Chapter Fourteen
When we get to our room, two brown paper packages are waiting on the bed. One for Maeve and one for Wren. I frown at Taron, but he doesn’t seem surprised.
When I tear open my package, I gasp. Inside is the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen: a long silky gown in a striking midnight-blue colour, featuring a corset bodice and ribboned straps.
Taron’s package contains a suit and a note.
Hope these fit. A solarcraft will collect you at six. Don’t disappoint me.
Sincerely, Madame Vera
I serve customers and take orders for the rest of the day, but I can’t stop thinking about the packages.
How did Madame Vera know where to find us?
Did Taron notify her? I doubt it. I’ve been at his side the entire time, apart from when we were working and, even then, he was under the scrutiny of Mr Bo.
“How did she know?” I ask, when we finally head back to our room at the end of our afternoon shift.
“What do you mean?” Taron asks.
“We never told Madame Vera where we’re staying.” I watch his face, studying his reaction. “Unless you did?”
There’s not a twitch in his brow. “I didn’t have to. She has eyes and ears everywhere.”
“Who is she?”
“We should get dressed.”
I’m not ready to let it go, but I do. My focus now should be on the banquet, anyway.
The dress Madame Vera sent fits perfectly, almost as though it were made especially for me.
It hugs my curves and shimmers in the light as I move.
The blue silky fabric is unlike anything I’ve ever worn, and I try not to think about what it must’ve cost. How many weeks of rent could it have afforded Elara and me in the cottage?
I emerge from the washroom to find Taron dressed in matching midnight-blue trousers and a waistcoat that fits him like a glove. His light-blue dress shirt’s top two buttons are casually undone, and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows.
As he adjusts one of the sleeves, another faded scar reveals itself on the back of his forearm, spreading across his skin like lightning. It’s intricate, and it intrigues me. Yet another piece of the grand old puzzle that is Taron’s life before all of this.
“You clean up nicely,” I say, but Taron barely glances at me. He’s been reluctant to speak to me, brooding ever since the incident with the street urchin.
“Your dress is undone,” he says. “The ribbon at the back, I mean.”
“What… Oh…” Heat flares across my cheeks. I reach behind my dress where a silky ribbon is meant to be criss-crossing down my spine. I’d been so distracted by the beauty of the dress, I completely forgot to do it up.
My hands are clumsy as I struggle to feed the ribbon through the loops, twisting awkwardly. I should have done this before I got dressed.
I catch Taron watching me in the mirror while doing up his bow tie. He quickly looks away, but a quirk to his lips betrays him.
“Is something amusing you?” I snap.
“Yeah. You.” He turns with his hands in his pockets. It’s the briefest movement, but his gaze floats across my collarbone before springing back up to my eyes. “How long are you willing to struggle before asking for help?”
“I can do up my own dress, thank you very much.”
“Without dislocating a shoulder?”
Another failed attempt at feeding the ribbon through the loops makes me sigh. “Fine. I might … need some assistance.”
Taron isn’t even bothering to hide his smile any more. He tilts his head in a way that beckons me closer, and I position myself in front of the mirror with him towering over my shoulder.
I can feel his presence against my bare back, and silk folds beneath my fingers as I brush my hands awkwardly against my skirt.
“How does this thing work, anyway?” Taron asks, eyeing the ribbons in his hands. He feeds either end through a loop, and his touch is surprisingly gentle. “Like this?”
I turn in the mirror. “Yeah, that looks right.”
“Easy work.” Taron moves slowly and with maddening care. His touch ghosts over my skin. I keep still, watching him in the mirror, tracing the small faded scar on his lip. He’s focused, but then his eyes flicker up, just briefly, to meet mine in the glass.
Taron threads the ribbons through the final two loops at my waist and gives the ends a tug to tighten them. I don’t expect the sudden pull, and it throws me off balance.
I stumble back, right into Taron’s solid frame. His hands curl around my waist. I can feel his cold fingertips through the dress. I suck in a breath, doing all I can to stop my heart from fluttering in my chest like some erratic caged bird.
Taron narrows his eyes as if he can hear it, and the heat pooling around my neck grows unbearable. I peel away from him, smoothing my skirt and haphazardly tying the ends of the ribbon into a bow behind my back.
Stop it, Talia. You need to compose yourself.
“Thanks,” I manage to say.
Taron runs a hand through his hair. If he’s feeling … whatever this is, he’s not showing it. “Sure. Like I said, easy work.”
By the time we head downstairs to wait for our ride, the city of Rava is soaked in end-of-day sun. Mr Bo looks like he’s about to pop a vessel when he sees us dressed for the banquet; I realize he most likely never believed we were actually competing.
I tug at the hem of my dress, the silk sticking to my skin as we wait outside for the solarcraft.
I can’t tell if it’s the humidity in the air or a lingering reaction to whatever it was that happened between me and Taron in front of that mirror.
It was something visceral, out of my control.
It was his body pressing against mine, the smell of bergamot mixed with something deeper.
This is ridiculous. I can’t be attracted to Taron. We barely know each other and, whatever hold Madame Vera has on him, he still had a hand in Elara’s death. It’ll take a lot more than a crooked smile and a gentle touch for me to drop my guard. Besides, most of the time, he barely looks at me.
We wait in silence. When at last the solarcraft pulls up in front of the tavern, I can’t hide my relief.
The vehicle closely resembles a watercraft – a long body that’s gracefully arched, made from sun-hardened wood and adorned with gold leaf and amber.
A lattice of woven vines and sun-dried reeds forms the canopy overhead, filtering in the remaining rays of sunlight.
The canopy flips open, and Taron and I climb inside. It’s far less spacious than it looks, with seats opposite each other.
Taron’s tall frame takes up over half the space, one of his knees lightly grazing mine. I don’t think he realizes. I can’t ignore it. The coolness of his body seeps through the fabric of my dress. It spreads across my skin, and a shiver runs through me.
Stop it, I tell myself for the thousandth time. I turn away from him to stare out of the window, leaning my head right back to soak in the breeze.
“Clearing your head?” Taron asks.
“Something like that,” I say.
As the solarcraft winds its way up the steep mountain towards the palace gates, the city below soon fades into insignificance. The glistening waterways, market stalls and pretty pastel houses get smaller until they’re only tiny clusters of twinkling lights and smoking chimneys in the distance.
The palace gates loom large ahead of us. Two soldiers clad in black armour briefly stop us. We present our invitation and sigils – I’m still wary whenever I retrieve it from my boot – and then we’re through. There’s no turning back now.
Our journey across the grounds leads us past manicured gardens with colourful blooms and labyrinth hedges; statues of historical figures line the marble path, forever frozen in time.
We coast past the walls enclosing the grounds, and I realize they’re a maze of towers and smaller residences, all linked to the main palace by graceful walkways.
The alabaster stone has a dreamy feel to it in the soft light of dusk; every intricate carving and embellishment mirrors the crystalline dome crowning the palace.
We’re slowing down and the helmsman manoeuvres our solarcraft around a magnificent fountain before drifting to a stop outside the entrance of the main palace. The canopy flips open and I step out, tilting my head up to take in the spectacle.
High above, the dome glints in the waning evening sun. In front of us is a pair of towering wooden doors, flung open in a welcoming gesture. An assembly of footmen and parlour maids stand in the doorway, hands folded tidily behind their backs.
One footman steps forward and bows. “On behalf of His Majesty, High Prince Seraphius, we’d like to welcome you to this evening’s Obsidian Banquet.
If you would be so kind as to make your way up the stairs to the banquet hall reception, the High Prince eagerly awaits to extend his welcome.
” His polished accent and soft-spoken manner remind me of how out of place I am – an insignificant girl from a small village who’s never even graced the presence of a visiting dignitary.
But Taron nods and strolls through the doors as if he’s attended this sort of event a million times. And maybe he has? I’ve no idea.
My neck cranes as I step inside and the palace engulfs me. The ceilings are high with dangling chandeliers and gold-framed oil paintings lining dark, wood-panelled walls. A golden carpet cascades down the grand staircase towards us, like a river of molten gold.
We follow it up towards the distant din of chatter, and I don’t realize I’m pulling nervously at the hem of my dress until Taron’s hand comes to rest over mine.
The unexpected gesture sends a jolt through me. His touch is cold and startling, prickling my skin. I snatch my hand back, trying to regain my composure, while shooting Taron a glare that hopefully masks the heat flaring in my cheeks.
“Sorry,” he mutters in a low voice, and I immediately feel bad. It seemed like he was genuinely being kind, but, then again, he probably didn’t want my nerves to give us away.