Chapter 12
Twelve
I whirl around, wishing for the thousandth time I had a weapon, but the fight goes out of me as I take in the stranger.
A girl, dressed in a lacy skirt and plunging amethyst bodice, is pressed against the opposite wall of the corridor.
She’s flouncing and feminine in every way, with deep brown skin that glows in the candlelight, long braids that are twisted into intricate loops, and soft brown eyes that blink at me with horror—as if I snuck up on her.
Just like my infuriating maid.
Apparently, I have this effect on everyone in this blooming country.
“Who are you? And what do you want?” I demand.
“Forgive the intrusion,” she says tentatively, “but I heard you yelling and thought I should inform you His Royal Highness is in the king’s council chamber. The meet each morning and won’t be finished until suppertime.”
She smiles, as if she’s simply being helpful, but my frown deepens. The only way she could have heard me yelling is if she was already in this private wing of the castle. And if she knew Alaric would be gone, it means she came here looking specifically for me.
I cross my arms and blatantly look her up and down. She doesn’t look dangerous, but then, neither does pretty, purple bagrava fruit.
“Who are you? And what are you doing here?” I demand again.
“I’m Elodie Tomasko, daughter of Councilwoman Tomasko,” the girl says with an outlandish curtsy. “And I came to introduce myself, of course. I wanted to be the first to meet the new Tashiri princess.”
She smooths her dress and ventures a hopeful smile, but I’m far too tired and on edge to deal with social climbers already. I turn on my heel and march back toward my chamber, muttering, “I’d hardly call myself new. I’ve been a princess all my life.”
The girl follows, giggling into her gloved hand as if I just said the most amusing thing she’s ever heard. “You’re quite the comedian. Her Majesty, Queen Tessa, is going to adore you.”
“I sincerely hope not.”
“Just as she adored Rowenna,” Elodie continues prattling. “We all adored Ro.”
My sister’s nickname freezes me in place.
I slowly spin back around. “You knew Rowenna?”
The noble girl laughs and taps my shoulder with the lacy fan dangling from her wrist. “Of course. I knew her even better than I know myself.”
“You’re lying.”
She has to be. Rowenna would have never befriended a member of King Soren’s court.
She rarely interacted with our own courtiers in Tashir.
She was always too busy running the kingdom.
And when she did have downtime, she preferred to spend it with me and sometimes Haddesh.
She adored our people, of course, but she was happiest when it was just the two of us. We both were.
Elodie blinks at me with big watery eyes.
“I assure you, Rowenna and I are the dearest of friends. Or we were the dearest of friends,” she softly amends.
“I still cry every night when I think of her. Ro was like the sister I never had. She, of course, had you,” she adds meekly, “but I like to think I was a second sister to her—her Vanzadorian sister. She must have mentioned me in her letters?”
Rowenna would never consider a Vanzadorian her sister, I want to snap.
But when Elodie’s brown eyes lift cautiously to mine, they look so lost, so genuinely sad, I bite back my cutting remarks.
Whether or not it’s true, if she fancies herself Ro’s best friend, it would be unwise to dismiss her before I mine her for information.
“Elodie Tomasko…” I tap my chin. “Why, yes. Yes, of course! Rowenna mentioned you at length.”
The girl beams and takes both of my hands in hers.
“Oh, it’s such a relief to finally meet you, Indira.
You’re the only person who understands the depth of my grief.
I still can’t fathom a world without Rowenna, but at least we’re together now.
You and I shall carry each other through these dark days and fill the void in the other’s heart.
We will never forget or replace Rowenna, of course,” she says solemnly.
“But she’d want us to carry on in her memory, don’t you think? ”
My mind flashes back to Lewis saying this very thing outside my chamber window the morning of Ro’s funeral, and I decide he and Elodie would make a fine, brainless pair.
She sniffles loudly and stares with tearful intensity, which is when I realize her question isn’t rhetorical. She actually expects me to validate her declaration and seal our bond of friendship.
“Um, yes. I suppose that is what Rowenna would want,” I say cautiously. “Perhaps she even led you to me now, in this moment. I’m having a bit of trouble with my maid, you see, and I need someone to help me find—”
“It looks like you’re having a lot of trouble with your maid,” Elodie interrupts, crinkling her nose as she looks me up and down.
Despite the wardrobe full of luxurious gowns in my chamber, I’m still wearing the same disgusting trousers and tunic I wore across the Tomb Flats.
They’re stiff with dried sweat and blood, and I know I smell worse than a group of ten-year-old boys picking strawberries in high summer, but I refuse to don the Vanzadorians’ finery.
“Do you know the serving girl?” I press. “Did Ro have trouble with her too?”
But Elodie isn’t listening. “I can’t believe she let you leave your chamber in such a state. Not to worry. I’ll fix you up before anyone sees.”
“But—”
Elodie links her arm through mine and tugs me down the corridor, in the opposite direction of my room and the carvings.
We bustle through another, more crowded wing of the palace and into a room with shockingly green marble pillars.
No fewer than ten mirrored vanities stand along the back wall, and I choke on a cloud of cloying oleander perfume as Elodie positions me in front of one.
With her fingers tapping her chin, she circles me three times, her frown deepening with each revolution.
Then, without a word of warning, she yanks on my belt buckle so hard, my pants nearly come off with it.
“What are you doing?” I grapple for the waistband.
Elodie gives me a wry look in the mirror, then firmly shakes her braids. “You can’t wear this to the queen’s salon.”
“The queen’s salon?” I repeat, unable to keep the horror from my voice. “Why would I go there?”
“Because that’s where everyone passes the day.”
“Not me.”
“Rowenna never missed a salon,” Elodie says with hushed reverence. “She said they reminded her of the many lavish teas and soirees she hosted in Tashir.”
While I stutter with surprise, Elodie deftly tugs my arms out of my tunic and forces me into a tub full of fragrant, soapy water.
The closest thing we’ve ever had to a soiree was Rowenna’s funeral.
Our celebrations are always about the harvest and the land itself.
About coming together and sharing Earth Mother’s bounty with all, not a select few nobles in a gilded parlor.
Ro would have hated being stuffed into a flashy gown and made to chat with pompous courtiers.
She hardly interacted with our own nobility, aside from accepting their thanks.
They would praise her beauty and admire her cunning and strength, and she would share her plans to bring even more prosperity to Tashir, but they were hardly friendly.
Which is further proof Elodie is lying. She didn’t know my sister at all.
“What else did Ro tell you about Tashir?” I ask as Elodie scrubs my skin raw.
“Oh, not much. She rarely mentioned your country. She was eager to leave the dull, dirty fields behind. She said she felt like she could finally breathe up here in the dazzling mountain air, surrounded by finer people and amenities.”
Even though I know it isn’t true, the words still land like a gut punch.
When I suck in a painful breath, Elodie’s hand flies to her mouth, and she looks down sheepishly. “Oh, I didn’t mean—I’m sorry if that’s difficult to hear. Ro missed you terribly, of course. You were the bright spot amidst the doldrums of such a simple life.”
I nod my head and dredge up a small smile, but inside, my mind is spinning. Rowenna loved Tashir. I know it as surely as I know she loved me. She must have used these false declarations to ingratiate herself with the Vanzadorians. She needed to gain their trust in order to uncover their weaknesses.
Exactly, Ro whispers with approval. It was all a part of my plan.
“Tell me more about Ro’s time in the Fortress,” I say as Elodie towels me off and tugs a shift over my head.
“Oh, Rowenna was an absolute delight! She was so good at matching the perfect skirt with the perfect bodice. And she could make anyone’s eyes look twice as large with that pot of sandalwood ash she brought from Tashir. What’s it called? Kohl?”
Once again, I can’t breathe, and it has nothing to do with Elodie cinching the stays of my dress. “Rowenna did your makeup? And consulted on your dresses?”
Not once in my entire life did my sister apply kohl to her own eyes. She would hardly sit still for Mother’s maids to paint her face on her wedding day. And she didn’t even own a proper gown in Tashir, yet I’m supposed to believe she willingly played dress-up with girls like Elodie?
“And she was such a splendid dancer,” Elodie prattles on, oblivious. “And a magnificent hostess. Her luncheons were second to none. Never have you seen such darling finger sandwiches!”
Every painfully wrong word jabs my flesh like a beesting.
Rowenna could be charming when she needed to be, but she was never a social butterfly by nature.
She preferred to earn the admiration and respect of our people through her work not her parties.
Could she really have carried out such an elaborate act the entire time she was in Vanzador?
Elodie clears her throat. “Prince Alaric will be at the salon too,” she says with a mischievous grin.
“All the more reason not to go,” I say firmly.