Chapter 4
Soren awoke with a jolt, lying frozen in bed for a few hazy moments before rising at the soft knock on the door of her and Mona’s quarters.
The dreams were worsening with each night.
When she was very young, she had once told her mother she was dreaming of the gods.
She had only patted Soren on the cheek and assured her it was only natural for her imagination to wander to what was greater.
But now, as the dreams grew more persistent and vivid, she began to wonder if it was something more.
Perhaps a goddess from beyond the barrier dividing their worlds was somehow sending her visions?
It was a foolish thought, one she tamped down swiftly. If the dreams were becoming stronger, she just had to become better at ignoring it all when she woke.
When she opened the door a crack, a servant whispered, “Her Majesty the Queen requires your service, Soren.”
She held back an audible curse; she had completely forgotten about her summons earlier in the throne room. Ignoring the hot flare of unease, she forced herself to reply, “I will make my way to her now.”
She quickly donned slippers and a thin robe before hurrying through the halls, her practiced footfalls near-silent. When she reached the queen’s chambers, she knocked twice, tapping on the wood with her fingernails.
“Enter, Soren,” the queen murmured from the other side.
Soren obeyed, standing in front of the queen, who still lay in bed. She bowed low, strands of silver falling in her face.
“My queen, how may I assist you?”
The queen sighed. She was still wearing her mourning garb, even as she lay in bed. “Do not fret; it is not an errand. It will only take a moment.”
“Yes, my queen,” Soren said, her head still low. “How can I be of help?”
“Rise, Soren, and come. I am in need of your gift.”
Soren did so, approaching the queen carefully. On the bedside table sat two vials, identical in color and each in a silk cloth.
“Which one?” the queen asked, her voice soft but firm.
Soren’s lips parted in a rush of air, nodding and placing her fingers on the first vial. She felt nothing. But as she touched the other…
A tidal wave of darkness swept over her. Screams echoed in her mind, accompanied by distant wailing—the consequences of this substance might inflict.
“That one?” the queen pushed.
Soren sucked in a breath and pulled her hand away. “Yes, my queen.”
The queen nodded, evidently satisfied. “You may go now.”
Soren bowed again, murmuring, “Sleep well, my queen.”
The queen did not reply, still examining the vial. Soren took it as a final dismissal, turning and leaving.
The ‘gift’ was why the queen had recruited Soren in the first place.
Once, as a child, she had dropped a cup of Princess Cion’s tea, screaming as sounds of terror echoed in her ears.
She was nearly executed when she told the guards it was poisoned.
But when they brought her before the queen, the woman tested her instead of ordering her death.
Soren had passed with flying colors—the queen asked her which vial could kill a man, and she remained one of the many servants secretly in her service ever since.
Still, her loyalties were to the princess first, and, seeing her light on, she hurried to the kitchens. When the cup of calming herbal tea was prepared, Soren returned to find the light still there.
“Who is it?” the princess called from the other side after Soren knocked softly on her chamber door.
“My princess, it’s Soren. May I come in?”
There was a long pause. With all that had happened today, she wondered if the princess was up for more of a reason than sleeplessness. She was likely deciding whether it was safe to let Soren in. There was no reason for her to fear. Soren was sworn to silence.
When the princess called, “You may come in, Soren,” she entered, finding the princess sitting at her vanity table, scrolls and ink scattered across its surface.
“My apologies, princess,” she said, her voice low and quiet. “I brought you some herbal tea. I saw your light was on.”
Cion raised a brow. “And what were you doing in the royal quarters at this hour?”
“Your mother,” Soren replied quietly, keeping her gaze cast downward. “She needed someone to assist her.”
Cion narrowed her eyes. “You are loyal to me first, though, yes?” she said, taking the warm cup from Soren.
Soren bowed her head. “Always, my princess.”
“Good,” Cion said shortly. “I need your assistance.”
Soren nodded at the crumpled scrolls and pots of ink. “You are writing a letter, my princess.”
Princess Cion smiled. “You are very observant, but…yes.”
She stood, crossing her arms over her chest. “Though I am not a poet nor a scholar. I need the assistance of someone used to wielding words as opposed to blades. You used to write letters for me when I was a child. I ask you to assist me in the same way now.”
Soren’s brow creased at the faint memory. Her script had always been neater than the princess’, her words more careful.
“And what should I know about this letter, princess?” she asked after a moment’s hesitation.
“I am writing to my betrothed,” Cion began, her eyes flicking to the closed door.
The room was shadowed, but moonlight filtered in from the balcony doors, leaving a glimmering trail of pale light over her ruffled bed sheets.
“I want to introduce myself. My passions, the things and the people I care for—it is important for a future husband of mine to know these things. I also want to acknowledge he must have passions and priorities too,” she continued.
“Different than mine and already in place, since we come from separate kingdoms. Different places have different customs, I know. I want to honor this and protect his passions, so long as he is willing to help protect mine.”
Soren said nothing, but she understood. The princess wanted to bargain with the Prince of Meesling. She wanted protection for those they loved. For her, Lady Anabeth. For the prince, Princess Hessa of Mise.
Soren had heard rumors the prince and princess were actually in love, despite the arranged betrothal.
Now, she knew the rumors must be true, though their love was useless now that they were being ripped from each other.
Or perhaps Prince Kellmere knew of the betrayal.
For Princess Hessa’s sake, she could only pray he would at least try to protect her and that Princess Cion would bargain for the same.
“I understand, princess,” Soren said quietly. “May I?”
Cion glanced at the pile of scrolls. “Please.”
It took Soren under an hour to compose the perfect coded letter to the Prince of Meesling. As Cion held it in her hand, eyes skimming the last words, Soren asked, “Is it adequate, my princess?”
Cion’s lips twitched. “In another life, you might have made an excellent spy, Soren.”
Soren ducked her head, a small spark lighting in her belly.
It was just the faintest hint of a feeling, something less than subservient.
Beneath the soft, practiced smiles and quiet words, Soren kept a beast at bay.
It roared at the iron shackle on her ankle and sniffed the air at Princess Cion’s words.
Yes… it hissed, urging her to take the opportunity, any opportunity to escape and run free.
She hushed it like it was an obstinate child.
“If that is all, my princess,” Soren said. “You should try to sleep, if only for a few hours. Dawn will be breaking soon.”
Cion glanced outside. The faintest hints of light stained the horizon, just barely peeking between rocky slopes and jagged mountain sides.
“Post the letter,” Cion said, her eyes still on the landscape beyond. “Send it off with one of the military ravens before anyone wakes to ask questions.”
“Yes, my princess. Do…try to rest.”
Princess Cion glanced back at her, and for a moment, her eyes narrowed, as if she was seeing something Soren couldn’t.
Standing there in her faded nightdress and fraying slippers, she bowed her head, hiding the beast beneath her skin.
She hid her nature well, despite the odd look the king had cast in her direction the other day. She hoped it was just a coincidence.
Still, as she left the bedchamber, sealed letter in hand, there was a strange flutter in her chest. It was an intrinsic feeling telling her some change was on the horizon.
She ignored the primal warning bells and hurried to the aviary.
Soren watched the enormous raven take flight, its feathers blue-black in the infancy of morning.
At the top of the palace where the aviary lay, she swore she was on top of the world.
Given that D’anna sat nestled among some of the highest peaks in Aren, she supposed the thought wasn’t entirely far off from truth.
When she had first been brought to the capital as a child, many of those with her had become sick from the altitude change.
She had merely felt dizzy with a terrified sore of awe.
Several of the balconies in the palace jutted over cliffs that fell hundreds of feet.
She had no idea how the building had been constructed.
With the aid of magic, if she was a betting woman.
But she was not. In fact, she could not afford to gamble away any chances. Her life depended on it, and if she wanted to ever have any chance of finding Kelshie or Thurn…
She knew in her heart her little brother was likely gone. He had been far too young to be of any use to Aren when they were all taken, and she had heard such horrible stories about what became of Misean babies.
But perhaps Kelshie was in one of the war camps. Maybe, with Princess Cion, Soren could find her. It was foolish to expect such a thing, but it was the first thread of hope she’d felt in nearly a decade and couldn’t bring herself to let go of it just yet.
And then, there was the letter she had just sent off into the crisp morning.
The princess was committing treason by attempting to undermine her father in any way.
Soren knew her rebellion was for entirely selfish reasons, all of them having to do with the scribe’s daughter.
Still, it gave her hope that perhaps Mise’s princess could at least be spared in the mess sure to follow Meesling’s betrayal.
For just a few more moments, she gazed at the horizon as the raven became a speck.
Once it was gone from sight, she finally left the aviary behind, hurrying across the vast tension bridge connecting the main residential wing and the rest of the palace.
It swung slightly with each step, and she ignored the sharp bite of unease in her stomach at the movement.
She was afraid of the height, just as she was afraid of being caught today.
Many men claimed to be fearless, but it was usually a falsehood.
Soren had learned mastering fear was the way to truly conquer it, not by pushing it away or denying it.
It was why, as she rounded the corner off the bridge and saw a guard posted there, she did not freeze or panic. She simply kept walking, her body curved in the expected submissive stance of a servant or slave.
“You.” The guard’s voice was gruff and stiff with command.
She turned slowly, her eyes downcast. “Good morning, sir.”
“What were you doing on the bridge?”
It only took her a few seconds to think of a story, half-truth, half-lie. “I was delivering a letter, sir.”
“To whom? Only certain people are allowed in the aviary at this hour.”
She nodded. “Yes, sir, I know. I was delivering it to Sir Gellings’ quarters nearby. The princess will be unable to attend her morning sparring session due to poor sleep.”
The guard eyed her. “I see. You did not go into his chambers like this, did you? It would be unseemly.”
She bit back a smile. As if she would want anything to do with Sir Gellings, of all people. Still, she kept her face neutral as she replied, “No, of course not, sir. One of the other servants in that wing promised to give it to him upon his waking.”
The guard sighed heavily, looking around. “Alright then. Hurry back to your quarters and dress. I am sure you will be needed soon.”
Soren bowed her head and hurried away, her heart beating hard and fast. It had been a close call, and the princess would be unhappy about having to skip her lesson, despite her true lack of sleep. But she had not been caught, not truly, and that was all that mattered, for more than her sake.
As she walked quickly back to the room she shared with Mona, she avoided the main halls and stairways where she knew some of the staff would already be readying for the royals to wake.
When she finally stepped back into the cramped quarters, Mona was awake, washing her face, a basin of water below her.
“Where were you?” she asked sharply as soon as Soren shut the door.
“Business for the queen and then the princess,” she replied, her voice thin with exhaustion. “Do not worry; all is well.”
Mona pressed her lips together before she said in a hushed tone, “You must be careful, Soren. The princess has chosen you to accompany her, which means more eyes on all of us. This is not the time to take risks…but if you must do so, be smart.”
Soren could only mutter, “You don’t think I don’t know that?”
Mona looked away, busying herself with dressing and plaiting her dark hair into two tight braids. Soren quickly washed and changed into day clothes, swapping out her thin slippers for soft, woven sandals.
“Soon, you’ll be wearing riding boots,” Mona said softly from behind Soren in the age-speckled mirror. “How grand that will be, not to get pebbles and dust in between your toes all day long.”
Soren forced herself to smile, though the mirror reflected more of a grimace. Still, she kept her voice light as she replied, “It will be, won’t it?”
Mona returned her tight smile, clasping one of Soren’s hands.
The two of them were not friends by any means, but Mona had been Soren’s roommate since they arrived here, and they had always served the princess together.
And most importantly, they were both orphans from Mise.
For Soren to succeed, in a way, was a step for Mona as well, for all of them.
It was why Mona warned Soren to be careful too, because any failure of hers could impact other Misean servants in the palace.
Soren did not often let herself cave into fear. But in that quiet, still moment, one of the last she would share with Mona, she let herself feel it fully, watching as it reflected in Mona’s eyes too.