a ribcage vest, raven feathers tremble with her laughter. A collar bone twice the size of hers perches atop it like a statement necklace that juts off her jittering shoulders. Her gown plummets down to her feet, shifting from black feathers to black satin shiny as oil. And her crown… are those finger bones?
“You lack her manners as well,” she snaps her fingers. “My mother had impeccable courtesy.”
A person wearing a mask that looks like the beak of a monstrous bird appears at her side. He holds out a golden tray which earns a wide, toothy smile from the skeletal queen.
I remember to bow, but her interest shifts to the ornate golden hand mirror on her servant’s tray. Watching her reflection, she tucks rogue strands of platinum blond hair behind her long, pointed ears. She purses her blood-red lips, then smiles at herself, crystal clear eyes widening with pleasure at her wicked appearance. She angles the mirror and shifts from one dramatic expression to another. I straighten my back and take inventory of the room.
“This is not good,” the Death Spirit whispers to me.
Everyone else is dressed as a beast of some kind. Furs, feathers, spotted hides, and scales. Snakeskin, cotton tails, whiskers, and wings. The entire court. Except one male whose expression is unphased and whose appearance remains unadulterated. His indigo hair and golden skin make an eye-catching combo, but his violet eyes and enticing, opalescent smile catch me gawking. I snap my attention back to Queen Hero, the lone huntress in this court of beasts. This lunatic apparently wears the trophies of her kills, if what Indiro said is true.
“I am sorry for your loss, Queen Hero.”
“You must be my cousin.” She says. “I could have called you sister for you look so much like the late Queen Herrona.” She punctuates each word. “The white.” She waves a hand around the crown of fingers and toes on her head to show she means my hair.
“Used to be black,” I say.
“My mother’s hair was also black. But that’s not what I meant. It’s white as snow, darling.”
“I was marked by the God of Death, Mrithyn. As a child, I—”
“Mrithyn touched you.” She gasps as if a God’s touch were a scandalous thing. Her eyes pinch shut, and her hands fly to her forehead.
“I cannot imagine. Serving a God — mind, body, and soul.” She wraps her hands around the rib bones she’s wearing. “The magnanimity of Mrithyn!”
She leaps to her feet, clapping her hands in the beaked face of her servant. “A service of worship for Mrithyn, for—”
She holds out a hand to me.
“Keres.” I wring out the tension in my hands. “And I must protest.” I bow again, not knowing what else to do.
Every eye in the room trains on me. I feel the weight of my cloak, the red of my shawl burning into me, the scythe on my belt biting into my hip.
“Keres.” My name sounds perverse coming from her mouth. Like a curse. “Princess Keres Nyxara Aurelian, yes, I’ve heard about you. Once hidden in the shadows of the Sunderlands Forest, lured out by…”
“My Queen,” a hoarse voice croaks from behind the beak mask. “The temple is occupied by the Oracle for the Veiling, you’ll remember. We cannot hold a service for the Coroner.”
“Humph!” She lifts her skirts, revealing ankle shackles strung with more bones that rattle like dastardly wind-chimes; and pivots away from the servant.
She paces in front of her throne, “Useless rituals. Girl goes blind and the whole kingdom goes mad.” She mutters and I wonder if she realizes she’s speaking aloud.
Courtiers exchange nervous glances. Hero stops. She scans the menagerie of faces.
“Ah, yes,” another hiss. “How could I forget the Child? I’ve been planning to deal with her.”
She stomps one tiny, ill-decorated foot in front of the other, closing the distance between her and me. I notice the mirror still in her clutches. The glass is pitch black.
Coming up to my nose, she says, “Forgive me. My temple is overwhelmed with religious pride and we cannot spare a wink of observance of the Child now. The Ritual is holy you understand... shall I call you Princess or Coroner?”
I incline my head, breaking contact with her crystalline eyes. “Coroner will suffice. I am more predator than princess.”
She raises her hands and laughs, and the court joins her in a choir of forced mirth.
“Someone, run and prepare a room for the Coroner! Squire, parcel and ink!”
The servant passes the requested writing materials to her as I look at a nobleman dressed like a bear and watch his beady eyes recognize the danger in mine. She scrawls out a note and hands it to a maid dressed like a bunny. They exchange glances before the bunny-girl leaves.
“I am here on my Pilgrimage, my Queen.”
Queen Hero’s smile falls off her face and the room turns dead quiet.
“Were you not sent?”
“Only by tradition and our Relic blood.”
“Many come falsely claiming to seek refuge or to offer me comfort. I know why you all come. For answers about me.” She frames her face with her hands and shouts, “The Queen’s gone mad!” She’s stomping in circles, “The Queen’s mother is dead, and her sanity died with her!”
Courtiers shrink back from her, looking to me as if they’re embarrassed by her outburst.
“The Queen is wearing our skin as her rain cloak and our eyes as her jewels!” She feigns a sob, dragging her fingers down her cheeks and stretching her lower eyelids, “What’s wrong with our beloved, Hero?”
She stops. Turning to look at me over her shoulder, uncanny serenity suddenly glazes those crystal eyes.
“Do you know what a shark is?”
I shift on my feet, browsing my memory for the picture I once saw drawn in a book. I’ve never seen the sea, but I’ve read about it and its creatures.
“A great predator of the ocean.” I remember the rows of teeth, the bottomless pits for eyes.
A moan of pleasure erupts in her throat. “Ah! Yes! And when a shark smells blood…” She takes a step toward me, head rolling over her shoulders and eyes closed as she takes in a deep breath through her nose. “They go absolutely mad.”
“Murder,” I say.
“Yes,” her eyes flash open, the color of lightning. “My mother screams to me from her grave. Murder! Murder!”
All I can do is stare as she floats toward me like one of Nerissa’s monsters in the watery depths.
“I smell blood.”
And so, she’s gone into a frenzy.
“Have you come to see if it is true— what they say about me?” She frowns.
“No.”
“Are you here to contend for my throne?” She bows toward me, an arm sweeping back toward the throne, a mischievous smile daring me to say ‘yes.’
“No. I am here to ensure you don’t lose it.”
She seems pleased with her little interrogation, but something else bubbles in her eyes. She rubs her fingers along the collarbone at her neck and adjusts the crown atop her sleek hair.
“A Reaper of Souls knocks on my door and promises me safety? Understand if I laugh, my darling.” She bounces on her toes and folds her hands behind her back. “Welcome to the land of your mother and mine.”
Notably, Queen Hero and I are of similar build. We look so alike we could be sisters. More alike than Liriene and I. This kingdom belongs to our blood. I feel the likeness of her and our mothers swimming through my veins. Along with the secrets, as Attica warned me.
It’s so strange, this immense and terrifying presence bottled up in a beautiful, dangerous girl. Beneath the bones and the plume of black. In those eyes, I see a girl as natural as any. She circles around me like a vulture, taking me in. I steal a glance at the throne. If the Gods had desired it, I could have been in that seat. Raised here at court and dumped on to it when I came of age. We share the same blood— we are not so different.
I’m the servant of Death and she’s wearing bones. I hunt human terrorists she hunts h
er mother’s murderer. She rules with fear, and intimidation. I am some men’s worst nightmare. I see through the facade, straight through the maniac to the girl beneath the exoskeleton, the one who’s trying to do right by the loved one that she lost. I see myself in Hero, and I cannot look away from our reflections in the mirrored glass throne. Bloodlust and all, we are the same.
Here I am, wading into the watery grave she’s been living in. I know what’s beneath her surface. I’ve drowned in these waters before. Her eyes exude what I’ve seen only in a mirror. Something I used to call “me,” but now in her presence, loses its name.
What would the Gryphons have thought if they came and found her courtiers adorned in the skins and wings of their kind and other beasts? Something besides the Gryphon King and Osira called me here. I can feel it when I look at Hero. Did King Arias see it when he looked at me? Maybe that’s what appalled him about me.
Hero makes me smile. With her talk of monsters and her crown of bones. Unrivaled power looks good on our family’s Mirrored Throne; fearsome and tantalizing. Murdered or not, Herrona’s death turned this princess into a Queen I can respect— relate to. Power has never been frightening to me. Raised in it and by it, it’s natural to me. I’ve only ever feared the curse on my soul. But if Mrithyn damned my soul, there’s no use in being terrified to acknowledge it. I possess a power. One I’ve long resented.
Looking into Hero’s eyes I remember Liriene’s fear of the corruption power engenders. All my second life, I’ve been fighting the Death Spirit for control. Its hunger and ilk feel like weakness— an affront on my morality. Fear is warranted.
Queen Hero turns heads, and some she sends rolling across the floor. Her power is different: it’s what holds her spine so straight and tall. It’s what clears her throat before she speaks and brightens her eyes. Hero possesses a power too— one I desire.
“I am home,” I think and I don’t know if it came from the Death Spirit or from myself.
She’s back again, leaning forward over her toes, looking deep into my eyes. Hers are silver and clear as water. I imagine her pupils are the holes of geysers to let out that energy within her. Such an odd color staring into mine, which are earthen green.
“So alike,” She breathes.
I gather she means alike to her late mother, Queen Herrona. My mother’s eldest sister.
“She had eyes like yours. Green as envy.”
I tilt my head, not knowing whether that was a compliment.
“Rydel!” Her voice cracks. She turns away from me, tilting as if she might faint. One hand trembles at her brow, her other wrapped around the mirror hilt with white knuckles. She pales, as if with fear. She lifts the looking glass again, scouring its icy black depths for comfort I cannot see.
A breath later she turns back to me. The blue-haired male is at her side now, and she calms the instant his fingertips touch her elbow.
“Will you come to dinner?” She sighs.
I nod, acknowledging the male’s violet eyes briefly and trying to disregard the weird episode of panic.
With that she twirls on her toes, snapping her fingers. The servant returns to her side, allowing her to lay the mirror back on its bed of velvet like a sleeping babe.
I turn and accidentally make eye contact with a courtier dressed as a wolf. His eyes are mismatched colors, and a snarl lingers on his lips.
Someone taps me on the shoulder: A servant with a headdress like rabbit ears, a necklace of whiskers, and a fluffy white and gray dress.
“Your highness, please follow me to your chambers,” She beckons with a finger.
Watching Queen Hero lean into Rydel’s undivided attention, I follow the maid past them and into a corridor off the side of the throne room.
Without the distraction of Queen Hero and her court of beasts, I’m awed by the immeasurable splendor of the Ro’Hale Palace. When I stepped through the Kingdom gates this morning, a chariot decked with pearls delivered me to court. From my window, I’d glimpsed rolling fields and orchards, a sapphire lake, miles of village houses, and the spire of a mountain-hewn temple. The views increased in beauty from tree line to palace walls. A resplendent jewel of a kingdom nestled in a groove of the mountain range back-boning the Sunderlands. A hidden wonder. Somehow, all those sights, the revelation of the land of Ro’Hale, pale in comparison to the palace.
The walls are white marble, encrusted with opals and diamonds. The fixtures are pure gold and the accents are a rich jade stone. Dazzling white and sleek green, everywhere I look. White like my hair, green like my eyes. I shake my head at the notion I am made of this kingdom— for this kingdom.
Golden doors line the corridor which curves off into a sheen staircase that climbs the walls and into a tower. Nadia, the voluptuous bunny servant trails ahead of me. Her dress puffs off her wide hips as she sways her steps. Her luxurious auburn locks put Liriene’s to shame— bouncing, frisky curls. Nadia must be more than a servant if she’s walking around the kingdom like this.
She flashes her sapphire blue eyes over her shoulder and her sultry voice tells me, “All yours.” She splays her hand on a golden door.
I swallow back my words, blushing at the raw sensuality of her persona. I stalk toward the chambers but before even my eyes can cross the threshold, Nadia’s got her cashmere soft hand around my wrist. My eyes go first to the place where we’re connected, then to the differences between us. Looking down past our joined hands I notice the dirt coating my bare feet, and my overgrown toenails. Her feet are primped from heel to glossy toenail. Her heels touch and all her toes fan out elegantly. She curtsies, lowering so I’m forced to look into her impossibly blue eyes once more. Her smile leans sideways as she brushes my filthy hair back behind my ear. “Hope I’ll see more of you,” she says in a husky whisper.
I try to think of something to say but what does one even say to that— to this kind of girl? Fuck.
“In the pleasure gardens.” Her nose crinkles when she smiles. Her eyes do too. She’s older than me.
“Perhaps,” I say. My voice is rougher than hers.
She giggles and strokes the underside of my hand with one of her dainty fingers. I withdraw my hand and scratch my palm.
“I hope you’ll come.” Her eyelashes are so long and thick. I’ve never even noticed my own.
With that I turn into my room and slam the door behind me.
Snapping out of my daze proves impossible when I see the room. I only have one word for it: luscious. Never thought I’d say that about a room, or anything other than a sexy mouth. Darius. I shiver at the memory of his kisses in the river and try to replace it with the rightful memory of my husband.
Husband. I shake my head and look around.
The bed. Gods have mercy! I strip out of my soaked traveling clothes, kicking them into a pile near the door. I want them burned. I double check the lock on my door. Like a child, I run to the bed and sink into it. It feels the way I imagine a cloud would. No. Like— unlike anything I can dream up. My standard for beds rises to the stars. My memories of the wedding bed’s satin and fur chafe my mind like gravel on knees. I want to luxuriate in this bed forever and forget—
I sit up straight, hands fisted in the sheets.
Katrielle, Hayes, Cassriel, Lucius, Meir, Nilo, Jeren, Leander, and Oryn.
How can I lay here? Am I not here because of their deaths?
I am but will I never rest because of their memory? I launch from the bed and run naked into the adjoining washroom. A separate bathing chamber? I stop short and my curves jiggle. It smells divine in here. I cross my arms and cover my breasts with my hands. If I were a goddess, I’d want a temple just like this room.
Your niece sits on that throne— half her mind gone out the widest window.
“Stop it!” I shut my eyes and take in the smells and warmth of the bedroom. Someone has already drawn a hot bath, and steam is spilling over the edges of the bathtub. I half remember Hero ordering someone to ready my room. I feel filthy, as if I’m coated i
n blood. I step into the water and slowly sit, melting into a puddle of conflicting emotions.
I pluck a poufy sponge off the gold and marble table beside the tub, and the princess scrubs away the scales of the predator. Blood, sweat, and tears. I shed them into the tub.
For the first time in my life, I sit in a bath of water and refuse to think about drowning. I focus on stemming the memories of my entire life thus far. The thought of Liriene silly with excitement over my wedding dress makes me smile, and then I banish it. Wash it away. Don’t think about it or you won’t enjoy this glorious fucking bath.
An hour or so later, my stomach reminds me of Hero’s invitation to dine with her. Unhappily, I also remember Nadia’s invite to the… what’d she call them? Pleasure gardens?
I want to go to dinner but I’m laying naked on the bed, polished and soothed. I deign to look at my pile of filthy clothes. Never again do I want to wear them. I walk toward another set of doors, dizzy with perfume and the scent of the candles.
I swing both doors back and squeal. Rows of gowns on my-sized figurines. Aisles of dresses and skirts, blouses and shawls. Coats, hats, and gloves. Shelves— a library of jewelry. I wander into the closet that rivals the throne room in size. Fixed to one wall is a drawing that looks as if a child made it. A little girl wearing a crown beside a woman holding golden scissors. The woman’s eyes are red. I wonder why such a disturbing sketch made it on to the gold-leafed wall.
At the center of the room, a velvet couch sprawls out between two round stone tables. On one table is a tray; a single note folded upright with Keres written on it, a bouquet and a hand mirror that almost matches Hero’s. On the other table— a lonely pair of shoes.
I squint my eyes at the odd find. Shoes? In the dressing chamber of an Elven Princess? I pick up the note addressed to me and read it. I assume Hero wrote it, remembering her hand off a letter to the bunny maid.
The Sunderlands Page 18
