Chapter 16 Carys
Carys
I slam my playing cards down on the table and glare at Ellynne. “You cheated!”
Ellynne laughs. “I most certainly did not! You are just a sore loser.”
She’s not wrong, but I glower at her as she gathers all the cards together to reshuffle them. It’s our third game and she’s won all of them.
“I’m with you,” Lowri chimes in. “She must be cheating.”
“Or I just know things.” Ellynne wiggles her fingers before her face and Lowri giggles. “How about something different?”
“How about … you tell me my fortune instead, oh divine oracle?” I lean back in my chair and smirk at her.
A spark of delight appears in Ellynne’s olive green eyes.
She’s rubbish at reading others, so her false divination is top-notch entertainment.
I’d love to hear how my breasts are going to mysteriously grow two sizes bigger.
Or how enchanted rain is going to pour from Rhianu and Lierwen’s perfect Overworld and end the spreading disease.
Ellynne draws in a breath to respond, but there’s a robust knock on the door. “Your Highness, Major Kilkenny and Durvla Garrick have returned,” Callum announces from outside of my door.
“Finally.” I jump from my seat. “Rain check,” I say to Ellynne, who lunges forward to catch my chair before it topples.
She rights it again with a playful smirk. “I look forward to it.”
We arrive at Durvla’s door and Callum knocks, announcing my presence as he does so. But there’s no response. He knocks again. Still no response. He turns his perplexed face to me. “Tiernan says he escorted her back to her bedchamber.”
I nudge him aside and bang on the door with the heel of my hand.
“Maybe she went to the bathing chamber or something,” says Callum.
I shove the door open and there she is, standing beside her bed, her back to the door. She turns, and as she spots me, she yelps, nearly falling over.
“Your Highness,” she says, slightly breathless.
She dips into a hurried, yet surprisingly passable curtsy.
“Apologies, I was caught up in—” She gestures to the bed, and I approach to take a better look.
There are hanks of black wool, deep purple fabric, beads, and black …
whatever that underskirt material for adding volume is called.
I pluck some of the black wool and … it’s not wool, but the sleekest silk. “I like your color choice,” I say, sliding my thumb over the soft fibers.
She smiles, validated. “I’m happy to hear that.”
I set the silken fibers down and bend to slide my hand over purple fabric, also silk. “This shade is gorgeous.”
“I thought so too.”
As I straighten again, Durvla’s stomach growls, and her hand flies to her abdomen as though she intends to muffle the sound. “Pardon me,” she says, a flush shining through her tawny complexion.
I wave my hand dismissively. “You can’t help your own bodily functions. Hells, not even royalty can hold back the occasional fart, belch, or stomach gurgle. Have you had breakfast?”
She shakes her head. “I munched on an apple, but it’s alright. I don’t eat much.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You have full access to the dining hall.” As I turn, my own stomach growls. “Actually, you can come along. I’d like to hear more about your plans for my dress, anyway. Do you have a favorite meal?”
No response. I halt midway to her door and turn back to her.
Durvla blinks as though she hasn’t registered my question.
“So, do you?”
Confusion washes over her face. “Do I …” Her throat bobs.
I frown. Something is so off with her, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. At least the bruising on her cheek is surprisingly minimal, and the way her perfect curls beautifully frame her face makes me somewhat envious.
“I’m heading to the dining hall if you want to come along.”
She smiles. “I’d like that.”
I sigh and walk out of her bedchamber. Mercifully, Durvla follows, and Callum falls into step at my side as we make our way toward the kitchen.
We walk briskly and Durvla easily keeps up, taking in our surroundings.
We arrive in the dining hall where a grand table that seats twenty is the focal point.
Several chandeliers hang down from the beams in the ceiling, all twinkling with candlelight.
Durvla is still wide-eyed as Eefa strides in, shapely hips swaying, her honey blond braid draped over her shoulder. The woman’s lips curve up into a smile, her large green eyes sparkling with intrigue as they land on Durvla. “Ooh, a new face,” she drawls.
Confusion furrows Durvla’s brows and she glances from Eefa to me. “This is Eefa. Apprentice to the head cook. She’s … exceptionally sociable and far too confident for her own good.”
She winks and I can’t help but laugh even as I roll my eyes.
“Eefa, this is Durvla Garrick, my new dressmaker.”
Eefa slides her hands over the apron atop her simple beige dress before extending her arm to Durvla.
They clasp forearms briefly before Eefa steps back.
“Nice to meet you, Durvla.” Her round face and flawless olive complexion give her a youthful appearance, reminding me that she’s just nineteen.
Her uncanny haughtiness gives her the air of a woman who has experienced quite a lot.
I clear my throat as my mind tries to wander off to less appropriate things that I have experienced with her.
Durvla’s stomach growls again, and she presses her hands against her abdomen once more. Eefa laughs lightly. “Sit, I’ll get you something to eat,” she says before disappearing behind the double doors into the kitchen.
Soon, there’s a plate with roasted guinea fowl, stewed carrots and potatoes, and some hearty bread in front of Durvla.
I receive a plate with much of the same.
Durvla eats, but she often glances up at me as though she’s afraid I’d smite her while her head is down.
I focus on my meal, letting her enjoy probably the best one she’s ever had.
Wait until she tastes Eefa’s lemon cake. It’s to die for.
Soon, Durvla finishes her meal and washes it down with a goblet of water. “Thank you,” she says after daintily wiping her lips on a cloth napkin.
I shrug. “I didn’t cook it. Come on.” I stand and she does so as well. “I heard you were excited about the library. Would you like to visit? I go there nearly every day; especially if I need a quick getaway or time to myself.”
A smile brightens that sullen face of hers. “Absolutely,” she says.
I’m practically following her across the castle to the library.
It’s strangely amusing. As we enter the library, Durvla stares in awe.
There’s something childlike and refreshing in the way she takes in this new environment.
Her hands clench and unclench eagerly, as if she’s ready to grab every book from the shelves. Absolutely relatable.
“This is probably my favorite place in the castle,” I tell her. “The archery range is a close second.”
“Archery range?”
“Yes. Do you have any archery experience?”
Her brows furrow. “Does hunting count?”
“You hunt? I’d have expected more … foraging or something.”
A small smile graces her lips, through melancholy. “My father was the hunter. We never lacked meat when he was alive. He taught me, but I have terrible aim. I have terrible depth perception, in general.”
Interesting. I walk toward the shelves and brush my fingers along the leather spines. Durvla moves closer, following me and I turn back to her. “Do you have a favorite genre?”
Her brow puckers. “I’ve only ever read one book.”
One book? How nightmarish.
“It’s a book of fairy—” Color drains from her face as she leaves the last word hanging in the air. She shakes her head, her curls bouncing. “It’s just a children’s book,” she says hastily.
Fairytales? I tilt my head as her body tenses, her teeth worrying at her lower lip. “Why do you hesitate to say fairytales?” I ask.
Durvla stands absolutely still, her defenses up. Briefly, her lips part, then close tightly again.
I exhale. “I’ve heard that over the years, the rules have gotten stricter, but …” I walk toward the velvet loungers beside the round table at the center and sit on the arm, crossing my legs.
Durvla inches closer.
“When I was a child, my mother regularly read to me from the Erleyan Book of Folklore and Fairytales. We kept it a bit of a silly tradition as I grew older. It’s still my favorite book, but also it’s—like you said—tales for children.
Nothing I’d consider treasonous. There’s a difference between that and, say, a book of spells. ”
Durvla fiddles with her sleeve cuff for a moment before finally speaking up. “Is magic prohibited in Mainland as well? In the Grounds, we don’t believe that magic even exists anymore, yet … People are still apprehended on the accusation. Does magic exist here?”
I laugh. “It depends on what you mean by magic. There are no raids in Mainland, but if anyone is suspected of magical practices, they face the same disciplinary action as Grounders. As for the existence of magic, as far as I’ve been told, the Purge wiped out all the magical bloodlines a millennium ago.
Some people believe that talismans and amulets can still channel the magic that exists”—I wave my hand around in random patterns—“in the universe, I suppose. Theoretically, scrolls, spell books, amulets with distinctive gems, and other things can, for example, allow a lowborn or lesser noble to gain wealth or higher status. Maybe even overthrow the crown. At least, that’s the reasoning behind the law. ”
“But Mages don’t exist here, right?” Durvla asks carefully.
“Only in fairytales.” I shrug. “Unfortunately,” I add with a teasing smirk. I’d love to have the mind reading or divination of a Mage, or any elemental wielding powers.
Durvla barely blinks. I can tell she wants to say something more, but she bites her lip instead.
“The point is: your little fairytale book isn’t unlawful.”
“You’d think not,” she mumbles.
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve seen villagers dragged out of their homes because they owned some meaningless object. A milkmaid in my village had her mother taken away because she owned a book similar to mine. She couldn’t even read it.”
That doesn’t make sense. “A book of fairytales?”
Durvla nods.
“Perhaps you’re mistaken. It must’ve been a spell book.”
“It was a book about heroes and mythological creatures. Not a spell in sight. Similar to the one back in my home. My mother used to read me the tale of the Heirs of Agryna all the time. It’s my favorite.”
My heart stutters. “The Heirs of Agryna?” I echo.
“Yes, it’s about—”
“I know what it’s about. It’s my favorite as well.”
We stare at each other, the swell of surprise and curiosity palpable.
This woman is a Grounder; she’s dirt poor, has lived a humble life, endured raids …
and she cherishes the same book that I do.
For Rhianu’s sake, she has the same favorite tale as I do.
Meanwhile, her people are being apprehended and hanged for owning a book with children’s stories?
My mother can’t possibly be aware of this.
I hop off the arm of the lounger and smooth out my dress, unsure of what else to say on this subject.
I should get to the bottom of this issue. I should go right to Iywan.
Later.
“I brought you here because Ellynne says you seemed excited about it. So …” I walk toward the shelf and pull out a couple of my other favorite books, trying not to think of what Durvla shared with me.
I bring the books back to Durvla and hold them out to her.
“For when you’re not dressmaking. It can be terribly boring around here.
I know that idle time can coax out idle thoughts.
And those can be dangerous.” So bloody dangerous.
Taking the books, Durvla smiles and thanks me.
Maybe she isn’t so daft after all. Just nervous, like Tiernan suggested, or perhaps just coy. I can work with that.
Iywan is just closing the door to his study as Callum and I arrive. He turns and flinches as he sees us. “Princess,” he says with a bow. “Sorry, I did not see you there. Do you require my attention?”
“Yes, actually. I have a few questions.”
His lips pinch tight for a moment, and he nods before opening the door and stepping aside to let me in. The scent of burning wood, wax, parchment, and ink fills the chamber. I don’t bother to sit as Iywan steps inside and closes the door behind him.
“Are Grounders being arrested for owning fairytales?”
Iywan’s brows dip, his lips tugging down. He runs a hand over his neat, grey braids, and his shoulders slump as he sighs. “Has your new dressmaker been feeding you lies?”
“We’ve already established that Forayers arrested Durvla for a dress that she made herself. Who’s to say that they’re not mistakenly arresting Grounder citizens for owning fairytales?”
Iywan scrubs his hand down his dark face.
“Princess, you need not worry about such rumors. It’s best you focus on marriage.
In fact …” He briskly strides toward his desk and lifts a scroll tied in a ribbon.
Approaching me again, he places the scroll in my hand.
“A list of suitors for your perusal. I have a meeting with Councilor Jac momentarily. Would it be possible for us to continue this conversation at a later time?”
If it means not having to discuss these suitors, “Yes.”
Iywan thanks me and opens the door, allowing me out first. As he bows and walks away, I shove the scroll against Callum’s chest. It has been a rather decent day; I’m not ready to ruin it by looking at that godsforsaken list.