Chapter 2
The walk down the hallway to the dining room takes twice as long as it should. We both pretend not to notice when the cane snags repeatedly on the plush runner that covers the stone floor.
When a member of the staff brushes past us with an empty tray, my father thrusts the cane into her hands, mumbling swears about wretched walking aids and curses from gods. She has barely departed with his cane when a drunken man decked out in full Corinthian military regalia stumbles into our path.
Lieutenant Williams reeks of whiskey and stale piss. The gold accents on his gray jacket are tarnished, his shoes scuffed and muddy.
“Gov’ner!” Williams calls out much too loudly. “I want to …. to wish … birthday. Happy birthdaaaay … to youuuu.”
“It’s my birthday, Lieutenant. And you are drunk … again.” I lift a hand to flag down two approaching guards.
“I’m ssssssorry that it’s not me. Orders and … what not,” the lieutenant slurs, swaying on his feet.
Gods, how much has he drank?
Williams is notoriously bad at his appointed position, but this is a new low for him. Emerald needs a new military liaison, and if I can somehow convince the governor of Topaz to vote with me, maybe our new king will finally relieve our region of this insult.
“Can you please escort the Lieutenant to his rooms?”
No sooner have the words left my lips does Williams’ body involuntarily pitch forward toward me, the guards barely catching him by the arm before he faceplants.
The drunk continues his mumbling as they haul his half-conscious body down the hallway and away from the party.
“I guess this is as good a time as any to tell you.” My father turns to face me, placing both hands on my shoulders to steady himself. “You’re not going to like this, but … the Lord General has sent a soldier to escort you to Amale and I’ve agreed to accept his request.”
“You’re right, I don’t like that,” I say flatly. “We have plenty of soldiers who are loyal to Emerald. You can’t possibly trust one of Marks’ men with my safety.”
“Normally, no, but this is different. There’s more at play here than you know.”
“Like what?”
He slowly shakes his head in dismissal, his eyes cutting to the crowd that lingers in the open doorway.
“You can’t expect me to leave without all of the information, Father. Failure dooms all of Corinth.”
“I can and you will. Some things are better experienced. Trust my judgement, Ivy.” He tucks an errant strand of fawny hair behind my ear. A soft smile appears on his face as he slowly trails a knuckle over the dusting of freckles that accent my cheekbones. “Gods, you are so much like her.”
I wish I could take the compliment that is so frequently given.
I barely remember her beyond her final days—days spent at our cottage by the Eastern Sea, too weak to even lift her head from the pillow.
I don’t feel the light in me that I’m told was so present in her.
Only carefully concealed anger and a gnawing, decaying emptiness lives where it should be.
I square my shoulders and stiffen my spine, refusing to let the grief that still lingers in her absence drag me under tonight. I raise my shields and slip on the mask of the polished politician he raised me to be instead.
“I think I’m an awful lot like my father, too.”
“More than you know, Ivy.”
The Governor pulls me into an embrace before leaving me in the hallway.
With a deep inhale, I step into the dining room and the sea of green that surrounds the banquet table.
Among the Corninthian nobility, clothes are akin to currency, even the color of clothing is a statement. My brown leather pants and olive shirt are starkly out of place amongst the formal gowns and dinner jackets worn by the noble guests.
A bell rings denoting the start of the meal and I spot a smiling Miles holding out a chair for me.
“Why do you look so giddy?” I ask warily as I approach.
“Oh you’ll find out …” he says, scooting my chair up to the table before taking his own, “... in three, two …”
As the last of the nobles take their seats, the ocean of green clothing parts to reveal a single hulking figure clothed in blackest night.
Leather pauldrons, wholly unnecessary for a court dinner, bracket the man’s muscular chest, making him appear even more menacing than the stories of his battles.
My breath hitches, a tingle racing down my spine at the sight of the fabled warrior amongst us.
“One,” Miles whispers.
The Captain of Corinth, commander of Lord General Marks’ troops and the only person in our nation with a larger reputation than me, sits at the far end of the table.
Marks didn’t send just any soldier—he sent the soldier.
A man rumored to have wiped out an entire legion of Synalian soldiers single-handedly.
As his gaze moves to me, a defiant smile turns up the corner of my lips. The deadliest soldier in all of Corinth must have really pissed off his commander if he’s been sent to escort Poison Ivy to the capital.
“Oooh, I love it when you get that look in your eyes,” Miles says as the first course is deposited in front of us. “I’ve asked around and all my sources agree that you will either find Captain Murphy incredibly irritating or completely irresistible.”
Conversation strikes up around me and fades into an indistinguishable hum. Try as I might, I can’t fight the strange pulling sensation in my chest. The invisible rope wrapped around my sternum demands my attention be wholly focused on the deadly creature in our midst.
“Lady Ivy, did you hear me?” Lady Adler’s voice breaks the spell on me. “I was just saying to Lord Miles what a shame it is that you won’t be able to attend the wedding. Lady Quinn will be a stunning bride. Can you imagine how beautiful my future grandson will be?”
“A truly breathtaking sight, I’m certain.” The words taste bitter in my mouth as I force them through a fake smile. Miles’ fingers grip the top of my knee under the table in silent support.
My eyes drift down the table to my best friend. Bubbly and bright, Quinn is a comical contrast to the Captain of Corinth who is strategically seated beside her. Things have been strained between us since her betrothal and I don’t have nearly enough time to make it right.
“Lady Adler, is it true that Nick will take over the daily management of the forge after the wedding?” Miles expertly directs the conversation. “I have been meaning to visit him and commission a new sword … one that’s very sharp.”
The rapping of a spoon on crystal halts the prattling as every eye turns to my father. Governor Fellows rises slowly from his seat, his voice booming in the quieted hall as he speaks.
“Esteemed nobles of the Emerald Region. Tonight is bittersweet. Not only do we toast the memory of a king, but also the continued longevity of our heir and the promise of a better Corinth.” He raises his wine-filled goblet, his soft brown eyes finding mine in the crowd. “To our future.”
“Here here.” A mumbled chorus echoes from the nobles. Pursed lips and soft sighs accompany the toast they half-heartedly make. The beast of their disapproval never takes a day off, not even on my birthday.
Their chatter resumes as the staff begins to serve the second course. The King’s death is the topic of the evening. I listen as my father boldly promises the one thing he has no power to control: that he won’t be following our former monarch’s steps anytime soon.
As if any of us have a say in the timing of our own end.
Through each course, my attention drifts to the dark presence at the end of the table. The ridiculous armor he wears to dinner, the slight dishevel to his hair, the uncomfortable way he shifts in his seat when Quinn bumps his arm with her overly-exaggerated hand motions.
I chase carrots around on my plate, prod potatoes with my fork—anything to keep my eyes off the source of the strange pull in my gut.
“You’re avoiding making eye contact with our guest, Ivy,” Miles says, dipping his head low so only I can hear him. “It’s a long way to Amale. You could have a little fun.”
“I have fun.”
The blatant lie falls flat. Only on rare occasions have I ever allowed myself to let loose, too afraid of the secrets that I might spill or the certain rejection that would cut deeper than any blade.
“Feast Week doesn’t count. Everyone who’s not a priest has fun then. I mean real fun… without a mask on.”
“What’s the rule about Feast Week?” I narrow my eyes at him in warning. What happens during the debaucherous celebration is never spoken about aloud, a rule that Miles himself instated.
He waves his hand in dismissal as if the entire fate of a nation doesn’t rest on the success of this mission.
“Just enjoy the adventure! He could be a good ally to have on your side.”
Miles’ call to revelry falls on deaf ears. This is a political mission in which every move must be carefully calculated. But perhaps the Lord General’s highest ranking soldier could be a valuable weapon to have. The electric power within me forces me to steal one last glance at the ominous man.
“You’re considering it, aren’t you?” Miles chuckles as the staff synchronously clears the now empty plates from the long table.
“About as much as you’re considering settling down with that redhead I saw you with last night,” I quip.
“Ivy,” Miles says through clenched teeth. “Unless you want a duel over dessert, you should probably change the subject.”
“Oh, Lady Powell,” I call out, wiggling my fingers to get the attention of the woman sitting across from us. “I love your necklace. Is it new?”
Lady Powell’s gloved hand touches the thick pearl choker that barely covers the purple marks at the base of her neck before pulling her auburn hair over her exposed shoulder. “It is, Lady Ivy. Thank you for noticing. My darling husband brought it back from his travels.”