Chapter 22
Larkspur
Ireentered the ballroom and fetched a drink. The punch burned as it slid down my throat; I choked. Whoever spiked it had been heavy-handed with their pour.
Beneath my fingers, the stones of the carcanet seemed to have a pulse of their own, though it could have been the hammering of my heart. The weight of the necklace against my chest felt like inevitability. However unprepared I was, my fate always led here.
I’d train and study harder, grow stronger than any other enchantress in the realms in every subject, become an unstoppable weapon; that was what we needed.
Unable to part with it so soon, I’d convinced my father to lend me his sword belt to wear the Sword of Isolde for the evening. Mama had frowned at how the scabbard clashed with the elegance of my gown, but she hadn’t argued as I’d expected her to.
Until I could devise an escape to the boathouse, I’d need to bear the itchy woven bust and the way the laces dug uncomfortably into my ribs for a while longer.
I craved the light silks and linens of the Sahlms. Like migrating birds, my family would return there once fall broke the sweltering heat in the desert region.
If only the night would progress more quickly.
Dritan would love to hold his father’s former blade; the thought elicited a smile. I stood against a wall, shielded from half the room by a thick marble pillar, willing the crowd to thin. It was a lovely party, but the one person I wished to see most couldn’t be in attendance.
When I’d met a young orphan in the Luz gardens, I’d been skeptical of him at first. Years of friendship had formed into something more. Yet our last conversation had left me antsy and disappointed.
A hand reached in front of me, clinking a glass to mine. “Cheers, cousin. To your first ever sip of spirit.”
Hurley’s mop of brown hair was untamed, his shirt collar askew. Surely, he’d just come back from some tryst in the gardens. The Water-wielding Officer of Sahlmsara took after Uncle Fen.
I lifted the punch glass. “Why ever do you use that tone?” My voice dripped with sarcasm—the language most commonly spoken between us. “You did this?”
He chuckled. “For once, no. I watched Aunt El spike it. Thank the Sources. What a drag these things are without a little liquid courage for dancing.”
My cousin had caught me a year prior sneaking a bottle from my father’s wine cellar at Umber House.
He had uncorked it and, instead of telling my parents, joined me for a drink.
It used to bother me as a girl how he’d grown so quickly; at eleven years apart, we’d only shared childhood for a fleeting time.
That night, splitting a bottle, he had spoken to me as a peer again. Since then, we’d been inseparable.
“Not dancing tonight?” he asked, holding out his hand in an offer.
I shook my head and crinkled my nose. “I prefer to watch.”
His hand dropped. “Aunt Sybilla sure knows how to throw a party...” he mused and sipped his wine again, eyes trailing over the ladies standing along the far wall who waited for a hand offered to dance.
Some of them blushed and looked away when his eyes fell on them.
“Why aren’t you dancing? You’re breaking the hearts of the future Mrs. Hurley Lamoreaux hopefuls.”
Hurley had taken Fenris’ surname years ago when he and Asterie officially adopted him.
“I was, but I lost my date.”
I huffed a laugh because that didn’t surprise me.
My mother had found Hurley when he was an orphan on the streets of Sahlmsara; he’d gotten himself wrapped up in a plot to assassinate her.
Wrong place, wrong time. She’d realized his Water Source magic was the one thing that could make the Sahlms inhabitable long-term.
The desert region had fallen into a drought, but with Hurley’s wielding, more rain reached the region each year.
“How are things in the Sahlms?” I asked.
My father had long been preparing him to take the Sahlmsaran crown—I wondered if my cousin knew his fate. To bear the weight of one kingdom’s needs would keep me busy, never mind two. It brought me some relief to know he would long be my ally.
“It’s hot,” he scoffed. “But quiet—which is a welcome thing. Sahlmkar’s textile trades are booming again. Now that the area gets more rain, the city isn’t as dreary. Krait won’t let me add a grand theater outside of Umber House—says it’s excessive and unnecessary.”
I chuckled. “He’s never had the patience to watch performances.”
Hurley smirked and shrugged. “It was worth a try.” The band switched their tune as we looked out over the ballroom.
Uncle Fen swung Aunt Asterie around the dance floor. Aunt Wyeth was tending to a young woman who had twisted her ankle during the last song, and Aunt Cassidee made small talk with a few lords.
Aunt Amara stood at the large metal punch bowl with the young King Sheffield—he was a kindhearted man in his late twenties who took after his uncle who had preceded him.
We’d become fast friends as he had the realms’ oldest collection of maps and often helped me and Aunt El identify searchable regions. Next time, I’d get to travel with her.
“Do you think if I pretend to faint, I could get out of the rest of this?” I asked. Hurley snorted into his punch.
“Doubtful.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Are the rulers from the West Corridor in attendance?”
I scoffed. As if Haag Bringham would show his face at a celebration here for me. “Of course not. Why?”
He shrugged. “I saw the Sheffields and Nadiars and thought maybe your mother had invited them all. You get on well with Regon, no?”
The prince of the West Corridor made far better company than his father. “I do, but I bet my mother forgot his invitation.”
The quartet quieted for just a moment between songs, and Aunt El approached us.
She nodded to Hurley. “Staying out of trouble?”
“Always, Aunty,” Hurley said with a twist to his smile, and the corner of his eyes crinkled.
My aunt’s eyes narrowed at my cousin. “Clean the rouge off your collar. It’s not the same shade as the lips of the lady you brought with you tonight.”
Hurley’s warm brown eyes widened as he looked down at his shirt collar. She’d tricked him. No stain marked his tunic. Guilt pinked my cousin’s cheeks.
I lifted my hand to my mouth. Even at twenty-nine, he was still a touch afraid of our elders’ reprimands.
“Speaking of Lady...” Hurley paused and scratched his chin.
I laughed through my fingers. “You’ve forgotten her name? Hurley!”
My cousin winced and ran his hand through the dusty brown mop of hair atop his head. “Point taken...I’d best go find her.”
“Good luck,” I called after him before turning back to Aunt El.
She leveled me with a knowing look. “You’ve got roughly thirty minutes before the lords tire and the band stops playing.”
“Am I that obvious?” I sighed. “And if I were to slip out prior?”
She shook her head. “Then I’d tell you not to do anything I wouldn’t do. Though, that’s poor advice.”
“I want to show Dritan the throwing daggers,” I said. Half-truth.
“Now you’ve made me an accomplice,” she answered. “But go.”
I grinned and set down my glass. “Thank you, thank you,” I said and pecked her on the cheek.
Before I could hurry away, she stopped me. “But, Lark—clothes stay on.”
I rolled my eyes. “We’re friends…” I lied.
“Yes, yes. And I have plenty of friends who I’d like to get in a state of undress.”
The carcanet heated my neck, spurring my power. Easily peeking into my aunt’s mind, I saw a vision of King Mattock, thankfully fully clothed.
I made a gagging motion before heading to the garden doors.
Moonlight greeted me when I ducked through a rusted-out grate. This passage once had allowed mules to bring wood chips to the water heaters—we no longer needed them since charms worked more efficiently.
I discarded my pointed dress shoes in the grass next to my secret exit.
I still respected Aunt El’s rules at Lamoreaux.
I hadn’t slipped out of the estate since I was thirteen.
The utter betrayal written across her face had convinced me never to skirt her again.
My aunt may not have realized her own emotions—I had.
That night, I’d felt someone’s heart break for the first time.
But this castle was my home. Every secret entry and exit, every loose grate, every guard prone to sleeping at their post—I knew it all like the back of my hand.
With Isolde’s sword holstered at my hip and her carcanet around my neck, I padded through the grass with bare feet down to the pond.
Crickets sang their repetitive tune as the boathouse lamp shone into view through a long arch of lilac bushes.
No one ever came down here. It was the farthest point from the palace within the walls, and none of the rowboats were functional enough to bear weight.
The water had become overgrown with too many lily pads to paddle through.
When I was a girl, Papa had let me turn the shack into my fortress. I’d drug down old furniture and rugs from the house when Mama had tired of a piece, and I’d painted the door red.
I’d hidden an Egress behind a large tapestry of a unicorn.
It gave Dritan a way in and out of the grounds, so he didn’t have to continue hopping hedges and fences to reach me.
Aunt Asterie hadn’t balked when I’d asked her to teach me how to ward an Egress.
But I’d had to research on my own how to craft one.
The door creaked open before I could turn the knob, and hands grabbed my wrists, pulling me inside.
“Happy birthday,” Dritan said, spinning me so that my back was against the wall. I gasped before stifling a laugh.
Charmed candles floated in the corners and illuminated the space. I looked up at him in the dancing light—he was tall and lean and grew more handsome by the day. I couldn’t fathom how that was possible.
“I didn’t think you’d come.” He leaned in, and when our breaths mingled, I wanted to consume him. So I did.