The younger woman doesn't offer her name, just watches me with wary eyes.
“Veyra,” I reply, seeing no reason to use my number.
Elara moves to the mirror, adjusting her already-perfect hair. “First time at court?”
I nod, watching her reflection.
“Well, you've chosen an interesting time to arrive,”she continues, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. “The tournament's been moved up. They're announcing it tonight.”
My heart skips. “Moved up? By how much?”
“Days instead of weeks,” the younger woman says, speaking for the first time. Her voice is surprisingly deep, with a husky quality that suggests she doesn't use it often. “The emperor wants it underway.”
“Or he's trying to keep things contained,” Elara adds, meeting my eyes in the mirror. Her tone is even, but not quite casual. “Word is there's unrest in the outer provinces. A show of strength quiets things down.”
The bathroom's marble gleams, but the conversation feels like it’s turning sharp as glass. Elara and the younger woman linger at the mirror, their voices dropping to the hush reserved for secrets. “It’s not only about the provinces,” Elara goes on, dabbing the corners of her mouth with a silk square. “I’ve heard the emperor is betting on a spectacle. And the court’s been dying for proper drama.”
The younger woman meets my gaze. “They always want blood by the first round. Last year it was a massacre, and the galleries complained that the final duel was too short. This year, the emperor wants a climax. He’s stacking the brackets.”
Elara gives a soft, bitter laugh. “Especially with the Caelith and Malvric grudge match. You have to know about that, right?”
I shake my head, pulse fluttering.
Elara’s smile fades. “Of course you don’t. You’re new.”
She glances at the younger woman, who looks away, suddenly interested in the embroidery of her sleeve.
Elara sighs, leaning closer to me. “They were family once. Zeriel and Blaise. By marriage.”
My breath catches. “What?”
“Zeriel was married to Celisse Malvric. Blaise's cousin.” Elara's voice drops to barely above a whisper. “It was quite the match at the time. The youngest son of the rising house of Caelith and the jewel of House Malvric. They say she was beautiful beyondwords. Hair like moonlight, eyes that changed color with her moods.”
The younger woman shifts uncomfortably. “We shouldn’t?—”
“She should know,” Elara cuts in, eyes hard. “Any ward of Zeriel should.” She faces me fully, her gaze drilling into mine. “It was a political alliance at first. The Malvrics wanted a foothold in the Capital; Caelith wanted the legitimacy of old blood. But some say it grew into something real, something that surprised them both. Still, that didn’t save her. Celisse died—some say murdered—while under Zeriel’s protection.”
A chill prickles up my arms. “Murdered?”
Elara’s tone is flat. “Three years ago. Blaise accused Zeriel, claimed Celisse discovered something about the Caelith dealings, something worth killing to keep quiet. Nothing was proven so Zeriel escaped conviction. But the scandal wouldn’t die. And not long after, House Caelith was accused—by Malvric, no less—of colluding with House Marrowind in a plot to smuggle forbidden weaponry out of the imperial forges. Treason. Both houses were stripped of land and title. The family heads were executed. Zeriel was given a choice besides execution because he was young, they said, and a fighter since boyhood. His father had enrolled him in the dueling circuit as soon as he could hold a blade—said it built character. Now the empire’s using that talent for bloodsport, while Zeriel hopes to redeem his name for the crowd.”
I’m barely breathing. “And… Blaise?”
Elara’s lips press together. “He’s never forgiven Zeriel. To him, it’s personal. Celisse was his cousin, like a sister, really. He’s always claimed Zeriel killed her and got away with it. Zeriel denies it, of course. But then… he would, wouldn’t he?”
The younger woman gives me a wary look, as if to warn me not to trust too easily. Elara gives me a look that borders on pity.
“All I know is I wouldn’t trust him,” Elara says softly. “He’s potentially a very dangerous man.”
The younger woman’s lips press together, and for a moment her mask slips, showing something almost like sympathy. “Courtsare full of knives, Veyra. All you can do is try not to fall on one by accident.”
Elara glances at my hands, sees them shaking slightly, and lays hers lightly over mine.
“Thank you.” I swallow, not trusting my voice to say more.
Elara nods, lets go, and smooths her hair with a final, precise touch. “We should return. The dance will begin soon.”
Chapter 31
