CHAPTER 39
THE A’KORI PALACE
Present Day
“Are you ready?” Riah asks from the main chamber, her voice muffled by the tall doors of the washroom.
I sigh, not at all impressed with what I see in the mirror. At least the gown gives a valiant effort to distract from the dull features of my human skin and many imperfections. It’s the lightest fabric I’ve ever worn, despite the thick layers of the skirt.
Adora maintained the high slits that are so popular in the A’kori court, revealing a shameful amount of flesh.
I will never tell the seamstress and can only hope she will not be in attendance tonight to see that I have torn one of the many layers from the skirt and wrapped my legs to conceal them.
The binding is perhaps a better representation of the crone in all her tattered rags and serves a purpose I had not initially intended.
The same long strips of fabric that wind about my legs serve to conceal the feynstone blades strapped to my thighs.
The seamstress constructed the bodice well and the deep blue lace of the gown sets fire to my eyes., though the neck plunges lower than I would have designed for myself. The flesh below the rise of my breasts and down the length of my arms is obscured by little more than a sheer panel of lace.
I’ve never been partial to the gowns of court or the extravagant adornment that accompanies them, yet I can’t help but appreciate the unparalleled beauty of the fabric when it moves.
I suck in an appreciative breath when thousands of tiny crystals sewn into the fabric shimmer as if I were wrapped in a blanket of starlight.
“Shivaria?”
“I’m coming.”
I place the last of the precious flowers left by the sisters in my long cascade of thick spirals.
I hadn’t planned for them and find that after everything, I am completely unwilling to let them out of my sight.
If I leave them here, I may never return to his chamber to claim them.
It is pure luck that the waxy petals gleam a dark blue and purple when they catch the light.
They are all but lost in the depth of my curls, glinting subtly as if my tresses contain a secret of their own.
I’m struggling with the clasp of the necklace when I push open the door of the main room.
I glare down at the ridiculous heeled sandals Leanna taught me to walk in.
While I have never been fond of the strain they put on my body, I can at least appreciate the pointed tip of each heel as a makeshift weapon.
I expect Riah to mock me and prepare myself for the shocked look on her face when she sees me like this.
But she only smiles, nodding her head as if this is the most natural thing in the world and at last everything is set right.
“Bagya was a brave choice,” she says.
“I’m not sure choice is the right word,” I tease.
Her head tips to the side curiously when she asks, “What do you mean?”
“I certainly hadn’t planned on picking Bagya until the general explained the custom of that choice,” I say, “that it should be the last fea I had dealings with.”
My stomach sinks with her eyebrows raise suspiciously and she asks, “The general told you there is a custom?”
I nod, managing to find the clasp of my necklace.
She raises her hands in the air and smirks, shaking her head as she says, “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
I know the truth before the question leaves my lips. “He lied to me?”
“I did not say that,” she asserts, a single finger pointed in the air, “And I trust you to make sure he knows that.”
I can hardly hold it against him when I recall how we were with each other at the beginning.
Before Niya. Besides, Adora’s hard work and imagination created a masterpiece that is utterly unique in its own right.
I can’t imagine anyone else made the same selection.
Even if none of that were true, I am in no position to judge the male for anything he has done.
I won’t let myself hope that it is a grace he will extend to me after tonight.
My steps are hesitant when Riah takes me into the halls.
I’m not sure what I expect. Surely the guests who have arrived this evening are barred from this portion of the palace.
She takes up her place beside me, the jovial face I’m accustomed to seeing on her transforming into that of the military commander she is.
The general certainly had a vision of the way he would have me presented to the feyn this evening.
The guards are far quieter than I’ve seen them before. All are tense. Not one nods in acknowledgement as we pass. The only noise in the halls, the faint laughter and easy conversation drifting in from the party above the clinking of crystal and the hum of the quartet.
Clutching the last of my costume, I bring up the thick piece of sheer lace, tying it tightly at the back of my head as I situate the mask over my eyes. Riah tracks the movement, my hands rushing to hover over the blades at my thighs when she gasps.
“Focing fates, Shivaria,” she gapes, “Is that shadowbane?”
Her eyes are glued to the small flowers strewn about my curls. She plucks one out, presses it against her nose, and takes a long drag of the bitter citrus scent before asking, “Where in all of Terr did you find these?”
I open my mouth, unsure of what story will spill from my lips. I only know whatever it is, it won’t involve the sisters.
“Stop,” she says with a hand in the air as she squints her eyes shut. “I don’t want to know.” She repeats the last to herself, as if it might somehow make it true. “I. Don’t. Want. To. Know.”
She pockets the tiny bloom and levels a commanding gaze at me when she says, “Just promise me you won’t slip them into anyone’s meal.”
I think she might be joking, until I’m suddenly very certain she will remain here all night until I do just that.
“I promise,” I say, my brow drawn in confusion.
I can tell that it’s barely enough to convince her as she hesitates and, with a deep sigh, resumes toward the domed fea room.
The coiled tension of the ring before a sparring match is nothing compared to what I feel when I round the corner into the party.
Hundreds of feyn glance up from their conversations.
They gaze across small plates of delicate morsels and over the rims of etched crystal full of bubbling libations.
It is only with great effort—and the hand that Riah places on the small of my back to usher me forward—that I continue into their midst.
Awri commissioned a handful of feyn that she considers artists of the highest caliber, and I will never argue that artists they most certainly are.
Some have grown a stunning array of flowering vines, creeping toward the twilight sky painted overhead, the shape and color of the blooms unlike anything I have ever seen.
Subtly, they alter the magnificently painted walls with astounding depth.
Living vines weave along painted trees as if they were bound one to the other. I imagine the artist’s attempt to mimic the lush forests of Brax, the true home of the fea.
I’m lost in wonder when Riah jostles my elbow, pointing her chin toward a large table. Riesh piles delicious fair onto a wide plate, as Awri and Nurai speak with a group of feyn nearby. A few of the strangers disperse as I approach, eyeing me warily as I pass.
“Shivaria.” Awri welcomes me warmly, and I can’t help but wonder if the small glass of red in her hand has anything to do with the improvement of her mood.
Her costume is made of a fine green tule, artfully sewn to portray the concealing leaves of the sprites. For a moment, I find myself wishing for the company of the sisters and can’t help but think they would enjoy the festivities that honor their kind.
Awri’s eyes shine as she looks me over with approval and appreciation.
Nurai stands beside her, the female’s smile clearly hiding a frown.
I’m not surprised to find her dressed as a naiad.
Though, if anyone asked my opinion, I would have suggested the more terrifying version of the fea and happily supplied the mossy fish eggs for her hair.
One of Awri’s companions steps toward me, and my gut pits. It is not the wrathful fire in her eyes that has me steeling myself as she dips her head, unable to hide the disdain she clearly feels for me. It is the memory of the last time I saw the female, and the command she issued as I fled.
Though she does wear a dress resembling a water nymph, it is not the image of the nymphs of Kator the female threatened the general with when I first met her.
“I don’t believe we’ve met. I am Ishara.”
My brow draws down in puzzled confusion and I reply, “We have met. At Adora’s.”
She recoils when I say it, hissing, “I told you to forget that.”
Icey tendrils of her gift skate up my spine as she levels an expectant glare at me before her brow creases.
She schools her features in a practiced way when she looks to Awri and says, “I suppose you thought it would be amusing to deceive all of A’kori into believing the general chose the company of a human over mine. ”
“I have done nothing, Ishara,” Awri insists.
But it is Nurai that manages to settle the female by grasping her arm and warning, “Let it go, dear. The general made his choice. Now, I suggest you leave, before the king finds you here.”
There is a moment that something passes between them, an understanding that cools the fire of her rage. Ishara nods once that she understands, departing without another word.
She is not the only one affected by Nurai’s threat, and I brush a chill from my arms when I recall that, for me, tonight has a single purpose.
I glance around the room, my search for the general interrupted when Awri introduces me to the other strangers standing nearby.
My eyes follow Riah when she excuses herself to speak with Toren.