Chapter 2
The days before our departure blurred into a whirlwind of ink-stained fingers and late nights hunched over translation charts, double- and triple-checking all the interpretations.
I worked harder than I ever had in my life, not because anyone demanded it, but because I could feel the weight of this role pressing against my shoulders and secretly, I liked the way it made me stand taller.
Everywhere I turned, people in the castle stopped me with congratulations, some wide-eyed, some whispering as though they couldn’t believe it: a linguist appointed at my age.
Father wore his pride like a hidden medal, flashing it only in private.
In public, he kept his expression as stiff as the starch in his collar.
On the morning we left, Mother and my sister Comfort intercepted me in the entry hall. Mother fastened a delicate chain around my neck, tiny emeralds winking at intervals like drops of green fire.
“Emeralds are the stone of wisdom,” she murmured, smoothing my collar. “Wear it as a reminder of what you’re capable of. I am so proud of you, Truly.”
Her arms pulled me close, warm and certain, and I breathed in the faint scent of lavender that clung to her. Comfort’s hug was tighter and her whisper full of conspiratorial glee.
“When you return, I’m throwing a ball so grand that no one will remember anyone else’s achievements for a decade.”
I squeezed her back. How I adored my family.
The carriage door shut with a decisive snap. My stomach tightened into a fist. Fear, anticipation, and excitement all battled for dominance in my chest. Father sat across from me, his knees brushing mine.
“I was nervous before my first assignment too,” he said, his smile calming and steady. His hand covered my knee, a quiet anchor that settled my thoughts. “You’ll be fine.”
Mother and Comfort, skirts fluttering in the gentle morning breeze, waved as the carriage lurched into motion.
A handful of my tutoring students raced after us, leaping the low ditches and laughing as they tried to keep up.
They finally slowed as the palace gates swallowed us, their shouts of good luck fading into the wind.
I kept my eyes on the neat rows of manor houses slipping past, unsure whether to confess that my hands wouldn’t stop sweating. Should I tell Father I’d make him proud? He already knew I would try my best. Still… I wanted him to feel it.
As if reading my mind, Father took my hand in both of his. “This is a good beginning for you,” he said, eyes warm. “Besides, Crown Princess Aria will far prefer a spirited young translator to an old bore like me or Frederick.”
“Tell me about her,” I said quickly. I wanted a face to search for when we arrived.
He obliged and told me about the princess who was about my same age and height, but with long straight black hair to her waist instead of my wavy, brown hair.
She was sharp-minded with just as sharp a tongue, but also played the harp and sometimes performed at the reception banquet.
Aria spoke Islandrian almost fluently, so my task would be fairly straightforward and easy.
“I’m not musical,” I muttered, thinking of Comfort, who was always the more outgoing and admired sister. Still, the thought of working alongside another girl my age tugged at something hopeful in me.
Father withdrew a stack of leaflets from his satchel, already vanishing into the world of negotiations. I turned back to the window, watching the landscape change in slow increments, the stone giving way to rolling green, and green giving way to wild stretches of coastline.
By the time we reached Avivia several days later, the countryside had transformed entirely.
Palm fronds swayed overhead, thick with coconuts, or else bananas hung in golden clusters.
Markets spilled color into the roads. There were scarlet spices, purple fruits, and bright bolts of fabric that snapped in the wind.
The air tasted different here too. It was sweet and briny, with a citrusy tang that clung to the tongue and cleared my thoughts.
I pressed my forehead to the carriage glass as we passed children splashing in turquoise waves, their squeals of joy carried over the crash of surf. My wool dress hung on me like a sweaty punishment. I wished I’d heeded my father’s advice to pack lighter clothes.
The cobblestones leading up to the palace gleamed under the afternoon sun, and at the top of a sweeping carpet stood a small welcome party.
“Is Aria there?” I searched the faces.
Father chuckled. “No. Can you imagine Prince Hubert waiting in this heat for a minor delegate? Not that you are in any way minor to me,” he amended.
“Curtis would,” I countered.
“That boy ignores every rule of protocol.” Father’s eyes crinkled. “Ah, Princess Aurelia is there.”
The carriage stopped. Once the footman opened the door and offered his hand, I stepped down, spine rigidly straight with a copy of Mother’s warm smile practiced on my lips.
A girl no older than six, black hair flowing to her elbows beneath a thin gold circlet, presented me with a bouquet of flowers so bright they hurt my eyes.
“Her Highness, Princess Aurelia!” someone announced.
“Your Highness,” I said in careful Avivian, dipping into a curtsy. “I am so pleased to meet you.”
“Likewise,” she replied, her small voice sweet but composed.
Inside the palace, we were shown to a waiting area complete with comfortable-looking chairs and couches.
A servant in soft slippers appeared and pressed a glass of pale pink liquid into my hand before disappearing again.
The palace air was cooler, tinged with sea salt that made me dream of lying on the beach and forgetting that there was any such thing as worry or nervousness.
I couldn’t stop staring. The palace was filled with wide windows flung open to the sea breeze and walls draped in light blue fabric that rippled like waves.
Outside the door of the room we were in, sunlight scattered rainbows across the hall from crystal chandeliers, and somewhere in the distance, seagulls screamed to be fed.
“Do you like it?” Father murmured.
I nodded and shut my mouth. When had it fallen open? He smiled knowingly and accepted a glass of the same drink before nodding to the servant I had just seen, who quietly left the room after making sure everyone else also had a drink.
We waited. Minutes stretched until they blurred. My dress stuck to my back and sweat traced a slow path down my temple. Just when my eyelids began to grow heavy, a voice rasped from nowhere, “The Crown Princess awaits.”
I jolted upright on the chair where I had been sitting and saw that the small crowd of delegates we had traveled with was already standing.
We followed the slipper-footed servant down corridors lined with open windows. Tropical birds flashed between palm branches, their calls sharp and strange. I forced my gaze forward. I was here to represent Islandria, not gawk.
A man in violet robes spangled with orange diamonds passed us—his yellow leggings clinging like skin. Father leaned in. “The bard,” he whispered. “He always performs; you’ll like him.”
Finally, the servant guiding us clapped at the gilded, jewel-studded doors—once, twice, then twice more. They swung open with a stately creak.
“Announcing the delegates from Islandria,” a voice boomed.