Chapter Fourteen
Adeline
The book lay open on her bed, ornately inked letters swirling into existence and wiping clean, over and over again.
Aware, somehow, that its reader’s attention had wandered.
It was not the book’s elaborate letters that held Adeline’s eye after all, but the rounded, childlike scrawl on the used envelope she’d found wedged in its pages.
Dear Ade,
I came to say goodbye, but you are gone, and I don’t have time to find you. You left your trunk open, so I know you will be back. I don’t think I will be. I am going on the boat to Grandpapa’s castle. Papa says we will leave at once, and I heard Uncle Ned tell him there is danger coming.
I know there is magic in this book, so maybe you can use it to stay safe. I know you are angry with each other, but please take care of Marry too.
All my love,
Iseult
“Oh, Iz,” she breathed, then pressed the envelope to her aching heart.
She stayed that way for a long moment, arms straining to push enough counter pressure against the crack in her chest that her breath might pass through once more.
At least as much as her current attire allowed.
She’d found the book in her hunt for the dress.
The wardrobe had been shuffled again, all those Dhaliaan sheaths replaced with rows of pretty, practical day dresses in every colour imaginable.
They were beautiful, and it must have taken skilled hands several long hours to unpick the embroidery in all the right places, just to sew some pockets into her skirts.
She’d resolved to find out the names of the palace tailors and thank them accordingly.
Thank her aunt, too; the gesture had not gone unnoticed.
But at the mention of a ball and a night spent dancing with the merrow, she’d recalled a certain gown she’d glimpsed stuffed into her trunk.
It shimmered in the back of her mind and, she eventually discovered, in the back of her wardrobe.
Skirts of overlapping blue shadow, dotted with ice diamonds like stars in a night sky. A plunging velvet bodice.
A very pink-cheeked Merrow King.
Her own cheeks warming, Adeline had stripped off her robe right there in the wardrobe and stepped immediately into the dress.
If she hadn’t—if she had just wrestled it from the railing and turned away—she might not have noticed the shoe box hidden beneath its tumbling hem.
She might not have discovered the treasure within.
She looked down, finally, at her little sister’s gift; the enchanted storybook she had given Iseult for New Winter, what felt like years ago now. A lifetime. A different version of herself, someone worthy of the same affectionate reminiscing that Izzy inspired.
Maybe you can use it to stay safe.
The innocence of those words brought a prickle of heat to her eyes, and Adeline had to turn her gaze to the ceiling to avoid spilling tears over her makeup.
She really did not have time for a breakdown at present.
She could already hear the faint sound of song and laughter from somewhere in the vast gardens that told her the ball had begun, and any moment now, the attendant Eleni had arranged would be along to escort her.
Adeline blinked until the threat passed, then set the envelope on her nightstand and picked up the book.
The story’s title unfurled in ink once more, a little triumphantly now that she’d granted it her full attention.
The Pearl of All the World, it declared.
Not as pretty or tragic a tale as The First Frost, perhaps, but a classic all the same. She read on, watching as an invisible hand painted that first paragraph with a border of delicate blue whorls and perfect iridescent pearls.
Many tales begin upon a distant time. This is the only story that truly begins at the beginning.
And in the beginning, there was only a lonely existence.
Only the Mother, and her boundless capacity for love and magic, which echoed into the vast cavern of her own Self.
The Mother wanted, more than anything, to fill that black space.
To share all that she had. She wanted, and she wanted, and she wanted—
The brassy, rhythmic sound of metal on metal drew Adeline’s attention, and the book went abruptly, almost sulkily, blank. She sighed and set it down on the bedclothes— shut this time so as not to get its hopes up, inanimate object though it was.
“Yes?” she called.
“I am here to escort you, princess,” came a soft voice from outside. “I shall wait just here, please take your time.”
“No, I’m ready, thank you—just a moment.”
Adeline gave a final, wistful glance to the old tome on her bed; her little sister’s treasured parting gift.
An innocent talisman, so sweet it made her teeth ache.
She swept up the envelope with Izzy’s loopy handwriting, hugged it to her chest once more, then retrieved her mother’s letter from the bedside drawer and folded it carefully into the envelope.
Then, sliding both notes back into the pages, Adeline set the book down on the nightstand and gave it a gentle, appreciative pat.
There now, she thought. You can protect them both.
???
Adeline was glad for her attendant—a soft-spoken older lady named Moira—for even having visited the gardens just that morning, she might never have found her way back in the dark.
The ball was held outdoors on the Vanjir’s sprawling estate, beneath a swollen silver moon in a cloudless sky.
The air was warm and rich with the scent of nycta flowers, and bronze lanterns had been planted like fiery trees throughout the lawn; just enough to cast golden bubbles of light here and there among a garden veiled in gentle shadow.
Courtiers and guests milled about drinking floral wine in their finery, colours vivid as butterfly wings when they flitted beneath the lanterns, then muted as moths where they stepped once more into the night.
They wove the air with their merriment, and Adeline could feel it, featherlight and jubilant as the cheery strings that played from somewhere across the lawn.
With a parting thanks to Moira, Adeline stepped into the gardens and wove a path between the lanternlight, keen to stick to the shadows until she found what—who—she was looking for.
There were plenty of familiar faces; a cluster of courtiers she was quite sure she was related to, though she couldn’t remember how.
Papou holding forth to a group of older guests, all of whom sat in a ring of cushioned wooden chairs beneath the broadest and brightest lantern.
A familiar giggle drew her attention, and she spotted Ceri across the grass, arm in arm with Alun as they weaved toward the same arboured tunnel where Adeline had found refuge from the relentless midday heat.
They each held a glass of wine in their free hand, and from the way both brims sloshed with every step, it was far from the first glass for either of them.
Their open giddiness made her chest throb, a sudden, vicious pang of longing for home, and Ger, and laughter.
Alun was the first to see her; she’d begun to cross eagerly toward them, but stopped in her tracks at the very adamant jerk of his head. She raised a brow, a little offended, until he sent her a glassy, wide-eyed look she could read even in the dark.
A moment alone, the look pleaded.
And it dawned on Adeline that she was not the only one with a tangle of undeclared feelings to pick over. She nodded her understanding, and would have turned away at Al’s grateful nod, had Ceri not followed his gaze—and immediately squealed.
“Adeline!”
With surprising speed, Ceriwyn darted across the grass and nearly toppled them both.
Adeline was only glad she’d at least paused to shove her wineglass into Alun’s hand before barrelling into her.
She’d barely caught her balance when Ceri pulled away, holding her by the arms and looking her over as though they’d been parted for a decade.
“You look beautiful,” she hushed, eyes wide with awe. “That’s not a Dhaliaan dress, is it?”
“It’s one of Imogen’s,” said Adeline, then grinned. “She made it for your brother’s first ball in Eisalaan; I was told to make an impression.”
Ceri gave a tipsy snort.
“And that you did,” she said. Then, releasing Adeline’s arms, she stepped back and fanned out her skirts. “Now, my turn. Tell me I look beautiful, too.’
Ceriwyn wore her dark hair half up, highlighting the smooth angles of her face and eyes of wine-glazed hazel.
Her dress was soft and flowing, in a bright colour that might have shone sunshine yellow in the light; here in the shadows, it glowed like the moon above them, a richly embroidered bodice with glints of silver in the floral twists and vine-like swirls.
Hands to her chest, Adeline gave a dramatic gasp, and Ceri beamed—then whipped around in a lopsided twirl, losing her footing at once.
She stumbled sideways into Al, who immediately dropped both wineglasses to catch her by the waist and haul her upright before she could teeter into the grass.
Only when the two of them had caught their breath between drunken giggles did Adeline manage to answer, through a particularly knowing smile.
“Of course you do.”
“I do what?” Ceri said, dabbing distractedly at her tears of mirth.
“You do look beautiful, Ceri,” Al clarified, still grinning down at her.
Ceri’s breath caught audibly, and Al’s eyes blew wide.
“Oh,” Ceri said, quite breathless all of a sudden. She blinked up at him. “Well. Thanks, Al.”
Alun’s face was the very picture of alarm.
“Oh, I just meant that’s what—”
He shot a helpless look at Adeline, who would have been quite pleased if Aera herself chose that moment to pick her up and spirit her away on the Winds—somewhere far enough to give these two the privacy they clearly needed.
Al swallowed and turned back to a beet-faced Ceri.
“You’re welcome,” he said quietly.