13. Verena
Verena
I can't stop staring at myself.
Well—not myself.
Not Queen Rhinestone, either.
Right now, the face staring back at me from Eris's mirror in the queen's chambers is that of a middle-aged man with unmemorable features, short mid-toned hair, and an average build.
I thought the queen was just being a bitch when she labeled him plain shoemaker, but…that pretty much covers it.
The most memorable thing about this face is the spot over the man's lips. According to the Adonis in my mirror, the queen's beauty spot is always the one telltale no matter what disguise she wears.
"I already miss being hot," I sigh in a man's tenor voice as I don the cloak I pulled from the back of the wardrobe.
Eris fights a smile. He's standing off to the side in the mirror so I can see my handiwork better.
"The point is not to attract attention while you seek the king's former chamberlain."
Reaching up, I twist a bit of this stranger's short hair between his clumsy, strange-feeling fingers. "I bet I can't even attract a mosquito, looking like this."
He laughs as I turn this way and that, still getting used to this.
At first, I wasn't sure if I could whip up the same spell the queen apparently used so often. I wondered if me being in her body would stop the magic from doing its thing.
But nope. Adding a few sprigs of herbs, three drops from the vial, water, and strange powder into the goblet, shaking it like a fucked-up margarita, and reciting the words Eris gave me before I downed it worked perfectly.
Even now, I'm pretending the vial only had Kool-Aid in it.
The wildest part about the spell is that I'm wearing the shoemaker's clothes, too—a brown tunic, trousers, and boots. According to Eris, it's what this guy must have been wearing when Reinhilde somehow got his…Kool-Aid.
"This is so fucking trippy. I feel like the mirror is lying, but then I hear the voice I'm talking with and—holy shit. Does this mean I have a penis right now?" I gasp.
Pulling the waistband of the man's trousers away just enough to check, I look back up at Eris.
"Don't freak out, but there is a penis inside these pants."
"Verena. Focus."
"If I have time after getting Merrick, I'm totally going to strip and helicopter this bad boy."
He gives in to curiosity. "Helicopter?"
"You know, like—" I do the motion with my finger, adding the wee-woo sounds of a siren.
Eris half-coughs, half-laughs as if he's insulted that he's amused by something so stupid. "What would even be the point of that?"
"Does it have to have a point? It's funny. If you have a dick, you should try it sometime."
"Of course I have a—" He cuts off to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Crones, why am I even having this conversation? Stop distracting us both when you have a limited time in that disguise."
"Right. How long does this last again?" I ask, retying the man's pants.
"It varies, but with three drops of blood, it should last just over an hour. Reinhilde often carried more of the disguise potion in a flask with her wherever she went, to be safe. Now, remember. Look for me in the mirrors of Isenhold, and I'll lead you to the former chamberlain."
"Roger that," I salute before I slip out through the queen's secret passage.
After leaving the single, isolated door with the stained-glass apple tree, I follow a long, faint path through thick trees. When I pause and peek over my shoulder, I see castle guards patrolling high up along a castle wall. They don't notice the plain shoemaker scurrying toward the nearby town.
Nearly twenty minutes later, I'm back in the streets of Isenhold.
Now that I'm not racing through the village to beat the tolls of a death knell, I can take in more of my surroundings.
A few children laugh as they chase their friends, darting around carts pushed by busy parents.
Villagers who pass me are completely unaware of the queen in their midst as they stop to chat with neighbors or primp in mirrors hanging on doors.
Some slip into their houses, where smoke curling from the chimneys tells me they're cooking dinner.
In a nearby reflection, I see that Eris is now walking through the mirrors at my side.
"Turn right ahead," he says. "The former chamberlain just went into the Popinjay Tavern."
I turn right like he says—but then I quickly wheel back around to eye everything hanging on display through the ornate windows of a dress shop on the corner.
I'm so busy examining the styles, fabrics, cuts, and embroidery patterns to get a feel for Isenmere's current fashions that it takes a second to realize someone is talking to me.
"Oi! I said, you there. Plain one!" a no-nonsense woman calls from the open door.
Plain one?
I guess for a kingdom that worships beauty and pride, it makes sense that they're so obsessed with appearances.
Still, I'm almost starting to feel bad for this poor shoemaker. I'm sure he couldn't help being unmemorable as fuck.
"Are you going to stand around gawking forever?" she demands. "I'm closing up shop for the day, so if you've got a pretty wife or a daughter to shop for, browse quickly or come back tomorrow."
"Where do you get your dresses made?" I ask in the man's voice.
"We have our own seamstresses, of course. Finest in Isenmere! They even sew for the nobles," she brags.
I think back to what I saw those noblewomen wearing when I fired Schultz. It was better than the queen's clothing, but still…
"Fairest," Eris prompts from the mirror hanging on the door the woman is holding open. He looks exasperated. "I hate to interrupt your impromptu shopping, but that spell won't last forever."
Right. Priorities, I guess.
Thanking the woman, I follow Eris's every direction until I turn onto a street at the edge of Isenhold. I appreciate that not a single person bustling past spares me a second look as I weave my way to the mirrored door of the tavern, which has a carving of a colorful bird perched above it.
Stepping in from the chilly spring evening, I find myself surrounded by chatter.
The tavern is busy but not crowded, with well-groomed villagers and less-primped travelers clustered around oak tables covered in food dishes and mugs of mulled wine.
Someone plucks a stringed instrument in the corner.
Overhead, a stained-glass chandelier scatters ruby, amber, sapphire, and emerald light across the patrons' faces.
I scan through them, but Merrick isn't here.
Shit. Was Eris confused by the description I gave of him?
Someone else pushes past me into the tavern, quipping that I should get out of the way. I move to stand off to the side—and then I spy a set of stairs at the end of this room.
Maybe there are more tables upstairs, and that's where Merrick is seated? I don't see anyone else going up there, though.
"Verena," Eris's voice calls me from somewhere.
Before I can figure out which reflective surface he's in, a chorus of booming male laughter echoes from a corner table.
My attention snags on the full-figured blond bombshell of a tavern maid standing next to them. She can't be older than nineteen and is clearly uncomfortable, her blue gaze darting between the four men. She says something with a tight smile and turns away.
One of the men reaches out to squeeze her ass hard enough to make her jump and swat his hand away.
The other drunk men at the table just laugh louder.
Absolutely the fuck not.
I'm already marching toward the rowdy table that everyone else in this tavern either hasn't noticed or is more likely just ignoring—
But before I can step in, a supermodel straight off the pages of Vogue beats me to it.
She's just barely taller than I am, with rich mahogany skin and dark eyes sparkling with indignant rage.
Dressed much like the other tavern maid, she storms up, snatches the cup of mulled wine away from the handsy asshole, and pours it over his head.
Then she grabs the nearby pitcher of wine and dumps that on him, too.
"Hey!" he shouts, coughing and sputtering.
"Get out," she warns, glaring at the other men who are now booing the two women. "All of you, leave."
The men grumble and complain as she escorts her blond friend out through a side exit. I think that's a good move to give the younger woman a second to breathe.
But instead of clearing out, the four drunk men toss coins onto the table and follow the women outside.
If anyone else in here noticed what just happened, they go on chattering, eating their food, and minding their business.
"Verena?" Eris asks.
This time, I realize he's talking to me from the reflection of a mug facing me on a nearby table. I'm sure it gives him a great view as I give up looking for Merrick and race out the side door after the drunk assholes instead.
I find myself in a narrow, dead-end alleyway. The four men have already cornered the two maids out of sight from anyone in the streets of Isenmere.
The supermodel is glowering at the men, tensed with one hand inside her dress pocket.
The blond maid's gaze sweeps to me. I don't get why she looks more anxious than before until I remember what I look like. For all she knows, I'm another drunk sleazebag.
"Look how quick they lose their bravery once we're alone!" the handsy man laughs, soaking wet from his drink. He has one of the worst haircuts I've ever seen. "Now, now, ladies, no need to get your hackles up. I just want a thorough apology for your rudeness. My tunic is ruined, after all."
Some people are born with all the fucking nerve.
The idea of this jackass demanding an apology for the consequences of treating someone like an object scrapes against my old trauma until anger starts to pump through my veins, hot and thick.
A smoky voice I've heard before echoes very faintly inside my head.
Such righteous rage against such deplorable vermin. You've experienced but a fraction of my reckoning, so you know I can punish them far better than you can. Merely let the true name of Wrath fall from your lips.