Chapter 24 #2
I sigh—though my irritation softens a bit at her mentioning her brother.
I have to admit part of me finds it endearing, how much she clearly cares about him.
She insisted on overseeing my preparation for this event herself, and I know it has nothing to do with her wanting to spend more quality time with me.
“I'm not going to embarrass him, you know,” I assure her.
“Not by the time I'm finished with you, you won't.” She finally seems to decide on a style, then spends the next half hour taming my waves into more elegant curls before sweeping most of them into a high ponytail.
I keep still and silent until she's finished; I've dissociated through far worse horrors, after all.
“Your hair is such a strange color,” she comments around a mouthful of the pins she's using to secure the updo.
Her tone is more curious than judgmental, so I decide to break my silence.
“My mother's was the same color,” I tell her.
“Her mother was originally from Port Caven, in the Kingdom of Solvare. The Veil Sea that borders that region shines a dark, purplish-grey most nights, supposedly because of the influence of the seafaring dragons who live beneath its waves. For generations, parents ritualistically dipped their children into those waters, and most of those children ended up with hair the same color as the sea. They were healthier, too. Stronger, faster, smarter…and after some time, children started to be born with this color hair.” I shrug. “That's the legend, anyway.”
What I don't mention—and what she likely already knows—is how that region is scarcely inhabited now, the supposedly benevolent dragons long gone. The Mouren Army overtook the region decades ago, because of its valuable location as the trading port closest to the neighboring Empire of Castere.
It's how my grandmother ended up in Halvgate; she was like so many others fleeing, trying to find a place where Mouren's claws couldn't reach them.
“Stronger, faster, smarter…” Kestrel repeats. “I'm not convinced you inherited those traits. Maybe we could go dip you in that sea for good measure.”
“And maybe you could drown yourself in it while we're there.”
She smirks, adjusting a few of the curls framing my face. “Well, the hair color is pretty, at least.”
“Did you just…compliment me?”
“I was mostly complimenting the work I've done.” She steps back, assessing her handiwork. “And I'll put the finishing touches on it closer to the event, once you're otherwise dressed. Try not to make too much of a mess of yourself in the meantime.”
With that, she leaves me in order to go start getting ready herself.
Sighing, I circle the room in a bit of a daze, trying to get used to the weight of my hair and makeup. It already feels like I've put on a full, suffocating disguise, and it's not even complete yet.
Coming to a stop in front of the mirrored wardrobe, I absently run my fingers along it, tracing the carved vines and flowers, the brushed gold knobs.
This wardrobe has been slowly filling since the day I arrived in this palace, with more and more clothes appearing as if by magic—yet there's nothing in it that Kestrel deemed fancy enough for the evening ahead.
As luck would have it, though, a gown worthy of the occasion is due to be completed this very morning.
Although, I'm not convinced it was entirely luck; I suspect the king ordered it to be finished immediately after that morning we spent together in his room.
As if he already knew I would ultimately agree to his offer.
I clench the wardrobe's handle, annoyed. I would have been fine in something simple. An elaborate gown feels like a waste.
“Apparently, wasteful is the theme for the evening,” I tell my reflection.
But when the gown in question arrives later that afternoon—just in time for a quick fitting and some minor adjustments—I can't keep myself from staring at it, marveling at the fact that I get to wear something so…incredible.
It's one of the most beautiful garments I've ever seen, and once I slip it on and step toward the standing mirror, I can once again do nothing but stare.
The floor-length gown is crimson overlaid with sheer fabric, featuring gold embellishments branching out around the waist. It's layered, with strategically heavier panels providing an elegant bit of modesty, while the more sheer layers reveal shimmering stretches of skin.
Fabric drapes down from a high collar beaded with gold, flowing over one shoulder.
My other shoulder is bare, and my back is daringly exposed as well, nothing covering it except a few trailing golden branches, a continuation of the ones hugging the front of the dress.
Kestrel regards me with a rare look of approval when she returns a few minutes later, while I'm still busy staring at my reflection and trying to convince myself that it's actually me staring back.
The princess is even more stunning than usual, dressed in a flowing gown of deep sapphire. As usual, she has the dragon-scale accessories covering her shoulder, neck, and forearm, but they're fancier than any I've seen before, seemingly molded from pure, delicate sheets of gold.
“This is going to drive him crazy,” she says, circling me, her hand tucked under her chin as she appraises my look. “He won't be able to keep his hands off you.”
Heat sweeps from the top of my head down to the tips of my toes. “That isn't part of our plan for the evening.”
She takes a flute of sparkling wine from a tray one of the servants has left. “Which will make it all the more entertaining for me, watching him struggle to keep his composure. He's been too cocky lately; maybe you can humble him a bit more.”
“I can't imagine him losing his composure over a dress.”
“You should see his composure when he talks about you,” she mutters, taking a sip of her drink.
“…He talks about me?” I nearly drop the delicate gold bracelet I'm attempting to fasten. “I mean, of course he does; there's plenty to talk about between my magic, and my dragon, and our agreement, and…um….”
She regards me with that cutting, pointed look she does so well—the one that leaves no doubts about how stupid she thinks I am.
I narrow all of my focus on the bracelet while she proceeds to rattle off the evening's itinerary: the guests I should be aware of; the food and drink I would be better off avoiding; the topics of conversation that are safest to stick to.
It suddenly feels more like I'm being prepped for a job rather than attending a party. Which is fine by me, considering I'm much more experienced at the former.
Briar joins us in the middle of this briefing, and it makes things seem even more familiar—though we've never had any jobs that require us to look anything quite like this.
“I clean up nicely, don't I?” she asks, spinning to show off her emerald green dress, a simpler design than mine but no less elegant.
Her short hair is secured away from her face with a delicate, emerald-studded comb, and her eyes are accented with bronze shimmer that makes their bright hazel color pop even more than usual.
Kestrel falls quiet for a moment, watching the two of us embrace and compliment each other. Then she downs the rest of her drink—as if searching for courage in the bottom of the glass—and clears her throat. “I made something for you.”
I'm momentarily stunned as she picks up a small box I didn't notice her bring in, opening it to reveal a beautiful, ornate eye patch that perfectly coordinates with my gown.
I remember the promise Reave made—that I could cover up whatever I wanted to—but he'd mentioned the palace clothiers taking care of it.
I would never have expected his sister to go through the trouble of making it.
Did he command her to do it? Or did Briar actually win Kestrel over for me, as she was determined to do?
Or did something else motivate her?
“It’s…perfect.” As I pick it up, my gaze sweeps to the delicate golden scales she wears, and I can’t help wondering, again, what scars she might be covering up herself.
“It would have been better if I'd had more time to work on it,” she says. “Now hold still.” She helps me slide it on, adjusting the fit until it sits comfortably, then ushers us all out of the room.
We're a formidable trio, making our way through the halls in a rustle of silk and shimmer, heels sharp against the floors, guards trailing behind us.
Some of the higher-ranking guests have been granted access to the palace interior; Kestrel greets them with practiced grace and poise.
Briar enthusiastically follows her lead, tossing more than a few flirtatious glances at some of the better-looking nobles.
I keep my head held high and offer polite nods to anyone I happen to make eye contact with, trying not to let my nerves show.
We seem to be collecting more guards as we progress, prompting me to catch up to Kestrel and quietly ask, “Is Gareth going to be joining our guard tonight?”
She keeps her expression carefully neutral. “Commander Gareth is otherwise engaged.”
Briar and I exchange a quiet look.
Three days he's been missing now. And between Sesca’s warnings about him, and Reave's anger over the bruises he left, I don't know what to make of it.
I won't exactly miss our grueling training sessions if I never see him again, but he was also a source of occasional useful information—someone outside of the royal family willing to answer at least some of my questions.
His absence feels like another variable I'll have to navigate in this ever-twisting palace.
We make our way outside, eventually stopping at a heavily-guarded area at the top of the steps that lead down to the Grand Pavilion. Looking down at it all, my heart pounds more fiercely than it ever did during even the most harrowing runs I made through the Ashlands.
Even though I've seen so many parts of this night coming together, seeing it all at once, with so much noise and so many people and a setting sun painting everything in a fiery light, it’s…
Gods, I don’t know.
Why did I ever agree to this?
Briar is led away from us by an attendant, leaving the princess and me alone at the top of the stairs.
“Reave intends for the two of you to enter together. He should be here shortly.” Under her breath, she adds, “He's always dragging his feet when it comes to these events.”
I breathe in and out slowly, trying to calm my racing heart.
“You'll be fine,” says Kestrel, and in her cool, regal voice it somehow sounds like both a reassurance and a command.
I nod, keeping my chin lifted, my shoulders back.
I feel her gaze slide toward me after a moment, studying my appearance one last time. Her hand reaches for the patch she made, adjusting it slightly. Her touch is surprisingly gentle.
“I've rarely seen my brother yield to anyone. About anything. And certainly not as quickly as he has to you.” Her fingers shake the tiniest bit.
She steadies them in an instant, but I don't miss the hint of vulnerability.
“I just hope you wield that power carefully,” she says, eyes flicking up to mine just as she's announced to the waiting crowd below.
Before I can reply, she's already starting toward that crowd with a smile plastered on her face, leaving me to wait for the king without her.