5. Vera
Vera
The thought of seeing Ikar tonight has butterflies stirring in my stomach mixed with a wallop of guilt, since I shouldn’t feel that way about an officer.
It’s a feeling very similar to indigestion.
That and the fact that I’ll be venturing to the castle this evening, entering the lair of the high king himself—for sure breaking a rule of the Black Tulips by doing so.
If Tatania knew what I’m about to do, I’m sure she’d faint dead away.
All I can hope is that the king won’t be joining us tonight.
I tug on the bracelet again—still secure—and step into the dress with a grimace.
I find it’s a style that could fit many sizes with so much fabric and a fancy belt about the waist, but when I finally look in the mirror, I find it drapes over my every curve.
Add to that… it’s white, blatantly marking me as an originator—I simply cannot get past the color.
I tilt my head to the side with a frown. It also sort of reminds me of the lusty everwisp that stole my looks in an attempt to seduce Ikar in Shift Forest, especially with my hair curled and hanging long as it is tonight.
I wrinkle my nose and stare a moment longer.
The bodice is an intricate wrap style with two gold half-sun pins on either shoulder that hold up a sweeping bow of fabric that reveals my back.
I turn to the side a bit and eye the unacceptable design.
Originators are known for showing off their sun-shaped marks like badges of pride, but I think they’d be rather surprised if I were to reveal my mark.
I’d probably be arrested—or killed on the spot.
I pull the curls aside and inspect my mark, a black tulip, stark against my fair skin.
I’m fairly confident the volume of my curled hair will be enough to keep it hidden for the night—there’s a reason I went to such lengths to style it this way.
Rupi chirps loudly from the window, and I assume the carriage has arrived.
A sudden rush of nerves leaves me feeling jittery as I peek through the curtain and find a carriage so black and shiny it gleams waiting below. It looks very… terrifying.
I sigh, unable to believe I’m actually doing this.
Rupi flutters atop my finger, intent on not being left behind.
“No silly antics tonight. We’re entering the high king’s residence and need to avoid any more attention than a woman in a white dress with a bird already draws.”
She tilts her head, the epitome of innocence, and blinks twice. She’s not as blameless as she likes to appear, having gotten me into plenty of trouble over the years, but I take the blinks as agreement. And having her near gives me comfort, so I lift her to my shoulder.
“For freedom,” I say as I yank open the door and make my way to the doom carriage.
The ride isn’t nearly long enough. In what seems no time at all, we’ve already crossed half the distance, and I can see more and more of the castle as we travel the busy streets.
Even from a distance, its presence is imposing.
I know because I was staring at the despicable towers that knifed through the sunrise from my window this morning, and now I’m drawing ever nearer to entering its treacherous doors.
At the thought of actually stepping inside, the interior of the carriage grows horribly stuffy.
Moisture begins to bead along my brow as the castle comes into view a few streets ahead, and as expensive as this dress feels, it does nothing to absorb the sweat that begins to gather beneath that fabric.
“Completely impractical,” I mutter to Rupi as I clamber to fiddle with the latch of a small gleaming window in an almost panicked motion.
It gives way with a refreshing burst of cool air across my face.
I sigh with relief. But having it open increases the noise from outside.
We round a corner onto a road that leads straight to the yawning, fancy gates of the castle, passing closely by a group of women.
I freeze when I hear their words float innocently through the window. “…the king returned home just yesterd—”
Their voices fade and are replaced with other snippets of conversation from people we pass—none of which I care to discern as my ears buzz with dread. The king is at the castle? I mean, I shouldn’t be surprised. It is his home.
I try to calm my breathing. I already assumed he’d be there, didn’t I?
Somehow, having it confirmed makes it one hundred times worse.
I don’t know how many times I’ve twisted my bracelet, but Rupi pecks my hand, telling me to stop with a tiny scolding eye.
“Right. I gotta pull myself together.” I sit back against the cushy bench with a huff, eyeing the redness around my wrist. It’ll draw unwanted attention, so I force myself to leave it alone.
We roll through the gates and a full view of the massive structure fills my vision.
The castle is built of smooth, creamy stone, with architecture so elegant and graceful it appears to be something out of a vivid dream.
Large balconies grace its outside walls, dripping with beautiful flowers and greenery, and I imagine they lead to grand ballrooms. An enormous set of steps leads to an entrance made up of three sets of wood doors so large I guess it would take three men to open one.
Six stoic soldiers stand guard before them, covered in intimidating armor and a variety of weapons.
None move when our carriage stops and the door swings open.
A serious young man dressed in dark-blue royal clothing, seeming to appear out of nowhere, stands with one hand outstretched—I assume to help me out.
I lift Rupi to my shoulder and glance at her dubiously, but she only offers a cheep and prods me with a quill-feather in the neck. Apparently, I’m not the only one who wants to see Ikar.
“Into the lair we go,” I mutter.
I clasp the servant’s gloved hand and step out, feeling more like an imposter than ever in my life.
I don’t belong here. I’m not royalty or even a member of the high class.
I don’t belong in this color, or this fancy dress, or on the palace grounds.
I don’t even know if I’m good enough to belong on this team for this journey.
But here I am, and it appears I’m stuck.
I watch the black carriage pull away with the clip-clopping of horse hooves and turning wheels on cobbled stone, the road it travels framed by the exquisite gardens full of tall hedges, flowers, shade trees, and gurgling fountains.
While I’d love to allow my eyes to linger on the gardens that extend as far as I can see, my attention returns to the castle where I stare at the rows and rows of windows sparkling in the sunset along its walls…
And those rounded towers I thought looked so tall from my room?
Now they appear even higher, so high I have to crane my neck to see the tops of their pointed turret roofs where small flocks of birds perch.
Does the king keep his prisoners locked in there…
or in the depths of the dungeons I imagine are hidden beneath this beautiful nightmare?
I’m pulled from my thoughts when Rupi ducks her head and peeks beneath my chin to look at something, and I follow her attention to find a young woman coming our way. I straighten my shoulders. Time to be the imposter I am, and I better make it good if I don’t want to end up in the dungeon…
I glance upward once more… or in one of those towers.
She gives a slight bow and offers a kind smile. “I’m Belinda. I’ll be your escort.”
Her eyes catch on Rupi within my curls, and a slight frown pulls at her brows, but she doesn’t say anything. A bonus to pretending to be upper class, I suppose.
“This way.” She motions away from the front entrance and toward a path I wouldn’t have noticed on my own.
Tall hedges are shaped in a way that creates a covered-arch path draped in fanciful shadows.
I saw well-dressed men and women traversing other parts of the grounds, but there’s no one but us on this path.
What does that mean? It can’t be good. Secret paths aren’t for the normal people…
they’re for kings. I gulp so loudly Belinda looks over her shoulder as if she’s worried I might be choking.
I muster up a tight smile to assure her that I am, indeed, as fine as I can be.
We reach a double door with two guards who step aside in the darkness to allow us passage, and I try not to show how terrified I am by lifting my chin the smallest bit.
Belinda is quiet as she leads us through a gorgeous interior garden that rivals the beauty of the fae’s green thumbs.
I look up to find open balconies overlooking all of it, with rays from the suns above adding a brightness and warmth that invites me to linger.
That is, until I remind myself the high king resides here.
And as quick as the snap of fingers, the garden becomes a mirage to hide the wickedness that goes on behind these walls.
We enter another double door, once again blocked by two guards who step aside as Belinda nears.
I’m proud when I don’t hesitate to step over the threshold.
Then, just like that, I’m in the depths of the high king’s home.
If I weren’t so blazing anxious, I could actually enjoy this moment.
I’m not sure how long we’ve walked, distracted as I am by the slick, polished white marble floors that spread before me and the intricately crafted, light-colored woodwork that graces every wall.
A large chandelier—in much better shape than the one we have at our Black Tulip headquarters—hangs in a dome-shaped room we pass through; the sunlight that shines through the enormous sparkling windows reflects off the crystals and sets it afire.
It’s all very beautiful. Dangerous. The high king’s lair is all I imagined—and more.
Rupi brushes against my neck, and I’m surprised I don’t feel her trembling or her feathers beginning to quill.
She usually gets anxious when we’re in danger, but I look down to find that she leans her body forward, tiny beak and fluffy white face jutting out between strands of my hair as if she’s an arrow intent on her target, who I know is Ikar.
I don’t see anything particularly evil here.
It’s actually quite cheery, clean, warm, and bright…
and the servants appear pleasant and well.
It’s odd when I know the atrocious acts the kings have committed.
Just another indication I must be on my toes.
This all has to be a facade. Fake. The best villains are experts at hiding.
We pass through long hallways, two of which have statues of men I assume are past kings lining their walls.
I wonder which one it was that murdered the Black Tulips.
I have only a chance to cast a quick glare at a few of their cold, hard eyes as we pass.
Belinda keeps up a rigorous pace that I have difficulty maintaining between the desire to take in the castle and trying to take a proper step in this dress.
Large tapestries and paintings grace the walls, and tall windows allow evening light to warm the light-colored halls.
Passing servants, nobles, and soldiers give me slight nods of respect, eyeing my gown, and groups of two or three originators at a time pass me in the hall, inclining their heads toward me as if I am one of their own.
So this is what it feels like to dress as an originator. I don’t like it.
I’m on edge, not just with the extra attention and large numbers of originators who seem more than comfortable in these halls, but waiting for a procession of soldiers to walk by with the king in their midst. Would I be required to curtsey before him?
The thought has me disturbed. Partially because I have no idea how to perform a proper curtsey, but mostly because I have no respect for him.
And my heart beats double time when I realize that maybe I haven’t seen the king in the halls because he’s attending dinner tonight and he’s already there.
I swallow tightly and touch my bracelet still wrapped securely around my wrist, then instinctively make sure my hair hangs full over my back. Even if the king attends, he’ll think I’m an originator. I’m safe. I repeat that mentally, three times, until I fool myself into believing it.
I take a deep breath as Belinda stops before two tall wooden doors with complex vine designs engraved into the wood panels that are fitted with enormous gold handles.
Rupi appears unconcerned with the entire situation, keeping her tiny eyes fixated ahead on the doors and who she knows is on the other side.
I’m slightly irritated. She’s the one who usually keeps me safe, and here she is, not warning me at all. There could be a king in there.
Two guards stand before them and one opens the door wide.
“Here we are, my lady.” Belinda curtsies again.
I nod in thanks as the door swings open, and I try not to fidget with my hands or the folds of my dress while a servant in the room announces my name.
I take another deep breath and enter. Before me is a lavish dining room with a table draped in deep-blue cloth, set with fine dishes and shining silverware, with mounds of flowers and greenery arranged around tall brightly glowing candles.
A row of tall windows framed with dark-blue curtains that reach from ceiling to floor shows that there is, indeed, a beautiful balcony outside.
The table is only set at one end, though it appears to seat at least thirty along each side.
Soft music drifts from a harpist perched on a small corner stage surrounded by more flowers.
It’s all beautiful, picturesque really, but my eyes search for just one thing: a fat, shining crown.