Chapter 13
Thirteen
I know this woman is my mother-in-law, Queen Tessa, even though no one introduces her as such and the courtiers surrounding her are just as finely dressed.
It’s the way she carries herself—the haughty tilt of her chin, the exquisite line of her jaw, and the raven black hair, tumbling over her shoulders in shining waves.
She bears a striking resemblance to her son, which makes me instantly dislike her. Her icy appraisal doesn’t help.
“Turn,” Queen Tessa commands with a little twirl of her finger.
The men and women surrounding her titter, and my cheeks flame.
Did they subject Ro to such humiliation? I can’t imagine her standing here, taking this.
I shouldn’t stand for it either. This is the precise sort of cowardice that allowed the Vanzadorians to take my sister in the first place. A character flaw I no doubt inherited from Father. But, unlike him, I can choose to act. Fight.
I take a deep breath and tighten my fists, but Rowenna interjects before I can speak.
Let them laugh now, little sister. We’ll be laughing in the end.
Why would I back down now when I’ve finally summoned the courage to stand up for myself and for you? I silently argue.
Patience, Ro says soothingly. It will all be worth the wait.
I don’t want to wait. Waiting feels like the exact opposite of what Rowenna would do, but I trust her instincts more than my own, so I grit my teeth and begin a slow, humiliating rotation.
“Stop, Indira! Stop!” Queen Tessa lets out a great whinny of laughter before I complete the turn, and the rest of the room joins in. “I was only teasing. I never dreamed you’d actually comply. Do you truly think us so monstrous?”
Yes, I want to say. You killed my sister.
But I can practically feel Rowenna’s cold dead hand plastered across my lips.
Queen Tessa pats the striped divan beside her and smiles. “Please, join me. There’s no need to be shy. We’re family now.”
That word, and her sudden shift in demeanor, is so jarring, I stand there like a pumpkin rotting on the vine. How can she go from inspecting me like livestock to proclaiming me family in a matter of seconds?
“Go on.” Elodie ushers me forward. “Her Majesty simply likes to have a little fun. She’s quite fond of pranks—it’s one of the reasons she and Rowenna got along so well.”
“What?” Every time I think I’ve gotten my bearings here on the mountain, the soil shifts and the ground slides out from under me again.
Rowenna did love pranks. When we were young, she’d do little things like swap the sugar for the salt and laugh hysterically as Birdie chased her around the ovens.
And she loved nothing more than to pester Father’s irritating advisors.
We’d plop frogs in their porridge or exchange official scrolls with scandalous love letters we penned ourselves, then listen at the door of their meetings as they babbled with embarrassment.
But why would Ro reveal that side of herself here? When none of this was supposed to be real?
“Forgive me for playing that little trick on you,” Queen Tessa says as I thump down hard on the divan beside her.
“It was clearly too soon. I can’t imagine how difficult losing your sister must have been.
Not to mention growing up in such a grueling environment.
But that’s all behind you now. I have no doubt you’ll adjust to life in Vanzador as splendidly as Rowenna did. ”
She smiles kindly and pats my arm, and it’s too much.
Rowenna is dead! I want to scream. Last I checked, there’s nothing splendid about that.
But the words won’t come—probably because Rowenna’s still holding my voice box in her death grip.
You’ll never learn anything useful if you’re hostile.
“Now, tell us all about yourself, Indira,” Queen Tessa says with a delighted clap. “What’s the single most memorable thing about you?”
I narrow my eyes and hold my tongue because they already know the “most memorable” thing about me. It’s the reason Soren brought me here.
“Go on,” Elodie prods, “don’t be shy.”
Instead of answering, I ask, “What did Rowenna consider to be the most memorable thing about herself?”
Queen Tessa looks up at the intricate ceiling tiles with a thoughtful expression. Then she says on a breathy sigh, “Rowenna was such a delight. So witty and charming. She truly embraced our way of life. I often forget she wasn’t one of us by birth.”
Her musings receive a bevy of appreciative nods, even though she didn’t answer my question. I don’t care what the queen of Vanzador thought of my sister. I want to know what Rowenna said about herself.
“And she hosted the loveliest luncheons,” an elderly woman with a pouf of purple-gray hair says, corroborating Elodie’s claims.
“Let’s not forget the time she asked if she could try her hand at stone throwing,” a muscular man with a thick black mustache adds. “I’m certain she would have excelled at it, too, had it been fitting for our future queen to engage in such antics.”
This elicits even more smiles and laughs, and I almost find myself smiling too.
I’m not surprised they have so many fond memories of her.
Ro was gregarious and impressive and thrived in the spotlight.
Even though they didn’t know the real version of her, they clearly admired the version she let them see.
Though, if that were true, how did she end up dead at the bottom of a cliff?
“Her tenacity,” a young man standing near the door interjects, pulling me back from my thoughts.
He’s dressed the same as the people who were gathered around Soren when Alaric carried me into the Fortress—his smooth copper skin gleaming against stone-blue robes and the tassel on his cap a perfect complement to his deep auburn hair.
He holds my gaze with startling intensity as he repeats himself.
“Rowenna said the most memorable thing about her was her tenacity.”
The attention of the entire room shifts from me to this boy, who seems to grow taller as he confidently continues.
“Rowenna told us a story about a surprise party you threw for your mother. It was flower-fairy themed, and the two of you made everyone wings of chicken wire and tulle, and decorated the gardens with jars of fireflies and flower garlands. But it rained the night of the celebration, and everything was ruined. The rest of you lamented the unfortunate timing and were ready to move on, but Rowenna refused to accept defeat. She didn’t eat, do her lessons, or leave your chambers until the entire kingdom agreed to recreate the party—down to the smallest detail—and pretend the first had never happened. ”
The courtiers shoot the young man quizzical looks.
Several shake their heads and whisper. Elodie insists Rowenna never told such a tale and whisks me off into other conversations.
But I can’t stop glancing back at the copper-haired boy, whose eyes remain fixed on me as the hours pass. Insistent and unabashed.
More than once, I try to slip away and corner him.
I need to know who he is and how he knew my sister.
But Elodie and the queen’s ladies are harder to escape than a briar patch.
Every time I try to get away, I become more entangled.
I’m almost relieved when the door bangs open and King Soren saunters into the room, signaling the end of the salon.
Alaric and at least a dozen blue-robed men and women follow.
“Ah, excellent. Just the Tashiri daughter-in-law I was hoping to find!” Soren booms in the same jovial voice he used in the square. “What do you say to a little predinner show?” he asks the gathered crowd.
The courtiers erupt with applause, and dread curls through my chest like a thorny vine. The only reason they’d be excited for a “show” from me is if they’re already aware of my ability to grow bagrava.
Does the entire seeds-forsaken mountain know my secret?
King Soren rummages around in his waistcoat and makes a production of kneeling before me, holding out a tiny purple seed in the center of his palm. “Would you regale us with your talents, darling Indira?”
My eyes dart from Soren’s wide ugly face to the perfect, delicate bagrava seed. They couldn’t be more opposite. They have no business being this close.
I lurch to my feet and stumble past Soren, feeling like I’m going to vomit. I don’t know where I’m going, but I have to get out of here. Away from the Vanzadorian king and the treason he expects me to commit against Tashir.
I knew he’d demand I grow bagrava, of course.
He made his expectations clear. I just didn’t expect to be ambushed so soon—in front of an audience.
I don’t want to show these people this most sacred inner part of me.
It’s bad enough they take the harvested bagrava; they can’t have my connection with Earth Mother too.
Unfortunately, I only make it two steps before I slam into a rock-hard chest.
Alaric’s chest.
Our eyes meet, but he quickly averts his gaze.
“Bring your blushing bride back over here,” Soren commands his son. “There’s no need to be shy, Indira,” he adds, flashing me a sickly sweet smile. “We’re all great admirers of your work. Won’t you honor us with a short demonstration?”
“No.” The word comes out in a humiliating squeak, but it’s something. A few short days ago, I wouldn’t have had the courage to disagree with Soren at all, especially in front of a crowd.
King Soren’s smile falters a fraction. “Perhaps my new daughter just needs some encouragement?” He looks to the courtiers, who clap even louder.
The sound is thunderous. Maddening. I press my hands over my ears.
Soren motions again to Alaric, who grits his teeth and moves forward, hands outstretched to drive me back.