Chapter 46
Forty-Six
Meeting me on the staircase, Beatrix says, “I invited Prince Rett to dine with us, if that’s okay with you. Madame Phyrne would flay me alive if she ever learned I left a royal to eat in the stables.”
“We don’t need to follow her rules anymore, but I’m sure he’ll appreciate it all the same,” I counter with a small, forced smile.
From the entrance foyer, we head into the dining room, which is both lavish and cozy at the same time.
The table is almost too large for the space, and we have to squeeze around it.
Silver candelabras flicker, and the clean walls reflect light from the marble fireplace, where fresh logs chirp merrily.
A lace tablecloth, paired with blue porcelain bowls and cutlery wrapped in fine linen, adorns each place setting on the tabletop.
My heart hurts when I think about the other instructors, gone—stolen from their home and dinner.
Beatrix wavers. “There’s something you should know about this room.”
But my eyes are already drawn to it.
Above the cherry wood mantel hangs an oil painting of a beautiful girl with gray eyes, delicate features, and soft waves of auburn hair.
The painting reminds me of the portrait hanging at Alexandria Castle, but it’s different.
Theodora is much younger—a girl of eighteen years portrayed here.
I recognize it as the commissioned portrait every debutante receives before her first Bidding Ceremony.
“She grew up at Borealla Academie.”
But it isn’t Beatrix’s voice that comes from behind me.
The manor’s elderly cook holds another pot of the same simmering stew that went out to the orcs in the stables.
She places it beside the heaping pile of cut bread and butter.
Her hair is slicked back in a low white knot, and her service uniform and apron are spotless.
“I knew Theodora well and her mother before her.”
Surprise jolts me so hard that I grip the back of the chair.
A grandmother?
Beatrix touches my shoulder as the whispers fill my ears with their incoherent chants.
I may never get this chance again.
“Could you tell me about her?” I ask, hesitating only for a second. “My version is so muddled by rumors that I’m unsure of the truth—and I know even less about her early years.”
After checking the ticking clock on the mantel, Beatrix urges the cook to rest for a moment and they both sit down.
I find a chair across from them and watch the cook’s bright eyes glaze over.
Her scratchy voice explains, “I cannot tell you of your mother’s story unless I first tell you about your mother’s mother—Matilda.
One does not exist without the other. As all who come before us. ”
I nod, encouraging her along, even with the gnawing discomfort burying itself in my chest.
“Matilda was a newly appointed instructor when I came to work here as a scullery maid.” She takes a long breath and glances up. “So young and full of life, despite the war raging over the border.”
I lean forward, trying to catch every word. After everything Ashland told me at the hot springs, I’m growing desperate to learn more of the truth.
She folds her weathered hands in her lap. “The instructors disliked her because the young’uns sought her out to sort their squabbles, usually because she wasn’t harsh in her methods.”
The cook hesitates, eyes flicking to the doorway.
Girlish chatter echoes down the hall, and I can hear Rett’s deep laughter.
She lowers her voice. “They would send her to pick wild onions at the border to keep her out of the way. That’s where she would meet her best friend and most passionate lover—an enemy knight from the Kingdom of Ashland. ”
I blink furiously, my mind weaving the story together. The rustling of gowns and muffled footsteps grow louder in the hallway. The cook’s eyes move beyond me, and I twist in my seat to find Rett standing behind me.
How much did he hear?
I don’t have time to wonder as the other girls push past, eager for their steaming portion of stew.
Behind the group of pupils, Alisse and a young man, whom I believe to be Robert, hold hands before finding their seats.
Even through all the turmoil, she has found her happily ever after in this broken world. I blink at the irony of it all.
Beatrix scolds the girls for their poor manners, and they slow to a glide before taking their places around the table. The older girl, with sea-moss eyes and onyx braids, sits next to Beatrix, both of them competing over who looks the most tired.
The cook rises to leave. I escort her to the empty hallway, wishing our conversation hadn’t been interrupted. She pats my arm and murmurs, “After the girls are asleep, come find me in the kitchen, and I’ll tell you the rest.”
Before she steps away, I stop her. “Thank you. I wouldn’t know any of this without you.” Then I ask before she’s out of earshot, “What’s your name?”
“Verity.” A wide smile spreads across her wrinkled, papery face.
As I return, the din of noise brings me back to where I should be. Around the crowded table, the air buzzes with voices.
Still glowing from the Rite, Alisse leans into Robert, their fingers intertwined. He bends his golden-blond head down and whispers in her ear as her dark, coiled hair spills over her shoulder. She gazes at him, her eyes shining with amusement.
A group of giggling girls, all wearing lovesick expressions, focuses on Rett. They relentlessly tease and question him, causing his cheeks to flush. Even Beatrix joins in with their laughter at the ridiculous turn of conversation.
“Let me tell you about the time I saved a hundred baby unicorns,” Rett begins, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Eager nods and claps answer him.
One of the five-year-olds squeals, “I told you they were real!”
“Well, there I was, just a young boy in archery class, trying to find my missing arrow, when I came across a large group of unicorn foals trapped in a caged pen in the middle of the forest. I hid, horrified, behind a rock and watched the horn scrapers laugh about their big win.”
The girls at the table gasp.
Rett, however, grins handsomely at the memory.
“I had to do something, so I devised a brilliant, if not entirely well-thought-out, plan. I used my vanishing magic to free them, but my control over that power was… erratic at best. One moment, I was invisible. The next—poof—I’d appear right in front of the poachers!
” Laughter bubbles up around him as he continues, “So there I was, alternating between invisible and visible, trying to untie the unicorns and herd them through the gate without being seen. You could say it was the most intense game of hide-and-seek ever played!”
Everything is warm, safe, and loving for the first time in what feels like forever. Even so, a slow, creeping anxiety brews at the bottom of my stomach as I watch Rett entertain with stories of growing up in the Beast Realm.
We aren’t safe.
No matter how hard we pretend otherwise.
Beatrix gives up trying to make the girls behave and tips back the goblet of wine as I sit beside her. “They outnumber me,” she mutters. “There’s only so much energy I can muster.”
“You’re doing better than anyone could dream of, given your situation.”
Gratitude shows in her weary eyes before she tells me, “Eat. Or your food will grow cold.”
I try, but it’s difficult with so many unanswered questions and my mother’s portrait staring down at us. “If the instructors hated her so much, then why was her painting hung above the mantel?” I ask, stirring my spoon around my bowl.
“Because I dug it out of the attic the day you were coronated as queen. I saw it up there when I was putting away a crate of records. There’s something about it that reminds me of you.”
“Really? I don’t see any similarities.”
“You don’t need her face to have her spirit.” The clock chimes its song, causing her to shift her focus to her pupils. “Girls, it’s time to ready ourselves for bed. Tell the prince good night.”
A chorus of complaints echoes around the table.
* * *
Footsteps patter on the floor above us.
It’s just Verity and me standing in the dim kitchen now.
Pots and pans dry next to the washing tub on the counter, and the bare shelves on the far wall catch my eye; they contain only a few tins and jars.
Hoping with all my heart that they have more food stores hidden somewhere, I turn to face the cook.
“I’ll put the kettle on,” Verity says, stoking the embers in the cast-iron cookstove.
Soon, we huddle around the scrubbed wooden table with steaming mugs. Her eyes crinkle fondly. “Your mother adored my Blossom Tea. She’d sneak down some nights, unable to sleep, and we’d chat for hours. She loved to talk and talk.”
“You knew her that well?”
Verity nods, holding the warm mug in her hands. A wistful smile crosses her face. “Someone had to show her love and affection. It wasn’t her fault how she came into the world.” Her expression grows somber. “She was such a sweet little girl…”
“You said her father was a knight from Ashland?” The tea wafts upward, smelling delicious, but my stomach tightens.
Verity stares into the steam of her mug, hesitating.
Her voice wavers slightly, as if the words pain her.
“Once the other instructors discovered Matilda—your grandmother—was with child, they alerted the cathedral. A few months later, the priestesses arrived in the middle of the night to force her to join their order. The entire house woke up, including me, when it happened. Matilda kicked and screamed, thrashing in her nightgown until the fabric ripped horribly, showing her swollen belly. But they got her in the end.” Her eyes glisten with tears.
“Never heard what befell the knight who fathered your mother. He vanished, most likely sent back to wherever he came from.”
I conceal a gasp, hand flying to my mouth. My tea spills, and I rush to wipe it up with a nearby rag.
“Theodora was born in the dungeon of the Spirit-Fae Cathedral,” she reveals, undisturbed by my clumsiness. “The instructors and priestesses hated the little witchblood, as they called her.”
“Witchblood?”
“The horrid word they used. Those silver irises of hers were a dead giveaway that she possessed Devana power in her veins.” She finishes her tea with a long drink. “Don’t let the portraits fool you—those aren’t gray eyes. That’s the work of painters who wouldn’t show her as she truly was.”
“Then what happened?”
Verity’s shoulders hunch, making her appear small and frail.
“Theodora came to live and train here. Unfortunately, the bullying began when she was young and never let up. Theodora was gentle, scared, and shy, yet her eyes reminded everyone of the transgression of her birth. The perfect target for their taunts.”
My nails dig into my palms. I can only imagine the hardships she went through.
Then I remember Valora describing her as a swordswoman, so skilled in combat that she became famous despite her station in life. My head hurts as I struggle to understand these different versions of her. Putting my cup in the washing tub, I turn to thank Verity.
Before I’m able to speak, she interrupts, “Make their sacrifices your stepping stones, and do not falter.”
* * *
Pale dawn peeks through the lace curtains, casting a gentle glow over Beatrix’s cramped chambers as we lie in her bed, which is almost too small for the both of us.
The sheets rustle as I roll over, the crisp cotton cool against my skin.
Beatrix’s eyes are already open, fixed on the dust dancing in the sunrise.
Her head turns and her worried gaze sinks into me; I can tell she’s been awake for a while.
Sitting up, I push my tangled hair away from my face. “The courtesan pupils need to start a different type of training,” I announce. “Swords, fighting, defense—even learning about poisons.”
All night, I tossed and turned, thinking about how my mother trained and transformed herself—and how we could do the same.
Beatrix frowns, her brow creasing as she props herself up on her pointy elbow. “Training? But they are just young girls…”
“Exactly.” I straighten my posture. “They’re vulnerable and need to know more than dancing and conversation.” I clutch her hand, meeting her uncertainty.
Beatrix’s bloodshot eyes widen. “No. It’s too dangerous,” she protests, her voice quivering. “Besides, we don’t have weapons here, and we’re certainly not warriors.”
“When I was in Ashland, they trained every woman who wished to learn. Their leader taught me to fight and defend myself. Well, she started to, but I can show these girls the basics. It’s the least I can do.”
Beatrix opens her mouth to protest, but I refuse to let go of how important this is. “You want to keep everything as routine as possible, and I understand that. But they need to learn how to protect themselves, or they might not survive because none of this is normal anymore.”
She’s silent for a long moment before nodding. “I won’t stand in your way.” Something similar to disbelief lingers in her gaze. “I’ll gather them after breakfast.”
“You won’t regret this.” The hardwood floor creaks as I rise from the bed. The knot in my chest loosens before it retwists with the responsibility of teaching these young girls how to stay alive when we have only a couple of days.
Beatrix swiftly dresses and readies herself alongside me, the swishing of our skirts filling the tense air.
We study each other in our instructor gowns until our manic laughter breaks the silence.
When we were younger, we worried endlessly that these purple-hued dresses would be the worst thing that could ever possibly happen to us.
Oh, how wrong we were.
We exit her chamber to rouse the students. She pauses to look into my still-laughing face. “It looks like we’re preparing for war.”