Chapter 33
Scarlen laughed at her friend Zana as she entered her bedchamber, all flowing orange gown and black lace eye mask.
‘Recognise me?’ asked Zana with a chuckle.
The general’s daughter had been trained for combat since she could walk. With her tall, athletic frame, blood-red hair, and piercing blue eyes, Zana Degafe could be spotted a mile away.
‘Well, I’m not sure,’ said Scarlen. ‘Mitch, perhaps?’
Zana waved off the joke. ‘Please. I’m twice as strong.’
‘I heard that,’ said Mitch from the doorway.
Zana reached for the soft material of Scarlen’s floral dress, taking in the bold blue of the flowers. ‘Who designed this?’
‘Don’t snarl. I asked for blue flowers.’
‘Well, you certainly got what you asked for. At least there are silver swirls to match your hair.’
Scarlen lifted a silver-and-black mask attached to a thin black veil. ‘This thing covers my face and hair, so it doesn’t matter what matches what, as no one will see me for the best part of the evening.’
Her personal maid, Meltie, entered to fix the mask and veil in place, and part of Scarlen wished she didn’t have to reveal her face to the kingdom at all.
‘There, all done, and well and truly hidden,’ said Meltie, admiring her handiwork. ‘Can’t even see your hair.’
Scarlen touched the tight bun, and someone’s face flashed in her mind. A woman with a similar look to her maid. Shaking off the vague memory that probably came from a dream, she turned to Zana. ‘I can’t be seen walking around with you out there. It’ll be a dead giveaway.’
‘I don’t stick out that much.’
Mitch’s scoff was heard. ‘You do.’
‘Oh, hush, Capley. I will hide my hair.’ Zana turned to Meltie, a pleading expression on her face. ‘Or you could try?’
Meltie gestured at the chair by the white dresser. ‘Take a seat.’
Scarlen heard Mitch talking to someone outside, so she went to investigate, knowing it wouldn’t be her father, as he would be in the courtyard or hall, mingling with guests.
‘It’s time for you to join the masses,’ Mitch told her as she stepped to his side.
A cold sweat coated Scarlen’s neck at the thought of entering the ball.
No one would know who she was, but she still didn’t want to be there, feeling the urge to be somewhere else, even though she wasn’t quite sure where.
She glanced behind her at Meltie tying Zana’s locks. ‘Am I missing something?’
Meltie gave her the once-over. ‘Nope. All good. Off you trot now. Have fun.’ It was more of an order than a wave goodbye.
Scarlen walked with Mitch. ‘I’m not feeling the fun.’
‘What are you feeling?’
She glanced at his sand-coloured uniform, then at the sword strapped to his side. ‘Like I’m forgetting something. Am I supposed to bring something to the ball?’
‘Just yourself.’
‘And where will you be?’
‘Around. Watching you from afar.’
Scarlen playfully nudged his arm as they turned a corner.
‘How boring.’ She glanced at the paintings of her ancestors lining the walls as she carried on with her journey.
Their stern expressions had her wonder if they had enjoyed such events.
At least it wasn’t all indoors. The warm air in the south brought most of the guests to the courtyards and gardens.
‘You’re to enter the ball through a side entrance,’ said Mitch. ‘That way, no one will see you slip into the crowd.’
She stopped and ran a finger over the bone-white banister at the top of some stairs. ‘Have you ever noticed how white everything is in the palace? White marble floors, cotton-white walls, white doors, white, white, white.’
Mitch grinned. ‘It helps bring out the colourful clothing and accessories.’ He rolled an arm towards her, adding a slight bow. ‘Besides, you know how hot it can get around here. White is cooling.’
‘Like snow.’ A flurry of snowflakes danced before her eyes, then disappeared, making her shiver. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she added softly.
‘What is?’
‘Snow.’ With a hand over her heart, she walked down the stairs, Mitch close behind, and a sudden rush of happiness filled her from top to toe, but she didn’t know why. Maybe the excitement of the ball was finally reaching her.
Mitch brought her to a door and told her to stand in the alcove on the other side for a while, then subtly step out of the shadow to mix with the guests in the courtyard.
Scarlen stood perfectly still in the hideout, thoughts of her mother and sister taking control. The unveiling was supposed to be a great day for her mother; she had spoken of the event many times over the years, and Lancen was always the most excited of them all when they were children.
Part of Scarlen broke in the alcove for her losses. All her father cared about was duty and power. She truly had no one.
A servant passed with a tray of drinks, so Scarlen took the opportunity to step forward to take a glass of the clear liquid and blend in with the guests, but once she had the tall glass in her hand, she stood stock-still, feeling so out of place and in need of support.
The evening air was muggy and not the best for covered faces. No doubt the masks were sticky on the skin for everyone, as Scarlen’s was already itching the life out of her.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ she mumbled, trying to adjust her mask.
‘Problem?’ came a deep voice, sounding familiar.
She glanced at the broad man wearing a black mask and matching shirt and trousers, who seemed to come out of nowhere, thinking him perhaps a guard in disguise.
‘It’s warm, isn’t it?’ Politeness was all she was willing to offer whoever was interrupting her nerves and heartache.
She hoped it was a guard and not one of the potential husbands, as she didn’t want to talk to any of the men eager for her hand.
This one smelled nice, at least. Of what, she couldn’t be sure.
She took a step forward, hoping he’d get the hint and go bother someone else, but all he did was enter the alcove, and now she could only see him in her peripheral vision, and she was curious to know what he was up to but didn’t want to show her interest, so she remained staring forward.
‘Do you like songs?’ he asked.
Is he talking to me? She didn’t want to assume, but unless someone else had snuck into the nook without her noticing, he must be. ‘Some,’ she replied. Perhaps he was one of the musicians.
‘I know a good one.’
She laughed to herself. Yep, definitely one of the musicians. Show-off. ‘Is that so?’
‘Want to hear it?’
If he thought she was wandering off somewhere private with him, he was deluded, but she had to admire his smoothness, figuring some probably fell for such charm. ‘Let’s hear it right here then.’ Ha! Let’s see what you say now.
What he had to say next came in the form of a spoken song. ‘Sweet baby girl, I know that you’re listening, as each sun sets in the sky, it’s you that I’m missing.’
Scarlen spun around to face silver eyes, his lyrics jolting something inside her, but Zana appeared, nudging her forward.
‘Lovely evening. Have you seen the gardens?’ Zana was putting on a high-pitched voice, then a few women came over, circling them, and Scarlen was ushered away with them, the alcove behind empty.
An array of beautiful flowers filled a large square, gaining many admirers complimenting the colourful arrangement as a young man began to play the flute.
Scarlen couldn’t focus on the conversations around her because her head was throbbing so badly. She had to excuse herself and find a quiet room for respite. She knew where her father kept his medicine for his own pains, so headed for his study to use his balm.
It was quiet inside his personal space, with most guards outside or patrolling the perimeter, so she sat in his white leather chair and opened the drawer containing whisky and head balm. It was her first time in his study without being summoned, and it felt a little weird sitting there alone.
A pain ripped through her skull, causing her to shoot forward and clutch her forehead. Quickly, she grasped the small pot of buttery balm and reached beneath her mask to smear some on her temples, the slight burn tingling but not relieving.
Scarlen slithered to the cool floor, her teeth clenched, her heart thrumming, squeezing her eyes shut as she panted through the pain, the agony stealing each breath, leaving her cries silent.
Sparks of white flashed at the back of her eyes, so she opened them to see the room spin before her, taking her stomach for a ride.
A screech only she could hear had her clamp her ears, then a vision appeared of a man in amber clothing, his handsome face so stern, a glare filled with silver, a touch so gentle.
‘Bear,’ she heard herself mutter, and the pain stopped as though it never existed at all.
Silence fell.
Shaking and confused, Scarlen straightened, peering over the marble-topped desk at the five swords hanging on the wall, the black crystal-embedded hilts as polished as the metal. The stolen bread, Horstal, Bear, the escape, Borough North, and Lancen all came back at once.
‘The book,’ she whispered. I’m supposed to get the book. With that, she went to the far wall where a tall potted plant sat next to a rectangular painting of her grandfather, tall and broad, a curl to his moustache, a glint in his eye.
Lancen had told of the secret passageway behind the portrait. The one she had discovered by accident when nosing around the study.
Looking over the thick gilded frame, Scarlen found a small metal latch that was easy enough to lift with a finger. The picture swung towards her a touch, revealing the dark opening behind.
Taking one last look at the study, she stepped into the tunnel and closed the frame behind her.
It was pitch black inside, but a cool breeze led the way and the scent of brine in the damp air.
Using her hands to help feel her way along the cool walls, Scarlen only stumbled twice. The veil covering wasn’t helping matters, so she tugged it free and lifted the eye mask to her head. At least she felt she could breathe a little better.
The passageway sloped upwards and turned many corners, leading her far across the palace, as Lancen had stated.
Scarlen just wasn’t expecting to walk for so long.
She knew the palace was huge and went off in different directions, but she felt if she walked any further she’d be away from the palace altogether.
A golden hue came into view up ahead, welcome and encouraging, and Scarlen upped her pace, pleased to be out of the darkness, even more delighted to see a book upon a dais in the large room she had entered.
All around were shelves filled with bottles, books and scrolls, and cauldrons and spoons of many sizes.
The walls sparkled as though made of diamonds, and the ceiling seemed to enter the clouds.
Another doorway led to the clifftop, Lancen had told.
It was where Scarlen would take the House of Knight book, then find the rocky stairway that led down to the coves.
She took a moment to gather her bearings, as her head was still in a whirl from getting her memory back. She still wasn’t sure if Bear had sung to her in the courtyard or if that part had been imagined.
There wasn’t time to go back and look for him just in case, so she approached the book instead, expecting more to it than a dark leather-bound.
Curiosity got the better of her, and she opened the book to see the pages were the colour of uncooked pastry and smelled a tad dusty.
All script was cursive and black, no ink smudges in sight, and as she carefully turned each page, she saw the story of the knights unfold.
The fifth knight was in there somewhere, and Scarlen was supposed to be running for the boat with the book firmly under her arm, but one quick peek wouldn’t hurt.
Flicking further to the back, she homed in when she saw the story of the last knight to be born. It was all true what Lancen had said. The baby had been taken, her parents and Blyton murdered by the witches who worked for the king.
Fury bubbled at her father’s wickedness.
How he could do such a thing? ‘Where are you?’ she muttered, perusing the pages for the whereabouts of the baby.
‘Taken to the palace. Presented to the queen. Pretended the baby was the king’s love child.
Wait, what?’ Just for a moment, her pulse stopped, and the room became ever so smaller.
A waft of cold air blew into her tight bun as she read over the name. ‘Adoria.’