11
T he colors were getting difficult to control.
Flashes of chartreuse, yellow, and magenta flickered before my vision. The mount I rode didn’t help my nausea. It was a spirited pony by the name of Thunderstorm, supposedly because her coat was as dark as a stormy sky. But I had been too distracted by the neon green fog on the stableboy’s pants to pay attention to what he was saying.
“Calm down, why don’t you?” I muttered into the beast’s ear as we trotted through the trees. Thunderstorm shook her head, whipping my face with her long mane.
I rubbed my stinging cheek. It was still morning, that much I could tell from the crisp air. Murmurs, giggles, and the tinkling of bells from the other debutantes could be heard amongst the crunching of forest debris underfoot. This was the day of the hunting party, where gold ribboned young men went on murdering sprees of wild animals to win the heart of their favorite debutantes .
“Amarante? Are you alright?” Genevieve’s voice sounded from my left. I didn’t need to see her to know her brows were knit with worry.
“Quite,” I said, keeping my eyes shut. Colors still danced before my lids, but it was better than the chaos I was faced with when my eyes were open.
“You look pale.”
“Thanks, it’s the lavender powder. Have you heard that fair complexions are in again?” I said, trying to keep my voice light. My stomach lurched as Thunderstorm increased her pace. I peeked down at the soldier leading my mount, wondering why in the world he was speeding up, and instantly regretted it when a sharp flash of silver cut through my vision. I flinched.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Genevieve asked. “Is it the pheasant?”
Lord Strongfoot had served his signature, blisteringly spicy pheasant last night. My mouth was still stinging by the time we went to bed. That discomfort, however, was nothing compared to my current dilemma.
“Probably,” I said. I couldn’t very well tell Genevieve about the colors.
“I told you not to eat so much even if you were being polite,” my stepsister said. “I hardly had a full bite.”
“Aren’t you hungry, then?” I asked as a burst of fuchsia bloomed in my vision.
“A bit. Good thing we’ll be picnicking soon.”
I was all too happy when Thunderstorm came to a halt. I opened my eyes gingerly.
“Miss?”
The soldier leading Thunderstorm extended his hand. A blinding, neon yellow dripped from his fingers. I shut my eyes and swung my leg over the saddle, but my foot came into contact with something solid.
“Oof!”
A thump and a clatter of metal sounded as I lurched off my mount, slamming bodily into the soldier who, it seemed, I had also kicked in the face.
Genevieve was the first to rush to my side. “Amarante! Heavens, are you hurt?” she asked. I couldn’t help but look at her. Splashes of peach and rose surrounded her hair like a halo.
“No, I’m fine,” I said. I turned to the soldier. He was now sitting up, a shock of red streaming down his nose into a sea of yellow. He gaped at me. “I’m so sorry,” I said, but he scrambled off before I could say anything more.
“You should have stayed at Tori’s if you weren’t feeling well,” my stepsister said, helping me up to my feet. My skirts were muddied by dirt and debris, and there was a sizable rip where the fabric caught on the soldier’s armor. A few debutantes passed, snickering. My face burned.
“I’m fine,” I repeated, brushing off my gown as best I could. Genevieve continued to say something, but I could only stare.
There were no more colors.
I looked around in wonderment. Why had it stopped?
“Amarante? Are you listening?”
“Huh?”
“You really ought to sit down. They’re building the shelter right now so we’ll have plenty of time to rest. Really, how could you go out in this state?”
The tents and shelter were built in about thirty minutes in the forest clearing. Sheets of canvas were stretched over wooden beams, providing shade from the emerging sun. The debutantes were escorted to one such structure, where stools and tables were set out for our comfort. We spotted Tori and Olivia and joined them.
“What happened to you?” Tori said when we approached.
Olivia made a soft noise at the back of her throat. There was large hole in my riding skirt where my knee had scraped the road. Luckily, the trousers underneath were still intact.
“I’m perfectly fine,” I said, plopping myself onto a stool.
“Was it Pa’s pheasant?” Tori asked.
“It didn’t really agree with her,” Genevieve said delicately.
Tori shook her head and sighed. “Alas, not everyone can stomach a Strongfoot pheasant,” she said. “Anyway, they say the hunting is going to start soon, though I don’t see the point in telling us—we’ll just be sitting here all day.”
“We’ll be picnicking and mingling,” Olivia piped up.
“Like I said, sitting here all day.”
I smiled at their banter, almost glad to have some semblance of normalcy, though attending the Season wouldn’t have been my idea of normal three weeks ago. Never in a million years had I thought that I’d be seeing strange colors, that there were witches living underground, that they were forced to do so because of a king Olderea knew and loved.
I glanced at the makeshift dais some men had lifted in. Ornate chairs replaced thrones. Queen Cordelia was already seated, leaning on the arm of her chair. Prince Ash was nowhere to be seen.
“Miss Amarante! What happened to you?”
I turned my head and was met with the sight of the missing prince. Murmurs of “Your Highness” sounded from my companions.
“I fell off my horse, Your Highness,” I said .
Prince Ash towered over me, dressed in a royal blue hunting coat and leather boots. His brows raised as he glanced at the hole in my skirts. I tucked my legs under the chair.
“I’m fine,” I said, suddenly embarrassed.
He shook his head in bewilderment. “You kicked Michael in the face. You might have broken his nose, you know?” he said.
“I didn’t mean to,” I said, horrified.
I noticed that we were drawing some looks. Samantha was both glaring at me and shooting simpering smiles at the prince’s back. Julianna merely sneered.
Prince Ash didn’t seem bothered. “Come with me. They just put up the medical tent,” he said, offering me his hand. His golden ribbon gleamed in the dappled sunlight.
“I don’t know how to fix broken noses!”
He laughed. It was a pleasant sound, but it rang too loud for my comfort. “You’re something. You can’t fall off a horse without injuring yourself. Trust me. I’ve tried.” he said.
“He’s right, Amarante. You should probably check if you’re hurt,” Genevieve said softly.
Prince Ash smiled at Genevieve. “Come. Bandages await.”
With a huff, I stood from my seat without taking his hand. Pain shot up from my right knee and for a terrifying moment, I stumbled. Prince Ash caught me around the waist before I hit the ground.
He tutted. “What did I say?”
“You can’t fall off a horse without injuries.”
He released me. “Nothing like a teachable pupil,” he said, offering his arm. I took it begrudgingly and looked back to check if anybody saw my fall .
Nearly everyone’s heads were turned. If Samantha was glaring before, she was glowering now. Julianna was fuming. Tessa sneered. Poor Olivia looked flustered and Tori, to my utter embarrassment, had formed a heart with her hands and pulsed it before her chest.
The medical tent couldn’t be close enough. I limped as fast as I could, leaning heavily on Prince Ash’s arm. When at last we entered the protective canvas walls, I threw myself on a nearby bench, nearly breathless with relief.
“Reselda? You have another patient,” Prince Ash said to a woman in the far corner.
“Already? For heaven’s sake, the hunt hasn’t even started and we already have a broken nose and a...what happened to you?”
A middle-aged woman dressed in a healer’s white frock stopped before me.
“Fell off a horse,” I mumbled, chastened by her no-nonsense stare.
“And kicked a man in the face,” the prince added almost cheerfully.
Reselda sighed. Taking my arm, she led me to a cot near the end of the tent where jars of herbs and ointments cluttered a table. “Where does it hurt?”
I pointed at my throbbing right knee.
“Very well. Let’s have a look.”
Reselda pushed my skirts away from the spot. I was horrified to see a scarlet stain blooming like a carnation on my trousers. “It didn’t hurt when I fell on it,” I said faintly.
“Of course it didn’t,” Reselda said. “Roll up your trousers.”
“What?”
“Roll them up. Unless you want me to cut through them,” she said. “And what in the devil are you still doing here? ”
I was about to state my confusion before I realized she wasn’t talking to me. Prince Ash stood to the side, blushing. Mortified, I pulled my skirts back over my leg. Trousers or not, I still felt indecent.
“I’ll be waiting outside,” he said, and promptly exited.
Reselda shook her head. “Boys,” she muttered under her breath. “Wait here. I will get the bandages.”
She disappeared behind a curtain that closed off the back of the tent. A second later, the front flap opened and Queen Cordelia herself entered, escorted by a servant.
“Your Majesty,” I said, stumbling from my seat and executing a clumsy, one-legged curtsy.
“No use hurting yourself over formalities, Miss Amarante,” the queen said. She took a seat at the bench near the entrance. “I suppose you’re the one my son was looking for earlier?”
“I-I suppose so,” I stuttered.
Reselda emerged with bandages before I embarrassed myself further. “Your Majesty,” the healer said, dipping into a curtsy. “May I be of service?”
“Yes,” the queen said. “I seem to have a headache from the heat.”
“Are you usually sensitive to heat, Your Majesty?” Reselda asked.
“Not at all. I don’t know what has gotten into me lately,” Queen Cordelia, rubbing her temple. “Stress, perhaps. I reckon I’d be worse off if Wilhelmina wasn’t organizing the Season for me.”
“Understandable, Your Majesty,” Reselda said. “I have a tonic that may help.”
The healer disappeared behind the curtain again and emerged with an amber vial .
“Thank you, Reselda,” Queen Cordelia said, taking the vial. “That will be all.”
The healer nodded and turned her attention to me. She worked quickly, cleaning my wound with a stinging solution and wrapping the bandages firmly around my knee. “Any pain?” she asked. I stood from the cot and tested my weight on my injured leg. It throbbed a little, but otherwise was bearable.
“No. Thank you,” I said.
“Good. The injury is minor—only a scrape and some bruising,” the healer said. She handed me a small jar of ointment. “Apply this on the wound nightly to keep it from being infected.”
I took it gratefully. “Thank you, Reselda,” I said. “Oh, and if you see Michael—the soldier I kicked in the face—tell him sorry. Again.”
Reselda broke into a smile, exposing a row of white teeth. “You’re a nice girl,” she said. “Now go on. I suppose the prince will want to know you’re well.”
I was all too aware of Queen Cordelia’s stare as I limped slowly past her. “Be kind to him,” she said, startling me. “He’s more sensitive than he appears.”
Without waiting for a reply, the queen stood and headed to the back of the tent. I hardly knew what to think of her words when I headed back to the debutante area of the camp.
When I rejoined Genevieve and the others, the stools were gone, replaced by patterned picnic blankets and baskets of food the servants had passed out. Tori was munching on a sausage roll as I picked at some fruit, lost in thought.
“So, how was alone time with princey?” she asked, her mouth full .
“His Highness kindly escorted me to the healer and I got my knee bandaged,” I said.
“Please, anybody with two eyes and a brain can tell he’s interested,” Tori said with a snort. She paused and chewed. “Actually, that’s not too many people.”
“H-he caught you when you fell,” Olivia said. Her dollish eyes widened as if she were the one who had been caught.
“Can we please stop talking about it?” I said, flushing as I recalled the queen’s words.
A fanfare sounded before anyone could reply. Young men were gathered before the dais, armed with bows and arrows. I spotted Prince Ash in the midst of them. He caught my eye and waved.
Soon enough, the group dispatched on their horses. The debutantes tittered as they thundered past the clearing, dispersing into the forest. A flash of turquoise flitted over my vision and I winced. The colors were back.
A dull headache throbbed at the base of my skull. I began to close my eyes, but something was thrust under my nose.
“Amarante?” a sickly-sweet voice said. “Would you care for some punch?”
Lady Narcissa’s figure was silhouetted against the morning light. Berry red fog billowed from her skin. She held a glass of punch toward me. A flash of acid green flitted across the surface of the drink. My headache sharpened and I shut my eyes.
“What are you doing here?” Tori asked, her voice brimming with disgust.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” the duchess’s daughter said contemptuously. The rustling of skirts sounded. Someone sat next to me .
“Lady Narcissa,” I said, forcing myself to meet her gaze.
“Please, call me Narcissa. We got off on the wrong foot, I’m afraid, and I am willing to extend a hand of friendship,” she said. Tangerine orange and cerulean blue swirled from her mouth as she spoke. I didn’t believe a word of it.
“Why the sudden change of mind?” Tori said from behind me.
Narcissa narrowed her eyes. Her hand of friendship didn’t seem to extend very far. “I am merely here to present a peace offering,” she said. “This is a glass of Mother’s premium punch, imported directly from Aquatia. Take it or leave it.”
I took the glass from her and set it down next to me, just so she would leave.
“Thank you,” I gritted out. The acid green was nearly taking over my vision.
Narcissa stood, seemingly satisfied. “Of course. I hope you and I can be friends now, Amarante,” she said with a false smile I could hear. I managed a nod.
“My, my. How could you refuse?” Tori said flatly when Narcissa was out of ear shot.
“She’s scary,” Olivia said softly.
Tori snorted, grabbing another sausage roll. “Yeah, about as scary as a paper tiger,” she said as she chewed. “She’s probably jealous Amarante has a prince’s attention and she doesn’t. Look at her, gone off to ask her mother to suck up to the queen.”
A loud slurp sounded. The punch Narcissa gave me was gone.
I whirled around. “Tori, no!” I grabbed the drink from her hand. But it was too late—only half of the punch remained. Tori smacked her lips, acid green billowing from her mouth .
“What? She wouldn’t give you a poisoned drink in broad daylight, would she?” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“I mean, no, I don’t...”
I turned, frustrated. Somehow, in the back of my mind, I knew that the colors meant something. I recalled the flash of blue I saw in Lana’s hut. Repair, it told me. The potion in her cauldron was an antidote meant to heal.
I was right.
A wild excitement rushed over me as I stared hard at the punch. What did the green mean? I waited, and a peculiar sensation emerged from the base of my head. Laxative .
“Tori,” I said. “Let me take you to the medical tent.”
“HOW DID YOU KNOW?” Tori moaned.
“You said it yourself,” I said. “She can’t be trusted.”
“I’ll have her head for a trophy!”
The symptoms of the laxative were rather explosive, to put it delicately. It was clear Narcissa had used a large quantity of fast-acting medicine, but Reselda had luckily given Tori something to combat it, along with several glasses of water. By the end of it, my friend was in a rotten, if not murderous, mood on the way back to the debutante shelter. The hunting party had returned with their game. Tori and I found a shaded spot away from the rabble of tittering debutantes and boasting young men.
“Careful,” I said.
Tori growled. “I’ll do whatever to get that b—”
She doubled over and clutched her stomach.
“What you need to do is sit down,” I said. “I’ll deal with Narcissa.”
Tori stared at me incredulously. “You?” she said, leaning against a tree. “How? Stay silent until she dies of boredom?”
“I’m perfectly capable of confrontation.”
Tori didn’t look convinced.
A strange sort of confidence had overtaken me in the past hour. As I sat in the medical tent, I let the colors bloom from the cluttered table of ointments and herbs, enraptured. Slowly but surely, I deciphered the words that came from them. Mend . Protect . Cleanse . Some words were vague and some specific, and when I tried to decipher the lemon-yellow oozing from the canvas ceiling, nothing came. Still, there was progress, some semblance of control—and excitement—that wasn’t there this morning.
I went back to the picnic to grab what was left of Narcissa’s punch. Prince Ash was a few feet away, cleaning his bow as Samantha chattered and hovered over him like a hummingbird. I skirted around the pair and found Narcissa, who was sitting on a blanket at a far corner of the shelter, tossing bits of bread to a group of squirrels. She was relatively isolated, which I was grateful for. I tapped her shoulder.
“Amarante. I see you decided—”
I thrust the glass toward her, hard enough to fling the remaining liquid over her dress. Narcissa screamed as the punch dripped down her bodice.
“A peace offering,” I said, twisting my lips into a smile.
Without waiting for a reply, I turned to the gaggle of shocked debutantes. My hands shook as I marched past them. There was power in confrontation, that I knew now. But where there was power, there was price. Narcissa ran to Duchess Wilhelmina, shrieking. For a second, the duchess’s eyes met mine.
I had made a dangerous enemy.