Chapter 1 #3
“I did, Empress, and I think they know they’re reaching.” His tone is as mild as ever, his heavy-lidded eyes calm no matter the situation. “You know how they like to agitate things.”
“Chaotic vipers,” my mother hisses.
“A word from you would go so much further in protecting the gardens from their…excesses.”
She smooths her wayward curls. “I’ll speak to them.”
“Thank you, Empress.”
“And my cup is near empty. More wine.”
“Of course, Empress.”
She gives him the cup and wraps her arms around me, pulling me close. Her mouth at my ear sends sparks of warning down my spine. “Enjoy twenty-one, darling. May you never live to endure what I have.” She pulls away. “Even if that’s exactly what you deserve.”
She releases me and sways toward the delvarians, tossing her head back.
Seran’s hooded gaze settles on me. “You look well tonight, Princess. The dress suits you.”
I look exactly like you wanted me to. Clearly, Seran knew what was going to happen tonight. That’s why he picked a dress I can’t take a full breath in without my chest bulging against the seam of the silk.
“Thank you,” is all I say.
“You should expect more invitations to these types of events. The more lords you meet, the better.”
The idea of having to spend even one extra night out of my rooms feels like a threat. I want to object, to come up with some excuse. I’m sure his impassive scan doesn’t miss the crescents my mother dug into my upper arm, or the red mark Jasper left on my shoulder.
But I bury my no, keep my face flat, and give him the affirmation he’s waiting for: “I will.”
I would rather deal with Seran than my mother or father. Seran doesn’t care about me, but he isn’t volatile or vindictive. He works around my shortcomings as calmly as any other problem.
He gives me a nod and follows the empress.
I don’t hesitate. I whirl and weave through the crowd as fast as I can, racing back to the opening in the hedges. I hope no one sees me as I dive into them and push through the leaves and branches. My carriage will have to find its way back without me.
My skirts swing open as I cross courtyards and plazas, past fountains and through covered walkways, and down a path lined with cypress trees. The Sunrise Palace is at the edge of the Citadel, so I’m wheezing by the time I spot the gate. The guards open it on my approach.
My shoes echo off the marble as I hurry to my rooms. I close the door behind me and exhale.
I thought I just had to get through tonight, and I would be left alone until Somnus. Now, I’m supposed to attend parties and entertain lords, while dealing with my mother’s outbursts and Jasper’s fire?
I tear off the silk dress and toss it across the marble, trading it for my cotton nightgown.
Every surface is covered with roses. They arrive yearly on my birthday, the established way for lords and ladies to send their respects to a princess they rarely see.
The sunrise colors of peach, pink, and gold pay homage to the Princess of the Dawn.
I ignore the ornamental blossoms and go straight for the flowers potted on my balcony.
If I’m going to endure more time outside these rooms, I’ll need a fresh crop of lobell. I stroll along the row of pots, tracking the progress of my seedlings and bushes. I pause at one with a few crystalline petals peeking out from twisted leaves.
Almost ready.
The amount of lobellum I went through as a child made my flamelessness harder to hide.
Without any power to direct fire away from my flesh, every burn was a mark of difference as plain as my hair.
But the healing salve made from lobell flowers leaches its magic in a matter of weeks.
My constant requests for fresh jars drew unwanted attention from the vernalians at court.
So, I started growing my own lobell bushes and making my own ointment, reframing my need as a hobby for a bored princess.
My skin was the landscape of my experiments, cosmetics hiding red welts when batches didn’t work.
I sent whole flowers, mashed flowers, dried flowers, leaves and stems, and even the entire plant to be imbued, testing what could hold the magic longest, before landing on ointment made from the buds.
Over the years, I’ve selected the seeds that produce more and larger buds, cultivating a new variety with clear petals instead of the typical translucent green.
They require more care, and if I don’t prune them in time, the heavy flowers will break the stems, but a jar made from these will hold the vernalian healing magic for seasons.
In another week, I should have enough for a fresh batch.
I close the balcony doors and uncap my latest jar. It’s pearlescent, a sure indicator the magic is active. I dab a little onto the red spot on my shoulder, and the crescents on my arm. The shallow marks fade while I watch. They’ll be gone by morning.
If only my father’s announcement were so easily erased.
I flop back on the bed.
I knew I wouldn’t be allowed to hide away in the Sunrise Palace forever, but I thought I’d have more time.
I’ve perfected the art of keeping a straight back and a slight smile on balconies and at high tables, one pale head in a row of red.
Now I’ll have to learn how to deal with clamoring lords, and fast.
I also need to figure out how to slant the selection process in my favor. I won’t hope for a handsome lord from Nyvos, but I can’t be sent away with a man who is anything like Weslyn Gavros.
I slip between the soft sheets and pull them up to my chin. The scent of roses fills my nose, both familiar and suffocating. I drift into sleep.
My eyes snap open and land on the clock. It’s midnight. And I’m certain of only one thing: if I don’t get out of here, I’m going to die.