Chapter 57
Seran joins me in the plain carriage, which rolls us across the Citadel and deposits us at a side door of the Sunrise Palace.
I thought it would be more jarring to be back, but after so many memories, it feels like I was just here days ago.
The only strange thing about the familiar marble halls is that they’re empty, cleared of maids and guards.
I clench my fists as we walk up the steps I was once thrown down.
Seran stops with me at my door. “Princess…” He pauses, like he’s going to ask something. “You did well. With a proposal from the Sovereign of Arastos, your disappearance might be the best thing that ever happened to you.”
What an absurd thing to say to someone who was just kidnapped.
“Thank you,” is all I say. “What do you think the emperor will decide?”
“Only he knows, but I will do my best. Until you hear from me, stay in your rooms and speak with no one. You mustn’t say anything that could contradict the emperor’s accounts of your whereabouts. Your future depends on it.”
I can see now how the palace has taken control of the narrative—separating Alaris and me on the road before we reached the city, secreting me in the back, hiding my hair and movements.
I wonder what story my father has told about my absence.
“I’ll send word later.” Seran turns to leave.
“Wait!” I start after him. “Would it be possible to get extra guards?”
I’m sure he notices the intensity in my face. It’s all I can do to keep myself from grabbing his olive sleeve. As soon as I’m alone in this room, it will just be me and the memories, and a lock that never protected me from my killer.
“It’s just…they took me from my room. I wasn’t safe here. Could you put guards outside the door, and below my balcony?”
It’s a reasonable request given my cover story, but he pauses so long I begin to wonder if maybe Orso wasn’t the only one who didn’t fully believe me.
But he nods. “Of course, Princess. I will arrange for extra guards.”
He shuts the door.
I turn and face my bedroom, all white marble and lace. It used to feel like home, like relief from the world outside. Now it’s both too hollow and too delicate.
I scan every corner, rubbing my arms. I drag a chair in front of the door and huddle alongside it with the moonstone dagger clutched in my fist, ears straining for any hint of movement. I stay that way until jangling steps tell me guards are stationed in the hallway. That’s one entrance covered.
I go through the glass doors to check the balcony. I peek over the railing just long enough to spy the heads of two guards below, then pull back from the edge, sweat prickling up my spine.
Guards aren’t a perfect guarantee against my mother’s desperation, but they’re an obstacle.
The garden is so familiar it’s imprinted on my eyes, the rows of hedges and flowers unchanged, swaying in the warm breeze.
But all along the railing, my lobell bushes have died.
The pots hold sad, dried stems, long baked in the capital’s sun.
They’re bent and cracked, split by the shriveled, seven-petal blooms they couldn’t support before they went to seed.
It breaks my heart a little. I am proud of what I achieved, proud of how I adapted and grew what I needed to hide the burns I couldn’t deflect.
But no matter what I did, I couldn’t change my hair.
I couldn’t change my blood or my power. I could only mask my flaws a short while and hide away the rest of the time.
I thought it was enough, but it was no life.
But I’m different now. I’m not just trying to survive anymore. Being back here is proof of that. I’m in the most dangerous place I could possibly be, on purpose, because people are depending on me.
I brush a finger over a dried petal. New flowers are planted in Arastos now. Siro is caring for them, and a castle of people will benefit from the harvest. After all this is done, I’d like to go back and grow even more.
But there will be no after if there is no engagement, and there will be no engagement if there is no bride. Even with the extra guards, I need to be careful. I leave the balcony and latch the glass doors behind me. I lock myself in the bathing room, moonstone dagger pointed at the door.
Until my father approves this marriage, there is nothing I can do but keep breathing.
A muffled knock stirs me. I redouble my grip on my knife, listening.
Another knock rings out, clearer this time.
“It’s me,” Seran says, voice softened through two doors.
“One moment.” I stumble out of the bathing room, hours of holding myself at the ready leaving me coiled in knots. I slip the moonstone dagger under my pillow, slide the chair to one side, and open the door.
Seran stands there with two maids. His impassive gaze takes me in, still in my travel clothes. “Your father wants you at the banquet tonight. This will be your grand reintroduction to court. I brought a dress for you. There’s no time to waste.”
The maids take me to the bath and scrub me down. They apply cosmetics to hide my tired eyes, oil my skin, and twist my curls into an arrangement I would never achieve without supervision. Then they step away and turn a long mirror toward me.
The dress Seran picked is lilac, the neck lined with fabric roses. Real roses crown the back of my head from temple to temple. The outfit transforms me into a blooming flower, even though I look pale and my eyes are a bit red.
I don’t even want to breathe near the roses.
“Good,” Seran says, when he returns and surveys me. “Now quickly.”
A royal carriage awaits me this time, white with gold ornamentation. Seran rides with me and helps me out when we reach the Central Palace. His gait is quick as he sweeps us through to the banquet hall. He steps to one side as the doors swing wide, leaving me centered in the opening.
The room is already bustling, a lively event in progress. Every noble at court must be here, chatting and dining beneath blown-glass chandeliers. Teeth and silk and goblets gleam in the torchlight. The room falls quiet in segments as faces turn toward me.
“Come, Princess,” Seran says, offering his arm. “I’ll take you to your seat.”
The room quiets completely.
I try to unclench my jaw, feeling every eye in the room as I let Seran escort me. Why can’t I remember how Princess Lysandra walked? How she carried herself? Every muscle, every step, every breath is a choice that takes effort. I force myself to curve my lips into a slight smile.
In this room of ivory silk and gold, one group stands out in darker colors: Alaris’s company, seated at a long table in front of the dais.
It’s an honored, and dangerous, place to be.
I swallow down emotion as I spot Nykiri and Dashol.
Even though the alternative was storming the Citadel, I feel responsible for their safety as they masquerade as my rescuers.
Dashol did so much to help me acclimate to Arastos, and now he’s seated just in front of the emperor, and I shouldn’t even look at him too long.
I catch the figure at the head of the table, dressed in midnight blue silk: Alaris. I need to play my role perfectly, and it’s always been harder to hide under his gaze. I push down every feeling, using every ounce of restraint to keep my face calm, and let my attention flick away from him.
Seran guides me straight to the dais, to the seat I only took in one other life: right beside the emperor. We’re both raised above the crowd, but my chair is still lower, putting me a head below him. I arrange my lilac skirts and sit.
“Princess Lysandra, welcome back to court.” The emperor lifts his cup. “I’m pleased to have my youngest back in our number. She was away for her health, but now that she’s returned, raise your cups.”
My smile freezes as all the cups in the hall rise toward me. It’s a disorienting echo of my birthday.
“Let the feast begin.”
Servers swarm the hall, bearing golden dishes.
Courses arrive in gleaming procession: glazed lamb, figs, soft bread.
It’s hard to keep my appetite when I can feel the heat radiating off my father’s skin, but it’s been so long since I’ve eaten, I manage a few bites.
It’s all a little bland, a little too sweet. I miss the black salt.
I do my best to keep my eyes off the table below the dais, trying not to monitor ways that Dashol and the others could draw the wrong kind of attention.
Alaris is every inch the noble, relaxed and elegant.
But Dashol sits stiffly in formal clothes that barely fit his wide shoulders, and Nykiri looks far too grim.
She needs to adjust that scowl. She’s being honored by the emperor.
I give my father a sidelong glance, trying to sense his mood. Has he made a decision about Alaris’s proposal? Does he know which way he’ll go, or is he still deciding? Asking would make me look eager, so my only option is silence.
I know you want this, so hurry up.
Every day he delays the decision is another day when Orso’s soldiers could find some proof of our lies. Each night he delays is another night I have to spend in the Sunrise Palace, awaiting death at the hands of the masked man. And all the while, Alaris will be vulnerable, surrounded by enemies.
My gaze travels the hall and stops on my mother.
Her orange-red hair is pulled into a knot so tight it tugs the skin at her temples.
She isn’t looking at me, focused on the honey-glazed meat in front of her, although her pursed lips and grip on her silverware make her look like she’s close to vibrating.
Fear hits first, then something hotter, closer to fury.
She’s the reason I know the taste of blood so well, the sensation of a knife sliding against bone. My jaw pings painfully.
I turn away. For once, I don’t bother to monitor what’s on her face. I don’t care what she’s feeling.
I catch other eyes on me. My heart clenches. Rinalda. Her expression is twisted with an intensity that doesn’t match her usual icy composure.