Chapter 20
Elara
Lady Seraphine hunched over a set of beakers, each filled with a different colored liquid.
A tiny flame danced under the largest vessel, which bubbled and filled the room with a sour smell.
She was humming a pretty tune as Elara stepped into the makeshift closet laboratory.
Caelan had told her where to find Seraphine—holed up in her room, fiddling with her potions—and he’d been right.
A bubble popped, and lilac smoke puffed out of the glass, turning into the shape of a butterfly before disappearing.
The last butterfly she’d seen like that from Seraphine had been a taunt. Elara swallowed her bitterness. “That’s a beautiful song,” she said.
Seraphine nearly dropped a beaker and peered up at Elara from behind gold-rimmed spectacles. “What do you want?” Her emerald-green eyes were hard, unyielding.
“I wanted to invite you to tea,” Elara said, shrugging as if it wasn’t a big deal—or the worst idea she’d ever had in her life. When she’d suggested it to Caelan, he’d encouraged her, claiming that his childhood friend was easily misunderstood. And Elara needed allies wherever she could get them.
“Why would I want to have tea with you?” Seraphine asked, running her hands down her blond braid before slinging it over her shoulder, smiling with feline delight.
“Look,” Elara huffed, “we don’t have to be friends, but Caelan cares about you. I thought it would be nice for us to set aside our differences and get to know each other.”
Seraphine blinked, her face revealing nothing of her thoughts. “You could . . . do that?” she asked after several moments filled only with the sound of boiling. “After everything? After . . . what I did?”
For the first time, Elara saw the woman’s carefully constructed facade crack, the tremor in her hands revealing her humanity.
“Was that you?” Elara challenged. “Or was it him?”
Seraphine cast her eyes down at her beakers, staying silent.
“I know that Lord Stormrider is . . . persuasive. I suspect he’d make things difficult for you if you defied his orders.”
Seraphine nodded, a faraway look clouding her face.
“Besides, I trust Caelan’s judgement. Any friend of his can be a friend of mine.
I’m sure of it,” Elara finished, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt.
She wanted to trust Caelan, and if she could trust his friendship and ally with Seraphine, maybe she could tell them about the seer’s prophecy.
“You’re a better woman than I.” She shook her head, a tiny smile threatening to soften her sharp features.
“Then let’s start fresh, Seraphine,” Elara said, offering her hand.
Seraphine grasped it and looked her in the eye. “You can call me Sera.”
The following afternoon, Elara fiddled with her teaspoon, foot tapping beneath her powdery-blue gown, as she waited for Sera’s arrival.
This was a bad idea. The tearoom was a hub for the ladies of the court, and dozens of them milled about, gliding between a sea of round tables in their formal outfits.
Whispers bounced off the walls, dampened only a little by the dozens of oil paintings the queen had personally selected to decorate the space.
A tiny sadness tapped at the back of Elara’s mind—this was her first time in this room without the queen and Thalia present. She shoved the memories down.
Elara winced as one woman—Lady Isoldea—traipsed over to the royal table.
“I haven’t seen you here in ages,” she crooned. “Congratulations on your engagement.” Lady Isoldea’s half-hearted smile didn’t reach her pretty brown eyes.
“Sorry I’m late,” Sera mercifully interrupted.
Elara nodded at Lady Isoldea. “Thank you so much. We’ll have to catch up some other time, I’m afraid. I have important wedding details to discuss with Lady Seraphine.”
Lady Isoldea sniffed and turned on her heel, then headed back to her own table, where she joined half a dozen other women. The flurry of gossip that bloomed at that table quickly assuaged Elara’s pity for her and her history with Caelan.
Elara turned her attention back to Sera. “Please, have a seat.”
Sera shrugged and sat across from Elara in the chair a footman pulled out for her. The other conversations in the room faded to a low hum as the two women—the princess and the sorceress—sized each other up.
Elara cleared her throat. “I hope you don’t mind, but I have a favor to ask of you. I have been researching more about Serendith’s history and found something that could make an interesting gift for my sister Thalia. Her birthday is just after the winter solstice.”
Sera glanced at Felix, who stood beside a nearby window well within earshot, then back at Elara. “At your service, Your Highness,” she said, rolling her eyes.
Elara sagged with relief. At least she knows how to play the game. She thought back to the taunting, to the tears rolling down her mother’s cheeks at Sera’s hand. Maybe she’s been playing it well all along.
“Here,” Elara said, passing a piece of parchment across the table, then wrapping her hands around her warm teacup.
“I found an old book in the library. It looks to be a children’s book—fairy tales and nursery rhymes.
I don’t recognize the language and was wondering if you might help me translate it. ”
Sera picked up the parchment and laid it flat on the starched white tablecloth, smoothing it. Elara had copied down several lines of text from the journal Lysandra had helped her discover in the library, lines that she and Elara had already translated. Sera’s brows knit together in concentration.
“Do you have a quill?” she asked.
Elara nodded, passing a quill and tiny pot of ink across the table. She sipped her tea and glanced around the rest of the room as Sera worked, thankful that the other tables were now fully preoccupied by their own conversations and appetizers.
“It’s not a language I’m familiar with, but it’s close enough to Iskren—my parents taught me when I was little. Here,” she said, handing the parchment back to Elara and popping a dumpling into her mouth.
Elara read through Sera’s translation. It was perfect—three simple lines of a poem from the journal:
In the hush of the hollow where moonflowers gleam,
The stones start to whisper and cradle a dream,
Tread soft, little sapling, the roots are awake . . .
“Thank you,” Elara breathed. Sera had passed her test. Not only could she translate the language, but she’d been honest about it. A step in the right direction.
“I’m happy to help with your . . . translation,” Sera said, eyes flashing to Felix once more, “whenever you’d like.”
Elara nodded, gratitude for Sera’s help—and secrecy—tugging her lips into a smile.