Chapter 7
Seven
- LYRA -
Last night I dreamt of rain. Sheets of it pouring through a crumbling roof, so vivid I woke with goosebumps on my arms. My head throbs, despite having consumed no alcohol last night at dinner.
The sun is a touch too bright as it leaks through the thick, red curtains spilling out onto the marbled floors.
When I drop out of the bed, the tile floor kisses my bare feet in a chill.
My attention snags on the spot where I woke yesterday in a puddle of my own blood.
Not a single hint of red has been left on the sparkling white marble.
Splashing my face with cold water in the bathroom sink, I look for some way to calm the tension in my skull. Though, nothing seems to quell it. And no matter how hard I brush my teeth, I can’t get a peculiar taste out of my mouth.
A knock later and the lady’s maids come in to help me wash up. They pull pieces of my hair back behind my head, pinning and tucking delicate flowers throughout it. They dress me in a soft blue gown with a boned corset, layered with embroidered white flowers to match my hair.
Then I’m led to Devin waiting outside my room.
“How did you sleep?” he asks while he escorts me down the hall to the dining room.
“Alright, I…suppose. My head has been pounding all morning, though.” I wince.
“Don’t worry, it’ll fade. It’s the block in your mind. Think of it like ice…slowly it’ll thaw and melt completely over time. As it trickles in, it builds pressure on the ice, until it’ll finally break. Avoid the alcohol, and you’ll be back to better in no time.”
I toss him a small smile. “Thank you.”
“One other thing…” He pauses our walk and scans around us before turning to me. “Promise me you’ll let me know if you see or hear of anything suspicious?”
I tilt my head. “Suspicious like what?”
“You’ll know it when you see or hear it.” He clears his throat and ushers me forward to the next hallway where the door to the dining room is. As he opens the door for me, a wave of staggered chattering from the dining table washes over us.
“Good luck,” Devin whispers.
Once I’m inside, he closes the door and I gather my skirts, descending the stairs. I quietly move for the group with Aelia. Curious to hear of her time with the King.
As I pause near the edge of their group, Aelia stops talking and turns to me with a wide smile. “Oh, good morning! And this,” she gestures to me, “is Lyra.”
I dip my head, taking the extended hand of a woman with dark hair dressed in green to my right.
“Stella Stonefire from Pinepoint,” she says as she shakes my hand.
“Lyra Goldbrook from Kilamber,” I respond, surprising myself with that new word. Goldbrook. It rolled off my tongue with such ease, such familiarity. As if all I had to do was announce it out loud and it unlocked some hidden part of me. A new spike of pain rips through my head, making me wince.
“Are you alright?” Stella asks, dropping my hand with a pinched brow.
I rub at my temple. “Yes, sorry. I’ve had the most raging headache…”
“Do you want to take a seat?” Stella gestures back to the table behind us.
I straighten, offering her a smile for her concern. “No, no I’ll be alright. But thank you.”
She nods, then turns to a strawberry-blonde woman with a pale yellow gown who interjects, “Wait, did I hear you’re from Pinepoint as well?”
When Stella nods, the woman steps forward, extending a hand with a toothy smile. “Oh, how exciting! I’m Moe and I am, too. Well, not originally. I was born in Brookvale before my family took asylum in the Dragon Lands.”
Some of us slide our attention to her at the mention of the Arterian city. I imagine all of the women here have been vetted, but it’s still odd to have someone born in enemy territory competing for the hand of the King.
We all part as Marcella slides through the middle of our group and takes a seat at the dining table further down. Alone.
“What’s with her?” Moe murmurs. “She’s been incredibly rude. Completely ignored me when I tried to introduce myself and walked away.”
“That’s Marcella Briarstone from Millton,” Stella whispers, her face falling.
Moe’s expression doesn’t change, but Aelia’s eyes widen and flick back to Marcella to confirm.
Briarstone. The last name of a wanted criminal…but what crime? Why would they allow a criminal into a competition for the King’s hand? And Millton. Millton was known for…growing corn?
Marcella’s piercing brown eyes slide to me upon my lingering gaze, impaling my focus.
Millton is the Dragon Land’s penitentiary. Where all the criminals are locked up, and the city’s main income is for those tending to said penitentiary.
I swallow under Marcella’s gaze, tearing my eyes away.
“Don’t worry about her,” Stella waves a hand. “With the King’s eliminations, I’m sure she’ll be sent home quickly if she isn’t excused for breaking any rules first. You all saw how mouthy she is.”
But seeing her alone feels like observing a wounded lone wolf. And I’m that foolish lamb stumbling toward it as I dip my head and excuse myself from the group of women.
I head straight for Marcella.
I take my seat next to her, not looking at her as I flatten my dress. “Good morning.”
She ignores me, arms crossed over her chest . A single finger tapping against her inner arm.
Clearing my throat, I glance at her. “How’s your head?”
“Excuse me?” She glares, hard enough to hurt.
“I-I just mean…sorry. Not because of the wine—” I giggle nervously before clearing my throat.
“Last night you mentioned something about your family, so I wasn’t sure if your memories were starting to come back.
And I woke with a splitting headache that hasn’t seemed to let up, so I was curious if you felt something similar. ”
“The only headache I have right now is from you talking to me.” She lands the insult with perfect precision.
I open my mouth. Shut it. Open it again.
“Yes! My head has been awful all morning!” Aelia chimes in from across the table, as she settles into her seat. “I figured perhaps I hadn’t drunk enough water yesterday, and I might be a little dehydrated.”
Marcella takes her attention off me to the group of women still gathered and mumbles, “It’s not the wine, nor dehydration. It’s whatever they’ve used to clear our memories.”
Lady Bethany calls out near the head of the table. “Girls, please take your seats and enjoy your breakfast. Today we shall begin with an etiquette lesson afterward.” She tosses a glance to the servers waiting at the walls before they all disappear into a side alley.
Everyone settles into their seats, and the servers return. Lining our tables with plates of berries, cheese, and sugar-dusted pastries. More crowd in, giving us thin golden teacups and pouring us aromatic, steaming tea.
After the servers leave, Marcella suddenly flicks a glance up at Aelia. “How did your time with Cyrus go last night?”
Aelia’s teeth flash as she smiles. “Oh, it was wonderful! He’s such a charming man.
Though…one of little words. He didn’t quite eat…
just listened to me. It was lovely! Most men I’ve spoken with only blabber about themselves and their valiant accomplishments.
He was…” Her gaze settles on something behind us, her eyes growing hazy as her smile falls slowly.
“Yes?” Marcella hisses as she leans forward. “Go on?”
Aelia blinks, then turns her attention back to us. “Sorry, what was I saying?”
“You were talking about King Cyrus,” I prompt.
“Oh! Right. You know, before coming here I recall my mother gushing about how wonderful he is and how we would make a wonderful pair. But I think she was mostly excited by the thought of me becoming Queen. I’d almost say her ambition in that regard outmatches mine.
” She laughs. “Though, I suppose a mother’s will for their daughter is as strong as any, don’t you think? ”
Marcella sighs and leans back into her chair, taking a teacup with her and sipping it.
I answer to fill the silence with a small smile, “Yes, I think so.”
But the hole of where my mother should be in my memory is a dark weight.