Chapter 67 Lilias
Lilias
THE HEART IS A WILD THING
It must be morning.
The jailer lights a torch in the hallway, and three women slowly come into view, looking terrified and uncomfortable.
I come to my feet, bow slightly, and greet them by name as Bertyl unlocks the door.
The servants enter, carrying a washbasin, towels, powders, and one of my mother’s old dresses, a yellow silk gown with dark blue ribbons.
So they did send someone to clean me up. I wonder if Blayne requested this specifically. For a moment, I consider sending them away and letting my father see exactly what I look like after riding hard all day to warn him, and then spending a night in the dungeons.
But in the end, I doubt he’d care. It would just be one more item on his long list of reasons why I’m a disappointment.
So I sink onto the stool Bertyl brings into the cell and let the women who have watched over me for my entire life wash my face and hair, peel off the filthy servant’s dress Anura found in the old hunting lodge, and then lace up the yellow silk and lace gown I wore last year to the midwinter celebration.
I loved this dress as a child, even though my father’s clothier said it was hopelessly out of fashion.
I wonder if Darlana remembers that, if she chose this dress because she thought it might make me smile.
“You look beautiful, my dear,” Darlana whispers to me.
She’s crying, just like the other two. They’ve been crying silently this whole time, and I wonder numbly if they would have cried if they’d had the chance to prepare me for my wedding.
Bertyl stands outside the cell door, shifting nervously in the lamplight as the three women work their magic on my face and hair. When Darlana finally announces they’re done, he looks relieved. He unlocks the door, then gestures for me to follow him. As if I had any choice.
Darlana takes me by the hand. As Bertyl vanishes up the narrow stairwell to the courtyard, she leans over to whisper in my ear.
“We don’t blame you,” she says. “The heart is a wild thing.”
I frown, but she just pats my hand as silent tears roll down her wrinkled cheeks.
It’s only once I start to climb the stairs that I realize what she’s talking about. She might be sad to see me in the dungeon, but she also believes Blayne’s story. She thinks I ran from my marriage in Vsenrog and gave their king a reason to invade Marion.
I open my mouth, ready to tell her that it wouldn’t make any sense for me to flee to Ethiria, that I don’t even know Prince Laurance, but the words don’t come.
Something deep inside of me whispers that it wouldn’t be worth the breath, that she’s already made up her mind, and nothing I say will change it.
The doorway at the top of the stairs is filled with the soft golden light of the morning.
I step through the door and blink in the sun.
The royal carriage stands just before me, gleaming in the light, the banners of Marion fluttering slightly in the weak breeze.
Darlana takes my arm, but she leads me past the royal carriage and toward a much smaller coach surrounded by guards.
Right. My father must be in the royal coach. And he must not want to travel with me.
I climb into the smaller carriage, then flinch as the door slams shut behind me. This carriage smells like mildew and old sweat. I try to open the windows and discover they’re nailed shut.
Great. I cross my arms over my elegant bodice and sink back in the seat with a scowl. Somehow, despite the jolting and bucking of the carriage and the clatter of hooves and men’s voices, I manage to fall asleep.
I wake with a jolt, blinking in the stuffy, shadowed gloom of the carriage interior. It’s warm in here, almost uncomfortably warm, and I can’t help but think that my sweat is going to ruin the elegant makeup the women applied this morning. But at least I’m not bouncing around anymore.
My father’s voice booms from somewhere outside.
I flinch, banging my elbow on the carriage frame.
A moment later, the carriage door opens, flooding the cramped interior with blinding light.
I blink, my eyes stinging. A tall figure appears in the doorway, grabs my arm, and pulls me forward.
I stumble out, still half blind in the flood of sunlight.
“Bring her to me,” my father calls.
The hand around my arm drags me forward. I stagger alongside as the landscape slowly comes into focus.
Snowfields wink from the distant mountains. To the east, there’s a row of trees that must flank a river. My father’s royal carriage is still on the road, but the field ahead of him has been transformed into something that almost looks like a carnival.
Dozens of tents spread across the grass, flanking either side of the road. The banner of Vsenrog flies atop all of them, crisp blue and scarlet flapping against the bright sky. I frown as my mind struggles to make sense of what’s in front of me.
We can’t possibly be inside the borders of Vsenrog. It took days for me to reach their palace, and from the position of the sun, it’s only early afternoon. We’re still in Marion.
But you’d never know it from the flags flying on either side of the road. This doesn’t even look like a military camp. No, this looks like a royal delegation.
I swallow hard as the man with the iron grip on my arm forces me to stand beside my father. Sunlight winks off the silver crown in my father’s gray hair, catching on the scarlet jewels and making them shine like drops of blood. Mel stands at his side, his arms crossed over his massive chest.
The king of Marion doesn’t even look at me. Instead, he stares at the largest tent in the field with a strange expression on his face, something I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost say my father looks afraid.
We stand in silence as the wind ruffles pennants and shakes the walls of the tents. Horses nicker and stomp, and occasionally the wind brings scraps of conversation from the men around us, although I can’t tell if I’m hearing from the guards of Marion or the armies of Vsenrog.
Finally, the flaps of the largest tent swing open. My breath catches in the back of my throat. I don’t know what I’m expecting: the king of Vsenrog, or a group of heavily armed soldiers, or even the reanimated corpse of Prince Syvan come to exact his revenge.
But the man who walks out of the royal tent is none of those things. He looks vaguely familiar, this older man with white hair and an expression of distaste, although I’m not sure of his name or position.
My father clears his throat. “I’ve brought her,” he says, without looking at me.
The man standing next to me shoves me forward. I stumble, catching myself before I can fall.
“She’s the one who started this mess,” my father continues. “We’ve found her, and we’re giving her back to Vsenrog.”
He falls silent. The man from Vsenrog does not reply. Wind tugs the pennants, making them dance above us. I glance back at my father. Should I say something?
No. Of course not. My heart sinks, and I let my gaze fall to the trampled grass at my feet. What could I possibly say? Everyone here has already decided what they believe.
“Wonderful,” the man from Vsenrog finally replies, in a tone that suggests he feels the opposite. “His Highness King Malrik will see you now.”
My father steps forward. Mel follows him. The man from Vsenrog raises his hand.
“Alone,” he adds.
My father nods, then continues forward without looking back. He vanishes into the massive tent. The flap swings shut behind him, and Mel exhales loudly behind me. Somewhere in the distance, a hawk screams into the empty sky.
“This could take a while,” Mel mutters under his breath. “Come on,” he says to the man who pulled me out of the carriage. “Get her in the shade.”
I half expect them to put chains on my wrists as they lead me into the shade of a small stand of birch trees. For a long time, no one speaks. And then one of the guards begins to pass around a flask of something that’s probably not water, and a dozen whispered conversations begin at once.
I glance at the road behind me and estimate how far I could run in this dress before someone tackled me. Not far, I think. Maybe not even to the edge of the trees.
With a sigh, I lean back against one of the trees and cross my arms over my chest. The wind makes the walls of the massive tent dance and whispers through the grass.
And I wait for my fate to be decided.