Chapter 12
Since my arrival in Uldarvik, the month has gone by in chaotic, choppy segments. I find myself in places I don’t remember walking to—somehow bathed and groomed, somehow fed. When I’m fully aware of everything happening around me, my appetite is usually absent.
A warm hand on my arm pulls me back to the present. Through squinted eyes, I make out Odgar. His smile is hesitant, worried. How can I blame him when I don’t even know where I am.
Gathering my surroundings, I find that I’m seated at a table in the main room of the Great Hall.
Sunlight streams in through multiple windows onto one of the two long wooden tables running parallel to each other, extended benches on either side of them.
At the front of the room is a dais with a massive throne-like chair.
On the other side is a crackling firepit and half a dozen casks of ale that I’ve secretly gotten into more than I care to admit.
Black steel candelabras line the center of each table, and rustic chandeliers hang from the beams in the ceiling, molten wax dripping from them like stalactites.
Briony sits across from me, a deerskin map spread out atop the wooden surface. Briefly, her icy blue eyes flick up and she offers me a tentative smile before returning her attention to the map.
“Carys,” Odgar’s voice makes me jump so hard that my arse leaves the wooden bench. Pins and needles travel from my feet, up my legs and thighs. How long have I been sitting here? When did I even get here? My heart flails in my chest, my throat too tight all of a sudden.
“Carys?”
“Hmm?” I tear my focus away from Briony, who seems to be deliberately averting her gaze.
“This is my sister, Valdis,” Odgar says. It takes me a moment to notice the tall woman standing right beside him. She’s garbed in a dress of blue wool, with a series of leather belts looped around her waist. A leather pouch and a bulbous bottle are fastened against the accentuated curve of her hip.
Her sapphire eyes regard me as I glimpse the large, purplish-red patch against the fair skin on the right side of her face. Strands of her blond hair have escaped from an intricate labyrinth of braids to fall in loose waves. She props a fist on her hip, a leather satchel clutched in her fingers.
Fluent Uldaran tumbles from her lips before she seems to come to her senses. “Nice to meet you,” she says.
This is the princess of Uldarvik. I scramble to stand, but Valdis’s brows draw together, her lips tugging down in a way that makes the purplish patch on her face pull.
“You don’t have to get up. No fancy rules here, Princess.
” Her voice has a low, sensuous quality to it—authoritative and confident, yet I’d bet my arse that she could calm a wild bear with one spoken word.
“Then you can call me Carys,” I say.
Odgar shifts on his feet, and I spot the bow in his hand and the quiver of arrows peeking over his shoulder on the opposite side from his battle-axe.
“Were you … out hunting?” I ask.
The concern on his face is poorly masked by an attempted smile. “No, but I thought we could go hunting together.”
I look at him as though he’s lost his mind while a vision of me lying on the hard floor resurfaces in my mind.
Me … lying on the floor? I blink, my hand shaking as it drifts up to my sweaty neck. I clutch the suffocating neckline of this ridiculous wool dress, tugging it away from my skin.
“I’ve seen your skills with a bow and arrow,” Odgar says, speaking far louder than necessary.
I glare at him.
“How good are you at shooting a moving target?” His voice is an acceptable volume now. “The fresh air may do you well. Keep you present.”
His grip on the bow looks so hard, I fear it’ll snap in half. But his brows are cinched together, and his eyes are filled with worry.
Overflowing auroch horns of fermented drink fill my mind. Cheers. Dizzying kisses from … not Odgar. I even remember the taste of a woman’s lips—honeyed mead and apples. Gods. I hope kisses were as far as things got.
What have I done?
“Odgar,” says Valdis. “Would you give me a moment with her?” She looks to me. “If that’s alright with you. I have some better clothes and such. I can bring them to your room.”
I hesitate more than I want to, but then I nod.
“I’ll be right here,” says Odgar, setting his bow aside and sliding onto the bench. “I’ll chat with Briony.”
The priestess glances up at him and offers a small smile.
I head to my room, tears prickling in my eyes for reasons I don’t even know.
Rather than a door, my room is separated from the rest of the Great Hall by a colorful tapestry.
On the mattress is a large fur blanket—which I usually discard given my body’s habit of overheating in the middle of the night.
The tapestry flap flies open as Valdis walks into my room.
She holds up a dress and says, “I’ll have to take in the waist and the bust, for sure.
And I’ve brought some supplies for your hair … if you don’t mind?”
Remaining utterly still, I try not to move my hand to my hair. A tremor shudders through me as I clasp my hands together to keep them from shaking.
“I don’t know what you went through to get here,” says Valdis, “but I can see you’re hurting. I promise you that I have no intention of causing further harm. And if anyone out there has anything to say about you being here, tell them to come answer to Valdis.”
She says her name with a surety I could only dream of having. All I can do is nod.
The smile that spreads across her face is warm and genuine. “Let’s get you into some proper Uldaran royalty clothing. How do you feel about the lack of corsets here? Seth has told me about the stuffy garments in your world. I’d rather die than be shoved into such a thing.”
My lips curve softly.
“Now, come on, off with that gods-awful apron dress.”
And I thought I was blunt. I remove the garment, and Valdis shoves an ecru shift over my head so I can slip my arms through the long sleeves.
The shift is followed by a sleeveless purple dress in lightweight wool.
Bronze beads embellish the neckline and bodice.
She wraps a woven belt twice around my waist and secures it with a knot against my hip.
“There,” she says. She taps her fingers against the large birthmark on her right cheek. “How attached are you to your hair?”
You have the hair of a princess, but the heart of a warrior. Ellynne’s words open the wound in my heart again. “Very,” I say breathlessly as my chest tightens.
“Alright. There are some parts I cannot salvage, but … if I get rid of the damage, I think we can save the rest. It’s very uneven, so cutting it a little shorter may do you well too.” She looks at me with such kindness that my chest loosens.
Most of my hair still swings well below my arse, but the front and sides range from ear length to shoulder length. Ellynne is surely rolling in her grave.
Soon, I’m holding my breath as Valdis takes a knife to my hair, sawing far too close to my scalp for comfort.
The fragrance of oil fills the room as she rubs it along my scalp and all the way to the ends.
My mind wanders back to Paramount—to all the times Ellynne styled my hair.
Valdis holds the same gentle manner as Ellynne had when she did my hair, but she’s silent while Ellynne would’ve been talking my head off.
It feels like an eternity before Valdis steps back, and a slow smile softens her face. “I think that will do.” She glances around, looking for something, before holding a finger up. “Wait right here.”
Before I can question her, she’s out of the room.
I stand from the bed and run my hand over the dress.
It’s the softest wool I’ve ever felt, but so very different from the silk and linen I was used to wearing.
I’m not able to dwell on how much I miss my Erleyan clothing before Valdis returns with a large, handheld mirror with an oval surface and a long, thick, carved handle.
She holds it out to me, but I step away, my heart in my throat. I stare down at the wooden floor. At the scuffs and nicks that no one has bothered to fix or polish.
Valdis sighs softly. “Change is scary,” she says. “Being a part of something that is not your own is scary. I understand. Maybe you won’t like how your hair looks, but remember this… it’s hair. It’ll grow back.”
I nod.
“I’m going to hold the mirror up now,” she says.
I nod again, but I slam my eyes shut as soon as she lifts it.
I draw in a deep breath, then slowly breathe out.
When I open my eyes, Valdis has stepped back enough that my entire face is reflected in the looking glass.
The scar bisecting my face diagonally from my left brow down to the right side of my jaw is the first thing I catch.
Another is vertical against my left cheek.
Briony tried her best to heal them, but they’re still pink against my ivory skin.
The freckles across my nose and the apples of my cheeks stand out even more against my pallor, and my amber eyes are lighter than usual, almost golden, and too hollow, too big for my face.
My heart lurches, and I take the mirror, turning my head to get a look at Valdis’s handywork.
Two braids split the center of my head, adorned with small metal rings.
The right side is cut close to my scalp, and the left, also cropped short, is braided intricately into four and joined to one of the center braids.
It doesn’t look terrible … I just don’t look like myself anymore.
I suppose it’s fitting because I also don’t feel like myself anymore.
This feels like an official goodbye to Carys, the princess of Erleya, and a hello to … whoever in hells I am now. I turn my head side to side. More golden streaks are present now—especially toward the front where my hair had been mangled—even more startling against the jet-black majority.