17
By the time Lady Kaenan and her maids are done with me, I am exquisitely gowned in a voluminous dress of royal blue, decorated with embroidery that features glowing pink bits of unicorn fetlock.
It’s one of Lady Kaenan’s gowns, pinned and tucked to suit my slimmer frame.
Her preferred style is definitely old-fashioned, emphasizing luxurious fabrics and countless layers, as well as a multitude of jeweled buttons, gold beads, and gilded chains.
She and her ladies exclaimed over my collarbones and decolletage and adjusted the neckline to better show off my assets.
Halfway through the fitting, I was fed a delicious dinner of sliced chicken, buttered toast, and broth. “Nothing too heavy,” said Lady Kaenan, blowing clouds of blue and purple smoke from her creased red lips. “We must take care of that injured stomach.”
She’s not what I pictured at all. Far from being some elegant, waifish woman who drifts through rooms with angelic grace, she’s a thick-figured matron with a firm step, deep brown skin, and an abundance of black hair boldly streaked with gray.
Her lips are wrinkled and her vocal cords frayed from her smoking habit.
A charna cigarette is constantly perched between the thick fingers of her left hand, leaving her healing and insight glyphs on full display.
Her right hand bears three withered fingertips and a single ignition glyph on her smallest finger.
Judging by what Vawn told me about her, she probably lost the use of those three fingers to overextension while trying to save a mother or a child.
I like her immediately and immensely, even more so when she gives me extensive details about all the precautions she and her husband are taking for the event tonight.
“I think we’re done, Delena,” she tells her maid, who gives my face one more swish with the fluffy brush and then steps back obediently. “You look ravishing, dear girl. Delena, call in the boys. I know they’ve been lingering around the door.”
“Your children?” I ask.
“No, dear, I meant Vawn and my husband. Those ‘boys.’ The Lord and I were never able to have children. But I love the little ones of our province as my own—and the royal children too.” A shadow drops over her gaze.
“We used to love having them here. They were such fun when they were small, running through the corridors, leaving greasy little handprints on the doors and windows. Our housekeeper used to complain, but I loved it. I loved them all. But they get older, don’t they?
And they decide who they want to be. Sometimes they’re cruel to each other. ”
“Vawn—I mean, his Highness—he did indicate that his brothers were unkind sometimes.”
“Yes, they teased him mercilessly, and later it became more cruelty than play. His sisters used to dote on him, though. He was a precious creature, toddling around, trying to keep up with them. The rolls, the dimples—ahh, I miss that squishy little boy.” She smiles.
“But time, pressure, and privilege changed them all. And the Queen, rest her soul, was gone long before her assassination.”
“I’ve heard rumors of her illnesses,” I venture.
“Illness…” Lady Kaenan raises an eyebrow.
“You could say that. An over-fondness for liquor and emthal is a type of illness, one she lived with since Vawn was four or five years old. It stole her away from him when he needed her most.” She gets up from her chair abruptly, clearing her throat.
“Ah, well. Mustn’t speak ill of the dead.
Such is the world, after all. We make of it what we can and try to help those who cross our paths, yes? ”
“We appreciate your help more than I can say,” I reply. “Being here, after everything… it’s such a relief. Almost too good to be true.”
Lady Kaenan looks down at me sympathetically.
“In times like these, nothing is certain, and the fates know best, but I will say this. Let the enemies come.” She takes a fierce drag of her cigarette and blows out the smoke like a threat.
“Let them try to get to my boy. They’ll have to go through all of us, won’t they?
” She gives me a fiery wink. “Ah, here they are. My Lord and the prince.”
As the two men enter the bedroom, I rise slowly from the stool by the dressing table, my heart full of everything she has said. I understand now why Vawn wanted to come here, why he was so convinced that he would be safe with these people.
“Here she is!” Lady Kaenan gestures to me and my gown. “Fabulously gorgeous, don’t you think?”
Lord Kaenan comes up to me and presses my hand between both of his, earnest welcome in his eyes.
He’s a short man, dressed in an old-fashioned tailcoat and trousers, with a velvet cap to cover his bald head.
He’s neither handsome nor imposing, but kindness shines in his gaze, and the creases around his mouth and eyes hint at a merry sense of humor.
“Fate’s blessings be upon you, Forsythia,” he says. “We are so grateful that you brought our boy here safely.”
“It was my duty and my pleasure.”
“Well said. Well said.” He pats my hand and releases it. I appreciate that he doesn’t cling to my fingers like some men would. His gaze remains firmly on my face, despite the revealing neckline of my gown.
Vawn’s gaze is another matter entirely. He’s staring at me as if he has never seen a pretty woman in a fine gown before. He says nothing, but his icy eyes have that wolfish look again. If the others weren’t here, I think he might eat me alive, in the most salacious way.
Lady Kaenan notices, of course. Her gaze flicks from Vawn to me and back again while she takes another pull at her cigarette.
I can’t tell what she thinks of Vawn’s obvious desire.
She has probably seen him lust over countless women and perhaps a few men, too.
I’m nothing new, just the latest in a long parade of beautiful things that have caught his attention.
He looks gorgeous, too, if not quite himself. He’s been stuffed into a black ruffled shirt, a tie, and a velvety tailcoat, nothing like the edgy fashions he prefers.
“We should give Forsythia the lay of the land before the party,” Lady Kaenan says, taking Vawn’s arm companionably. “Let’s show your lovely bodyguard around, shall we? Iyrandar, will you take Forsythia?”
Lord Kaenan clears his throat politely and offers his arm with a courtly little bow. “Shall we?”
I’ve never been treated like a high-born woman before.
The closest I ever came to it was the Feast of Triumph at the Academy, during which all the graduates entered arm in arm with their escorts.
I asked one of the younger cadets to go with me, and he was a pleasant companion, but he was a little awkward in offering me his arm and guiding me in.
Lord Kaenan makes everything seem effortless.
I quickly lose track of how many rooms the castle has: countless suites, studies, libraries, private galleries, and parlors on the third and second floors. From there we descend to the first floor, where they show me the ballrooms and dining spaces where most of the party guests will gather.
“Once all the guests have been greeted, Vawn will withdraw into the Pomegranate Parlor,” Lady Kaenan explains.
“There we can reveal his face and speak more openly about political things and future plans. The east hall leads to that parlor, as you know, Vawn. And we have a little surprise for you—we’ve included some special decorations in the hallway for this occasion.
You know Heim Cordall, our artist in residence? ”
“The fellow with the image projection glyphs?” Vawn asks.
He glances at me and explains, “Cordall developed his own unique glyph set which enables him to take what he sees and impress it with perfect accuracy on paper or canvas, just by pressing his hand to the surface. I’ve had the pleasure of re-applying the glyphs for him a few times. ”
“I’ve heard of him,” I assure Vawn. “My father took me to one of his live demonstrations, years ago, in Iaris. The way he can copy real-life scenes is astonishing.”
Lady Kaenan nods. “Cordall wanted to thank you for your patronage and your help, Vawn, and he wished to pay tribute to your family as well. He would have stayed to reveal this gift personally, but he has a previously arranged commission today, a wedding at the Oerins’ castle in Ledtia.”
She guides Vawn around the corner. Lord Kaenan gives me an eager smile as we follow them, like I’m in on the secret, part of the anticipated surprise.
The east hall, like the rest of the main level, has wood paneling with a rich golden hue and white marble flooring striated with veins of gleaming aqua.
Along the corridor, neatly spaced and enclosed in ornate gold frames, are portraits of the royal family.
I recognize the King and Queen, the two older princes, and the two princesses along the right-hand side.
The left wall bears smaller portraits of the Arbogast side of the family: uncles, aunts, cousins, and other relatives.
At the bottom of each frame, someone has fastened tiny bunches of fresh violets, the traditional flower of mourning in this kingdom. Dark purple ribbons trail from the small bouquets down to the floor.
Vawn stops short half a dozen steps into the hallway, his shoulders stiffening as he realizes that the corridor has been transformed into a funereal gallery.
“You didn’t have a chance to say goodbye, to bury them, or to mourn them,” Lady Kaenan says, patting his arm. “We thought this would be a lovely way for you and our guests to pay their respects.”
The Lord and Lady have known Vawn longer than I have, but they knew him best when he was young.
I know him now, with such instinctive intimacy that I feel the jolt of his shock, his horror.
The rigidity of his body isn’t surprise or appreciation—it’s panic.
I know it before he looks back at me with a terrible despair in his eyes—a silent cry of no, no, no.