Chapter 14
Fourteen
Dinner passes in a blur.
Queen Tessa ushers me into the banquet hall, where Soren, Alaric, and the others have tucked into a feast that looks nothing like the tasteless mush Rowenna described in her letters.
There’s roasted meat and potatoes, some sort of crusty pie, and even carrots and peas.
It doesn’t look so different from the food we eat in Tashir.
I can’t comment on the taste though. It’s impossible to enjoy any of it with the vile scent of Queen Tessa’s bagrava tea still lingering in my nose.
And I can’t follow the conversation because I’m too busy dodging King Soren’s unrelenting stare, spearing me from across the table, and too consumed with questions about the young man in the blue tasseled hat, who is glaringly absent from the banquet.
I spend the entire meal watching the doors, hoping he’ll reappear, whisk me into the hall, and explain what happened in the queen’s salon—and how he knew my sister.
But he never comes.
“Everyone simply adored you! Just look at all those invitations!” Elodie gestures proudly to the pile of calling cards in my hands as she escorts me back to my chambers.
I don’t remember receiving any of them, but I suppose I must have choked down my food and nodded along, because my arms are almost as full as my stomach.
“Your calendar will be filled for months,” she prattles on, as if I have any intention of accepting these invitations. “I do hope Prince Alaric will join you on occasion. I’m so eager to see the two of you together.”
I roll my eyes and grumble, “I’m glad someone is.”
Elodie covers her chuckle with a dainty hand. “Indira! You mustn’t say such things!”
“Not even if it’s the truth? Alaric Alaverdi is infuriating, condescending, and—”
A murderer, that’s what I start to say, but Elodie cuts me off with surprising vehemence.
“Do you have any idea how many girls would love to be in your shoes?”
“A captive bride, trapped in an enemy kingdom?” I deadpan, which earns me an elbow to the side.
“I’m being serious. Prince Alaric isn’t the most sociable, I’ll give you that.
And his obsession with the mines is rather intense.
But there’s no arguing he’s the best-looking man on the mountain and heir to the throne.
At least half the girls at court probably want to kill you for swooping in and stealing him away. ”
My step falters.
Why didn’t I consider this before? Especially when the guards made those crude jokes about Alaric’s “experience in the bedroom” while crossing the Tomb Flats. If droves of slighted women want to kill me for marrying Alaric, they would have wanted to kill Rowenna too.
I think of all the noble ladies I just met. None of them seemed particularly jealous. Certainly not outright hostile. And I can’t picture any of them outsmarting or overpowering Rowenna. But perhaps if they surprised her? If she never saw it coming?
A seemingly innocent invitation to stroll along the cliffs.
One quick shove.
“I know Prince Alaric had many lovers before marrying my sister—and me,” I tack on grudgingly. “Who were they? Do you think any of them truly thought they would marry him?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t call them lovers, since Alaric didn’t love any of them. He supposedly doesn’t even remember half of their names, which is why his paramours will never admit to the affairs. Who wants to be known as forgettable? Especially in that way?”
Elodie giggles before continuing, “According to my mother, the parade of girls in Alaric’s bed is nothing but a distraction. Something to take his mind off the pressure of filling his father’s shoes. And to forget the horrible accident, of course.”
I shiver from an unseen draft. “What horrible accident? Do you mean Rowenna’s death?”
“Oh, no. Long before that.” Elodie waves her hand. “When his older brother, Prince Besnik, died.”
Elodie doesn’t elaborate, as if dead princes are of little concern or interest. But it’s definitely of interest to me.
Soren has never mentioned having another son, which seems an odd thing to keep from your allies.
And how did the boy die? How must this tragedy have affected Alaric?
Did it shatter him the way Ro’s death shattered me?
Has it changed the very fabric of his being, driving him to do things he never thought he could—or would?
Reckless things.
Violent things.
Like attempting to bring down an entire kingdom.
If Alaric is anything like me, he could be even more dangerous and unpredictable than I feared.
We stop outside my chamber door, and Elodie beams at me like a proud parent. “I’m so glad you’re here. I promise you’ll love it in time. Now, I’ll leave you to rest, but I’ll be back to collect you for the stone-throwing contests tomorrow morning.”
My disinterest in watching Vanzadorian courtiers throw rocks must show on my face, because Elodie gives me another playful tap with her fan. “Don’t scrunch your nose like that. It’s a most amusing pastime. You’ll see.”
In a whirl of perfume and skirts, Elodie kisses my cheek and flounces down the hall. She’s nearly around the corner when I realize I forgot to ask about the young man in the blue robes.
“Wait!” I call after her. “Who was that man in the tasseled hat? The one who watched over our prayers in Queen Tessa’s salon?”
“Councilor Garitt Von Nevus?” Elodie turns, her face crinkled with distaste. “What do you want with him?”
It’s not the reaction I expected from a social climber like Elodie, especially considering the boy’s prominent position and good looks.
“I’m just curious about your prayers and customs,” I lie. “That was an interesting ritual, and he seemed to be in charge of it.”
“He wishes he were in charge,” Elodie scoffs.
“According to my mother, Von Nevus is always attempting to weasel his way through the ranks by any means necessary—many of which are unsavory. I make a point to keep my distance from him. You should too. It’s unfortunate he oversaw your first prayer.
I hope it didn’t ruin the experience entirely. ”
I don’t give a fig about their prayers, but I look down at my lap thoughtfully because I need time to unpick all of these tangled threads. Every time I think I’ve found the end of one problem, it loops back around and I’m ensnared in another.
If Von Nevus is as horrible as Elodie claims, why did Rowenna confide in him?
And why would he help me?
“Was my sister close with Councilor Von Nevus?” I ask.
Elodie raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Why would you think he and Rowenna were close?”
“Because he knew about the flower-fairy party Ro and I planned for our mother when we were young.”
Elodie slowly shakes her head. “What are you talking about? I don’t recall anything about a fairy party….”
“Von Nevus mentioned it just before dinner, in the queen’s salon,” I say, trying not to lose my patience. “When I asked about Rowenna’s most memorable quality.”
Elodie shrugs, clearly just to appease me. “I must have missed it.”
You didn’t. You were right there!
I want to shake her. Shake all of them. The Vanzadorian nobles are so caught up in their frilly fashions and mindless gossip, there isn’t room in their heads for anything else.
Or maybe this is a side effect of their not-so-innocuous bagrava tea.
I think back to the blithe, vacant look in Queen Tessa’s eyes when she asked about my most memorable quality a second time—as if the first had never happened—and disquiet crawls across my skin.
I thank Elodie again and retreat into my rooms, where I collapse on the bed and scream into the pillows. How am I ever supposed to avenge my sister and liberate my country when I’m surrounded by murderers, liars, and bumbling fools on every side?
Be patient, play their games, Ro says, but I am not in the mood for her advice.
“What about your games?” I fire back. “How much longer do I have to play those before you tell me what you were doing? And why nothing is as you described in your letters? I don’t even recognize you here.”
I stare into the glittering shadows, seething with hurt and frustration while I wait for Rowenna to speak.
But she doesn’t answer.
Because I don’t have the answers.
I’m just a brokenhearted girl, talking to a ghost.
***
I must have finally succumbed to exhaustion, because I wake face down on the bed with drool dribbling from my lips and my hair plastered against my face.
For a single disorienting second, I think I’m back in my bedchamber under the hill, but then blinding light from the geode wall stabs me in the eyes, reminding me exactly where I am.
I roll over with a groan and cover my face with my hands. And that’s when I hear it—the sound that must have woken me: the rattle of dishes and the gentle squeak of wheels.
Someone is leaving food outside my chamber door.
Most likely my maid, who I haven’t seen since I discovered her horrid little room.
I scramble off the bed and fly across my chamber. “Wait!” I call as I fling the door wide. “I just want to speak with you.” But a flash of her white black skirt and a whip of her golden braid are all I see as she careens around the corner, the cart rattling like a runaway wagon.
I leap over the plate of food she left and take off after her, quickly closing the distance. My legs may be sore from the climb up the mountain, but she’s burdened with that cart—which is probably why she abandons it in the middle of the hall.
As soon as I round the corner, I slam into the metal contraption. It crashes onto its side. I fall with it, landing amid shattering plates and clanking forks. It feels like a perfect depiction of my time in Vanzador—painful, frustrating, and beyond embarrassing.
“Please,” I before the girl escapes down a winding flight of stairs. “I’m not going to punish you for the carvings. I just want to know what they mean—why you’d carve such awful words?”
My maid doesn’t slow.