Chapter Twenty-Four #2
Multicolored lanterns dance over the whole space, held aloft and in place by air magic, and cast rainbow prisms over everything.
Despite the reason for the feast, I can’t help feeling a small thrill of excitement.
“Come, Lady Suraya,” Ziba calls, tugging me away from my window. “Let’s get you ready.”
Two handmaidens enter my chambers, holding a gold-spangled black gown threaded with crimson. Red, gold, and black, the royal colors of Everlea. His colors. I open my mouth to protest, but Ziba shoots me a quelling look. “The dress is Everlean. You will cause great offense if you refuse to wear it.”
I press my lips together. She’s laying it on rather thickly. “Fine,” I mutter.
The gown is gorgeous, the gossamer fabric sparkling ethereally.
The women carefully pull the voluminous folds over my head, letting the tiny cap sleeves fall into place over my shoulders and lacing the bodice at the back.
The skirts tumble down in panels of luminous midnight silk—and it feels like I’m wearing nothing.
“It’s spelled,” Ziba whispers. “The fabric is as impenetrable as armor.”
My eyes widen in disbelief, and she flicks my dagger, point first, across the edge of the skirt. I gasp, already mourning the ruin of the dress, but nothing tears or even wrinkles. “Incredible,” I say. She smiles and bends to lift the hem and fasten the thigh harness in place.
“There are usually no weapons allowed at the feast, as all acts of war are forbidden,” Ziba says, standing to smooth my curls over my bare collarbones.
“However, the king insists that you have your blade. Things can get rowdy with the Aspa?anā. They can be very enthusiastic with their celebrations.”
How does he know I’d feel naked without it? His thoughtfulness is unexpected. “Tell him thank you for me.”
Ziba hides her smile. “Tell him yourself. His Majesty is outside, waiting to escort you down.”
“Oh.” Suddenly, I’m breathless with anticipation. I don’t know if it’s vanity that makes me check my reflection in the mirror, but I do it anyway.
I let out a gasp. The women have outdone themselves.
The bold hues of the gown complement my complexion perfectly, making my skin glow with health and radiance.
My thick-lashed gray eyes look huge in my face, cheekbones rouged and my lips glistening a shiny plum.
My dark curls have been brushed to a glossy sheen, the iridescent strands braided across the top into a crown of sorts and interwoven with a strand of glimmering opals.
Stars above, I look like a princess . . . no, a queen.
Nerves assault me as the door swings open and the king of Everlea enters.
Slowly, I turn to face him. I should notice the rich crimson velvet of his formal jacket with the touches of gold, and the way his charcoal tunic and trousers hug his towering form.
I should notice the gleaming waterfall of silver hair beneath the sleek onyx crown and the compelling, arresting face that steals my breath away.
I should notice the utter stillness of his shadows as if they, too, are somehow transfixed.
But all I can see is the way he looks at me and the unguarded desire burning in those midnight eyes, threatening to incinerate everything in this room.
“Gods, pátnī, you undo me.”
A gasp from Ziba has my eyes darting toward her, but her head is bowed. The king’s shadows burst into frenetic motion after his whispered words, whirling around him as if barely contained. The last time he’d called me that, he had said it meant he should stay away from me.
“Leave us,” Darrius says, and the room clears.
“Does that mean you don’t actually hate me?” I tease for lack of anything cleverer to say when we stand alone.
“I could never—” He chokes on his words, his throat working.
“Hate you.” Sands, is the cold, impervious king actually tongue-tied?
Clearly fighting something inside—is it the curse?
—he lifts his hand to rub at the center of his chest as he inhales and exhales deeply.
“What I feel right now is, in fact, the opposite of that.”
I blink at the measured choice of words, refusing to read more into it.
It’s a compliment, that’s all. He approaches, and his rich scent envelops me.
I feel the devoted touch of his shadows, too, but I welcome their adoring, worshipful energy.
My simurgh preens in response to their obvious reverence, making the runes on my arms brighten.
I wonder at their unusual connection—our magic always feels so familiar—but the thought flies from my head when the king stands at my back and turns us to the mirror.
Pulse racing, I stare at his reflection, his immense frame looming over me as he wraps a gold necklace with a black pendant the size of a quail egg around my throat.
“This opal will protect you against anyone who might wish to do you harm,” he says, his fingers inordinately gentle against my skin. Tingles race at the points of contact.
I swallow and lick my lips, reaching up to touch the inky orb, seeing the light refract off the gem’s surface. “It’s beautiful.”
“It belonged to my mother,” he says softly.
“Thank you, Darrius.”
When we arrive at the main tent, where the music and dancing are already in fine form, the king’s presence is heralded.
Everyone drops to one knee and bows before he gives them leave to rise.
I immediately want to make myself scarce, though I can see that it will be impossible to hide in this dress. No wonder he wanted me to wear it.
Wearing his royal colors makes a statement, one that I can see does not go unnoticed, particularly by those from the Aspa?anā delegations. As we sweep by, I groan at the sight of two thrones on the dais. Surely Darrius doesn’t expect me to sit up there!
But of course he does.
“A throne is for your queen,” I say through my teeth when he directs me toward the dais.
He stubbornly refuses to respond and welcomes everyone, including the citizens from Verisia as well as other outlying cities, and finally, the Aspa?anā.
I recognize the redheaded Azes and the blond Karan?, standing with their warriors.
There’s no blood on them today, but they are no less fearsome for it, even garbed in their fine clothing.
Heavy gold jewelry adorns their necks and wrists, and they are dressed in their respective colors: bronze for Shabra, bone white for Chamros.
I instantly catch sight of the giant in dark blue, who must be from Karkad, the water clan.
The last in red, approaching the dais, is a diminutive woman who must be from Rakh.
“My king,” she says, “I see word of the guest of honor is not unwarranted in this case.”
Darrius lets out a noncommittal grunt. “Raissa Tabiti, you look well. May I introduce you to Lady Suraya.”
“It’s my pleasure,” I say politely, and study the tiny brunette dressed in a stunning crimson cropped tunic and snug trousers.
It’s meant to showcase the jewel glinting in her pierced belly button and the chain that winds around her trim waist. Her features are too sharp to be beautiful, but she is certainly striking .
. . and not someone I’d want to cross on a battlefield.
Penetrating green eyes meet mine. “Word of your skill with the basilisk has already spread far and wide. You saved many.”
The king tenses beside me, but I keep my expression neutral. “Thank you, but I did not do it alone.”
“May I present the rais of Karkad,” Darrius says, the slightest growl in his voice letting me know his feelings on this particular leader.
I look up and up and up. The dark-haired man had seemed like a giant from afar earlier, but he is truly huge at nearly seven feet. He’s also older than he first appeared.
He bows. “I am Masi?ta. I look forward to winning the tournament.” Before I can respond, he signals to a woman behind him and ushers her in front of the king. “You know my daughter, Sire, Zahre.”
If I thought that the fire raissa was unclothed before, this woman makes her look like she’s overdressed.
Unlike her father’s blue garb, Zahre is boldly dressed in red and black—the king’s colors, which irritates me for no good reason—the ribbons of scarlet silk clinging lovingly to her curves in crisscross patterns before falling to a sheer skirt that leaves little to the imagination.
Her hair is a reddish blond, her skin the color of fresh cream.
Sparkling blue eyes hold the king’s boldly, a hint of a smile playing about her lush mouth.
Sands, I despise her already.
As the king is engaged in conversation by the two, I search the room for Laleh and see her standing next to Ani, in deep discussion.
I make my escape. I feel Darrius’s stare on my back, but I don’t look at him.
I don’t even look at how well suited he and Zahre seem to be.
She can be his pretend queen for all I care.
And I don’t care, not one bit. I thread through the crowd to where Ani and Laleh are talking, but they stop when I reach them.
“You look gorgeous,” Laleh says.
I scan my friend’s bright orange dress with its gauzy skirt and notice she has somehow dyed her hair to match. “So do you!” I turn to Ani, who is in a snow-white gown edged with scarlet embroidery that looks very regal on her. “You’re beautiful, Ani.”
“Thank you.” She ducks her head and blushes, and I want to grin at how adorably awkward she is.
I fully expect to be immediately interrogated by Laleh, considering my arrival on the king’s arm, but she is whisked away to dance by one of the Verisian nobles, leaving Ani and me alone. She hands me a tumbler, and I take a cautious sip, eyes wide at the rich, lemony taste.
“Careful, it’s strong.”
“What is it?” I ask.
“Dandelion and steppe grass cider.” She wrinkles her nose. “Has an effect on the libido. The Aspa?anā make it. Their festivities can get very raunchy very quickly. They climb each other like trees.”
I snort at her quip; Laleh’s influence no doubt.
Best I drink very sparingly, then. Even though there’s only one tree I wish to climb, and said tree is being commandeered by a very beautiful woman who makes me look like a sad, invasive weed.
Unable to curb my jealousy, I stare at them as the king escorts Zahre to dance.
They seem to touch each other quite familiarly, and there’s no doubt that they are a stunning couple. His silver hair and dark good looks are offset by her flame-red locks and creamy complexion.
“Who is she to him?” I ask Ani.
“Uh . . .” Her hesitation makes me glance at her. “No one?”
“She doesn’t look like no one.”
Ani sighs, dropping her eyes. “A past dalliance, if you can call it that. There was a time when everyone in Everlea expected them to wed. At least, there were negotiations in progress, which I was instructed to pursue on his behalf.”
“And then?” I prod, drowning in despair, knowing that Darrius would have trusted no one else but his sister for something so important.
“You arrived with Razulek.”
By the maker, that wasn’t too long ago. Have I imagined all the moments between the king and me? The way he looked at me in my chambers? The territorial touch of his shadows? His words and letting me wear his mother’s necklace? Gods, I am the queen of fools.
My lungs feel as though they can’t fill with air. “Is she his . . . soul-fated?”
Ani’s eyes widen. “No. He rejected that bond years ago. This was to be a political alliance. He doesn’t love her, Sura. He can’t love, not while he’s cursed.”
But the way Zahre is looking at him—it’s not only political to her.
And why should it be? Torturous visions of them lying tangled together as the king unwraps that red and black fabric from her voluptuous body invade my brain out of nowhere.
I claw at my bodice that’s suddenly too tight and constricting. Sands, I need air.
Gasping for breath, I gather my skirts and leave.