5. Katya
5
I ’m jolted awake by the blast of the train’s horn, my heart pumping as though it means to leap right out of my chest.
Across from me, Berezin lifts his head from where he’d been lying sprawled across the long bench and lets out a groan. “Have I mentioned that I despise this city?”
“Once or twice,” says Leodin, who’s slipping necklaces dripping with sythra over his head, so they hang down his chest like a multicolored waterfall.
I stand and adjust my corset, which has ridden up so much my breasts are nearly touching my throat. “I thought you said we shouldn’t be wearing gems.”
He gives me a flat glare. “You better be listening better than that when we reach the palace, girl. I said, you shouldn’t be wearing them because no male wants to marry a female he perceives to be a threat because of her power or intelligence. I, on the other hand, am a threat, and these chains ensure everyone is aware of that fact. ”
“Right. Sorry,” I say, wanting to smack myself for asking such a stupid question. I hate it when I look like a fool around anyone, but especially Leodin.
Berezin gives me a salacious smile. “Don’t worry, little one, I’ll protect you.”
Oh, please. The bastard would use me as his own personal shield if it meant saving his flabby backside. I press my lips tightly against the laughter pummeling the back of my lips, so that it’s forced to shoot from my nose along with a globulous string of snot so long it touches the edge of my mouth. I surreptitiously swipe it away with the back of my sleeve—a move that would probably give my mother a seizure—and snatch up my little bag, which now holds both of the bracelets my mother made me. I peek out the window and stop cold. “Oh, my gods.”
The train station is massive. In fact, it’s more like four stations running side by side, each connected by thick metal columns supporting the massive archway tunnels that housed the trains. Rows upon rows of windows line the very top of the archways, providing both sunlight and protection from the elements.
Leodin follows my gaze out the window and sneers. “Don’t let the pretty buildings and clean streets fool you. Beneath the facade, this city is a cesspool.”
Nodding, I follow him and Berezin out of the compartment, down the narrow walkway and onto the platform. There, a man wearing white and gold livery, holds a sign with the names Berezin and Valstrad written in large block letters. We follow him outside where a white carriage with an ornate golden sun decorating the door is waiting, and we climb inside. If I thought the train station was huge, it is nothing compared to the grandeur of Ranook city. Three and four-story buildings line the cobblestone streets, their lower floors housing businesses of every sort, while fae make their homes on the upper floors, as evidenced by the multitude of wash lines stretching between them. The air is crisp and clean and briny with the scent of the sea instead of sulfuric stink back home, though beyond the terracotta rooftops, in the distance, gray smoke can still be seen billowing from smokestacks. The carriage slows as we pass through a market, vendors seated beneath multicolored awnings selling everything from bolts of cloth and silk to slaughtered pigs hanging from hooks.
Even the people here are more extravagant than back home. Everywhere I look, males are dressed in sleek suits of black, blue or gray, their hair slicked back, their long mustaches curled comically at the ends. The females wear dresses of every color and pattern, and instead of those gods-forsaken bustles, they wear their skirts fitted to the hips and flared at the ankles. I gaze down at the hideous brown dress I’m wearing. It isn’t even good enough for shopping, and I’m supposed to go to the palace like this.
Past the market, the buildings on my right disappear to reveal an expanse of water so blue it could have been plucked straight from a painter’s canvas. Even more beautiful is the way the light dances upon its surface, as though all the stars fell from the heavens to play in the frothy waves. And there, rising like a white kraken from its depths, stands the Sun Palace. It glows as bright as its namesake, with white walls that extend from water to land and towers topped with bulbous domes of gold, their spires reaching so high as to pierce the sky.
“Well, I guess you won’t have any trouble appearing dim-witted,” Leodin says, leveling me with a disapproving gaze .
It’s the slap in the face I need to quit gaping like an idiot. I shut my mouth and push back into my seat. Berezin gives me a pitying look, which is its own special sort of humiliation, and I resist the temptation to gaze out the window for the remainder of our journey.
The carriage pulls up to the palace steps, where servants in white livery greet us and usher us through a pair of golden doors fit for a giant. The interior of the palace is much the same as the exterior: white and gold and ornate to the point of ridiculousness. Needless to say, I’m grateful when we’re quickly delivered to our rooms to rest. We are all on the west wing of the third floor, with my room unfortunately placed between Duke Berezin’s and Leodin’s. Berezin is, of course, thrilled by this predicament and proceeds to give me a not-so-subtle wink as he enters his apartment. Convinced that this was a scheme somehow set up by Berezin, I rush inside, searching our adjoining wall for a doorway into his room. There isn’t one, thank the gods.
Fortunately, my bedroom is more utilitarian than the public areas of the palace. The dresser, vanity and bedframe are all a warm mahogany, the walls painted a creamy white. I cross to the thick crimson curtains framing the wide window and take a moment to watch the ocean pound against the palace walls below. It’s strikingly beautiful, but I’m just too damn exhausted to enjoy it. I pull the curtains closed, cloaking the room in darkness, climb into the lovely four-post bed and snuggle under the heavy patchwork quilt. The bed is big enough for three of me and so soft it’s like I’m floating on a cloud. My head barely meets the pillow before I’ve fallen asleep.
I’m standing beside a massive hearth where a weak flame plays upon the ashes and crackling wood.
Where am I?
I want to turn around to see the room, but my gaze is fixated on the glowing logs. My vision’s a bit fuzzy, like I’m looking through stretched cotton, but my ears easily recognize the sound of a woman crying behind me.
Maybe it’s best I don’t turn around, after all.
“It’s all my fault,” I say, or at least I think I said it, but the voice I hear is deeper than mine, with a strong Ferinees lilt I wouldn’t even know how to imitate. My hands grip the mantle, but these aren’t my pale, slender fingers and trimmed nails. These nails have been bitten so badly, the golden-brown skin surrounding them is red and swollen and every finger is stacked with hefty, jeweled rings. No. This body belongs to someone else, and I’m just along for the ride. My host, whoever she is, sighs and pivots around on the ball of her foot to face a handsome young man with flaxen blond hair and cool blue eyes, brimming with hate. Behind him a girl sits curled up on the bed, weeping softly. My host continues, “If only I’d bedded the man servant instead of your father, this nation might not have ended up saddled with another imbecile for a king.”
“Mother!”
“Shout at me again and see what happens,” she says through gritted teeth.
“You have no right—”
“I have every right.” She draws her arm back and throws a wineglass I didn’t realize she was holding. It sails past the male’s head and smashes against the wall, sending shards of glass flying. The weeping female—who I’m guessing from the dowdy black dress and white apron is a chambermaid—shouts and flies off the bed just in time to avoid being sprayed with a million bits of glass. “You mount every half-wit and trollop in sight, except your wife. How many bastards must you have before that waste of a womb you married gets with child?”
“We are trying.”
“Not hard enough if you still have the energy to impregnate another one of my fucking maids.” She points at the girl, who is now huddled in the corner, her arms thrown protectively over her blond head. Her whole body trembles. Gods. She’s terrified.
The woman whose mind I’ve unwittingly invaded turns to the girl and says, “You may keep your job, and we’ll school the child. Now get out.” The girl bolts for the door. “And you,” she says, finger pointed at her son. “I hear about you fathering another gods damned bastard, and I will have the guards haul your ass into the square and cleave that empty head from your neck. Do. You. Understand?” She slams a fist on the mantle, rattling candlesticks and photos. A statuette of some sort of animal tumbles over the edge and cracks against the wood floor.
“I said I would take care of it,” the male says again, the words softer and yet even more terrifying than when he was yelling. Everything about him coveys menace: the clench of his jaw and squint of his eyes, the way he repeatedly opens and closes his fists and leans into his mother’s space.
But as far as I can tell, she isn’t the least bit afraid. In fact, the only emotion I can feel bubbling under the surface of this woman’s skin is unadulterated rage. “You spoiled fool,” she seethes. “You can’t go around ki—”
My eyes flutter open. I’m in that massive bedroom in the palace. I was mindwalking, again. Dammit. This is why mother didn’t want me here. A witch who can dreamwalk is fine, a witch who can climb into a waking mind when she’s sleeping is tinder for the pyre.
Even if I have no idea how I do it.
There’s a light tapping at my door. I sit up. Is that what woke me? “Yes,” I answer.
“Hello, Mistress Valstrad. May I come in?”
“Uh… Yes,” I say. Wait, didn’t I lock it?
The door creaks open and a female with dark hair pulled into a bun pokes her head inside.
“I’m Merida,” she says, slipping a key—connected to a ring fitted with so many keys I don’t know how she could possibly keep them straight—from the lock and dropping the entire thing into the pocket of her apron.
So much for privacy.
Merida steps the rest of the way into the room and closes the door behind her. She’s wearing a black dress and white apron like the girl from my dream, but that’s where the similarity ends. Whereas the maid from my dream was fair and delicate, this female is stockier with sun-kissed skin, ash-brown hair and a pleasant smile that is much preferable to the terror-stricken expression of her coworker. “I’m here to get you ready for dinner,” she says.
It’s dinnertime already. Gods. How long did I sleep? I shake my head in an effort to dislodge the image of that poor girl. It never ceases to amaze me how my magic somehow always picks out the worst possible situation to observe. It’s not like I can do anything to affect the events I see, so what is the point? I scrub the sleep from my eyes and scoot across the mattress until my feet hang off the edge of the bed. “Why would I need help getting ready for dinner?”
Merida gives me a warm smile. “The queen and prince will be in attendance, so all are expected to look their very best.”
Morgana, take me. I’ve hardly had a moment to breathe and already I have to contend with the royal family. I suppress the urge to groan and slip off the bed. The floor is chilly against my bare feet, and I curl my toes in as though that will save them from the cold, when all it really does is make me look like a waddling duck as I cross the room. “Good luck with this hair,” I say, gesturing to the rat’s nest currently residing on my head.
Merida chuckles. “It’s fine. Trust me when I say I’ve dealt with much, much worse.” She gestures toward the mahogany vanity, and I take a seat.
She opens my vanity chest, pulls out a brush and gets to work. It’s nice, having someone else battle my hair for a change. Merida’s touch is gentle as she pulls the brush through my dark waves, careful not to pull too hard at any tangles. I’m enjoying the pull and tug against my scalp, on the verge of falling back asleep when she speaks again. “Your eyes are remarkable. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that color before. ”
“The unintended consequence of a tryst between a talented Duje witch and a human with truly unfortunate coloring.” I smile, hoping she’ll catch the joke.
“Well, they’re lovely,” she says.
“Thanks.” I clear my throat, feeling a little uncomfortable with the compliment. “So, Merida, what’s it like living in the palace?”
“I grew up here, so it’s just home to me, though my room is not nearly as nice as this one.”
“What about the royal family? I hear the prince is quite handsome.” I give her a wide-eyed excited look and bunch my shoulders cutely. Hopefully, she’ll take me for the daft, boy-crazy girl Leodin wants me to play and not someone fishing for information.
She pauses her brushing for a moment—whether she’s shocked by my question or simply focused on coming up with how to answer, I can’t say—but when she does speak, there’s a wariness in her tone that wasn’t there before. “I honestly don’t have the opportunity to interact with them very much. I mostly stick to the third floor and the royal family’s rooms are on the fourth.” She points to the ceiling, then returns to wrangling my hair. “From what I’ve heard, the queen is tough but fair and the princess is truly lovely. Everyone adores her.”
It does not escape my notice that one member of the royal family has been conveniently left out. “And the prince?” I ask. Now this is the sort of gossip I’ve been looking for.
Merida glances over her shoulder, as though she’s expecting eavesdroppers to jump out from behind the curtains at any moment. She opens her mouth, then closes it. “He’s… Fine. Good. Everything you’d expect a prince to be. ”
Well, that’s a sham response if I’ve ever heard one, but I can’t expect her to divulge palace secrets to someone she’s only just met, so I let her off easy and change the subject.
“So, any thoughts on what I should wear tonight? I’ve never attended a dinner with the royal family before.”
Her shoulders visibly droop in relief. “The dress has already been picked out for you. It will arrive shortly.”
I sit up at that. A new dress. Like the beautiful ones the ladies wore at the market. “Really?” I say, barely containing my excitement.
Merida’s eyes crinkle as she smiles at me. “Yes. Principal Valstrad said you needed to mesh with the local style, so he had a number of dresses purchased for your stay.”
I clap my hands in excitement. “I’ve never had a new dress.”
Merida cocks her head, her eyes asking the question she’s afraid to voice.
“I’ve lived my entire life at Dom Duje. Everyone there wears white robes all the time, so there isn’t much use for pretty dresses. I have a couple hand-me-downs, but they are not exactly what I would call fashionable.”
She gives my shoulder a friendly pat and grins. “Well, in that case, I’d say you’re in for quite a treat.”