Chapter 36
After two weeks, trapped in the castle with Kathreen, I’ve resorted to spying on her squawking handmaid for entertainment, because it’s not safe to continue spying on the other kingdoms yet. After watching Kathreen and said handmaid, I’m positive she’s not the one poisoning Dagen’s food, but that doesn’t mean she’s not bribing someone else to do it. High maintenance women prefer clean hands. It could be any of the kitchen staff. And so, commences experiment number two. If Dagen wasn’t the way he was, I’d simply kill the entire kitchen staff and hire a new one. But it would take a long time for him to forgive me for that. So begins the hard way.
When I wake early the next morning, Liha is buzzing around as if she just ate an entire bag of Zem pastries. My body, however, is still toting the injuries from last night’s punishment, rendering me unlikely to move without major motivation.
“Are you ready to play?”
“It’s too early,” I groan and stiffly roll over to tug the pillow over my ears, but her voice is just as clear in my head.
I can’t avoid it a day longer. I’m meeting my betrothed today, in a few hours actually.
“I spent all night watching your betrothed. He is quite the hunter. Come on, we haven’t played in so long.”
I peek an eye open. “Fine.”
“Okay. Blond, brunette, or redhead?”
I sit up in the same manner I imagine a corpse might, rigid and grumpy for not being left in peace.
“He’s obviously blond if you have this much excitement over him. Not stark blond. You like that in-between color.”
She giggles, and I know I got it right.
“What color are his markings?”
I can’t help my smile at her palpable glee. She loves this game. I recall my studies on the Jaxelli warriors, remembering their strange light markings that cover their bodies.
“Red?”
She squeals. “Why do you even need me to spy?”
I raise my hand for her to nudge against. “Because it makes you happy.”
For a second, I feel a swell of emotion from Liha, a clump of confusing sentiments all jumbled together. I take a breath and it disappears.
“What do you think of him?” I ask.
Liha purrs beside me as other spirits outside my shield hover in and out of focus. “Very delicious,” she says. “Not like a Zarr man, who relies on fancy suits and jeweled collars.”
“I meant . . . Is he good?”
A pause. “He desires to be. I’ve only seen snippets of him when he leaves their blue dimension. Did you know they are living in a dimension inside another realm?”
My entire body aches as I stretch. The salve helped tremendously, but I’m still sore. A throb shoots up my legs when my feet hit the floor. Sorren’s trainings are about as pleasant as one of my father’s punishments. Preysee enters in time to witness my hobble. She readies the bath with a concoction of therapeutic and scented oils.
After dipping into the steaming water, I massage my favorite oil over my skin, one that smells of rose petal and sultry cologne.
Liha continues to hum about my betrothed. “He reminds me of the Sand Gladiators from Heshena.” She rolls and twirls beside me, making feather-like waves in my shield. “Strong chest. Intense gaze. I know you have a weakness for dark hair, but I think he may be an exception.”
“I do not have a weakness for dark hair,” I say, because I don’t have the heart to tell her I plan on terminating the betrothal if I win the King’s Duel.
She floats around, giggling. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your infatuation with a certain painting in King’s Hall.”
I glare in her direction. “I was twelve.”
“You may not lean up and kiss him anymore, but I notice your steps slowing down when you pass his frame.”
Heat floods my face.
Preysee returns after I’m thoroughly bathed and pulls down a black robe from the far wall.
I climb out. “Did you find Palko’s wife?”
She nods and looks out toward the balcony windows. “I hope she hurries. It’s an awful winter this year.”
“You sold the necklace and gave her the money?” I double check.
Preysee dips her chin. “I did.”
She leads me to the vanity.
“Your father has excused you from your schedule today,” she says, taking a brush to my wet hair.
I slump with relief. Good. I don’t know if I could last five minutes with Sorren today.
That doesn’t boost my confidence for the tournament. I’ve managed to keep up a cocky front, but I am the lowest ranking dueler in the tournament, and my skill with a sword hasn’t improved as much as I’d like.
“It took you years to master the daggers,” Liha says.
My desire to be efficient with a sword must be loud and desperate for her to pick up on it. “That’s why I should’ve taken up the sword years ago.”
It’s just . . . I always associated them with level-six duels and killing. Daggers have always been more for show.
Preysee combs my hair in long slow strokes, her face taking on a practiced, neutral expression.
“Where did you get your scar?” I ask her softly, looking at the barely visible line extending from her lips.
The brush pauses in my hair and her expression turns distant. “My late husband.”
Her face moves through a span of emotions, landing on something that resembles regret. “I married young, trying to prove I was more desirable than my older sisters. He was handsome and his family was from the wealthier district, so my parents didn’t object.” She frowns.
I turn in my seat.
“The scar,” she says, “is from when I finally fought back.”
Her smooth scar paints a lucid picture. I imagine him pinning her to the ground, a blade in his fist. In a flash, the image is gone, and wisps of gold surround me.
I raise my chin to keep the tears from welling in my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
She straightens her shoulders. “He paid for it.”
She sets the brush down and asks me if she can help me into my dress. She knows Liha can cast it on, but there’s a maternal gleam in her eye that longs to do this.
When my flowing black gown is fastened, Liha nudges me, wanting to help, so I allow her to have her way with my face and hair.
Preysee’s breath hitches after the pink smoke fades. I look at my reflection. Besides my black eyes, which are irrecoverably striking, Liha has casted me with an extremely soft look. My face makeup is so natural it’s almost bare. No black lipstick, no winged eyeliner. None of my usual favorites. And my hair is down.
“I don’t like it,” I say to Liha.
“The second general will like it,” she says, floating around me.
Preysee’s hand goes for the black lipstick on my vanity. Realms bless her.
I shake my head. “My betrothed is not from Zarr. His tastes are from a different realm.”
“I look like I just rolled out of bed.”
She purrs, “I know. Isn’t it scandalous?”
Preysee opens the ceiling-high door, motioning for me to enter the hall, and in the distance, I sense Dae’s cold darkness. It helps me breathe a little easier, and I wish his soothing cool presence was closer.
“Your guards desire you,” Liha’s smug voice bubbles from all around my shield. “Such strong desires.I believe they find your appearance extremely taboo. And Brunar is practically seething.”
“Why?”
“He desires to duel for your hand.”
Dae’s cold presence fades as we descend the stairs and I square my shoulders as if I’m about to fight, because all the marriages I’ve known seem to have as much joy as a level-six duel ring.
My father is sitting on his throne, unnaturally stiff. Soriah’s throne is empty, and Tarella is standing in her assigned spot on the dais, tapping her foot.
“Leave us,” Father commands my guards.
They bow and recede into the shadows of the room.
The apex of winter has settled outside, bringing three more moon cycles of gloom. Glo stones buzz overhead, and all three fireplaces dance with flames, but it doesn’t bring much light to the giant room, as if the castle’s corners bleed darkness.
Liha slinks off, out of my shield, and past the reach of my senses.
I expect my father to make a comment on my bare appearance, but after he surveys me, he says, “When the second general arrives, and you are alone with him, you will invite him to stay for dinner as well as the preliminaries. He will attend both.”
There’s the slightest slur behind his voice, a very bad sign. I wonder if there’s a full sober day for him anymore, but slur or no slur, the threat in his voice is clear.
I’m about to slink off to the book coves while I wait, but a knock from the throne room doors stops me.
Father holds a gloved hand up, and the single crease between his brows tells me he’s talking with his spirit, no doubt asking who stands on the other side of the door.
Father’s dark, oily spirit leaves his shield only to return a second later before disappearing again, most likely back into Father’s shield.
“It’s the second general of the Light Jaxelli,” he says. “Open the doors.”
Liha flutters back into my shield. “Ooooh. Just in time.”
“Where’d you run off too?”
“Playing,” she says.
The doors open and for the first time, I lay eyes on a being from another realm. Lekk Rexion, second general of the Light Jaxelli Warriors.