Chapter 21
Father’s having manic episodes and his legs are failing. Kathreen is here more often than not, doing things like taking food trays to Father and complimenting my “minimalistic” taste in dresses. I don’t trust her. Maybe it’s because she narrows her eyes when she smiles. Or maybe it’s because her father thinks we are stealing his void gems, which I”ve verified. We aren’t. Besides, I know Dagen isn”t attracted to her. He hasn”t ran his hand through his hair—he does that when he gets flustered around a girl he likes.
By dusk, I’m reading in my robe when Preysee says, “I checked on that oil you requested. It’s been delayed in the trade routes.”
She straightens my stack of books beside me, eyeing my bruised neckline as I study The King of Kings.
“Ooh, maybe we can use the oil on your betrothed when he arrives,” Liha says, popping into my shield with a purr.
“Yeah,” I say, still thinking about tax court.
Frost clings to the glass of my balcony windows, and my heart wrenches for Palko. The dungeons are open to the winter air. Tonight will be my only window of opportunity.
Liha bops around my shield with excitement for my betrothal, but I feel like shackles are slowly clamping down on my wrists.
“Don’t worry,” she purrs. “He is very handsome.”
Yeah, because that’s all that matters in a marriage.
Preysee lays the two rave dresses Liha preselected across my black, four-poster bed. “The red one with the plunging neckline? Or the gold with the climbing leg slit?”
“Gold.” The leg slit allows easy access to my dagger.
Preysee holds the shimmering dress up to me like a pool of liquid cascading over her arms. “The gold does create a striking contrast against your eyes, doesn’t it?” She peers into my eyes, then averts her gaze as everyone does. “Those are without a doubt your father’s eyes.”
Preysee surely means it as a compliment. Obsidian eyes are the mark of natural-born power, but I hate my father’s eyes.
“The Zem prince will be here tonight,” Preysee says. “My niece tells me he is quite the dueler.”
“He is.” I remember watching his duels before he left for the third continent. Kazem is the only other dueler with a no-loss record in the level-six circuit.
“Let”s get you dressed,” Liha says, pooling her power into my veins.
Pink smoke puffs from my vesseled hand, and my robe is replaced by the unforgiving dress along with my concealed dagger and sheath. The dagger’s snug band is familiar and brings me comfort knowing I have it.
“You slay,” Liha coos. “The second general does not know how lucky he is to have such a beautiful woman lined up for him.”
A sinking sensation settles in my stomach. “Why the frown, my lady?” Preysee asks.
“I’m just trying to decide how I should paint my face tonight.”
Preysee’s eyes soften. “I see.” She gathers my hair into her hands and brushes the tangles from my hair. “If you want the opinion of a maid, I don’t think it matters how you paint your face. You’ll still be you underneath.” She offers a soft smile through the mirror as if being myself is a good thing.
After drying my hair, Liha calls upon our Mark to filter over my skin. There’s absolutely no way she’d allow me to attend a party like this without it, not unless I want to listen to her complaining all night.
Preysee tugs my hair up, then down, then up again. “Up. To show off the back of your dress.”
“Agreed.” Liha swirls above, overseeing Preysee’s work. If she finds any part lacking, she”ll rearrange it, but as Preysee works, Liha purrs with satisfaction.
When Preysee is done, my hair is pulled into a smooth, straight ponytail with my white hair wrapped around the hair tie. Tight, clean, powerful.
She reaches for the pallets of face paint and lipsticks, but Liha clicks her tongue. “My turn.”
“I can take it from here.”
Preysee curtsies and takes her leave, having duties to tend to on the main floor.
“No red lips,” Liha hisses, fluttering around me. “Everyone and their mutty hounds will be wearing red.” She circles me again. “Silver will shame that wonderful gown and pink is for helpless damsels. Not Zarr women.”
I smile. “Your favorite color is pink.”
She sniffs. “In Heshena, pink is the color of lust and passion. In Zarr it is frilly nonsense.”
I lean back in the vanity chair. “Then what color?”
She answers with a pool of her power into my palm, and I release it. Pink smoke falls around me.
“Black,” she whispers.
My black lips, coupled with a sharp-edged winged eyeliner, whisper, “dangerous.” But with my Mark, in my eyes, I look the way I wish I did.
Unwaveringly calm, unbothered, and unbreakable.
There’s a golden shimmer of dust high on my cheekbones, and a shade of pink blended into my cheeks.
“I thought you said no pink.”
“I do what I want.”
The Winter Rave takes life far beneath my feet as people from all three kingdoms gather, but I wait until I’m summoned, opting to read a book. Liha, unable to wait any longer, buzzes out of my shield to enjoy the party below.
Soon, there’s a knock on the door and Yisabell pops her head in. “I’m here to fetch you—Wow,” she says in Awom so the guards in the hall won’t understand her. “That is adress.”
Her blue eyes turn dubious as she slips in and closes the door. Her hand dives into her garb pocket and pulls out two wrapped pieces of chocolate.
My eyes widen.
“Where did you get those?”
She grins. “The Zems brought chocolates as their gift to the host.” She crinkles her nose. “The Zo’s brought paper.”
“Yisabell,” I say. “You could’ve been punished for this.” By punished, I mean killed.
She skips over to the chair next to me and sits. “I could be punished for any number of things.” Her eyes light up with drooling excitement as she holds the candies up between us. “This might be one of the few things actually worth the punishment, or so people say.”
“Then you better fully enjoy them,” I say, unable to tame my smile.
Her lips fall. “I brought one for you. So, we could share.” She perches one of the little chocolates on my arm rest.
My heart gives a tug. I look toward my closed door. “Okay, then we better hurry.”
She wiggles in the seat next to me. “I’ve waited my whole life to try chocolate,” she says. “I’ve heard it is the dessert of gods.”
For as long as I can remember, all people have talked about is how the crops throughout our lands continue to die, including cocoa bean plantations in the south. Since the trade routes are still riddled with Skeeves, chocolate is definitely a luxury, even amongst royalty.
We unwrap the small parcels together and look at the wonderful velvet brown squares. “On the count of three?” Yisabell asks.
“The whole thing? Don’t you want to savor it?”
She shakes her head. “Nope.”
“Good. Me neither.”
She smiles wider and begins counting.
On three we both shove the chocolates in. Realms. It melts immediately, coating my tongue in the most decadent taste I’ve ever experienced.
Yisabell turns to a boneless lump in her chair, slumping down with a groan. “It tastes like—” Her lips quiver. “Like a hug from my mother. Instant comfort.”
An ache enters my chest.
She swallows and closes her eyes. “Definitely worth it. Even if I knew I was going to get caught, I’d do it again.” She peeks an eye open. “As long as I still got to eat it, of course.” She giggles.
“Here, give me your wrapper,” I say so she doesn’t get caught with them.
She hands me her wrapper, then sighs as if she’s completely content with the world. “I better get back to work.” Her lips perk on one side. “I’m in the kitchens tonight.”
She likes the kitchens most, likes to bake. That’s why I threatened the slave master with his life if he didn’t put Yisabell in there as often as possible.
As I follow Yisabell to the door, I clutch the two silver wrappers in my hand.
I decide I want a taste of something else forbidden before my shackles slam shut completely. When Brunar’s guards fall in around me, a plan unfolds. It’s possibly the worst stunt I could ever pull, but as we pass the top floor windows that are beating back winter winds, I smile.
Because this plan hits every point I need it to, including Palko Everett.