She waved my poor joke away with a flick of her hand. “There is white magic, the good kind. This is what resides with the good spirits. And then there is dark magic, some call it black magic. And this is what the evil spirits are said to employ. In fact, it’s said that the religion of the Light came from this idea. You know the pagan beliefs are much older than the Brotherhoods. Some believe the Brotherhoods stole the light and dark idea from the pagans and then outlawed all the other practices they couldn’t explain.”
I looked at myself in the mirror, in awe of Matilda’s handiwork. My hair had been a catastrophe only minutes ago, but now I looked like a true lady. The braid started at my crown and wove down the side and over my shoulder. She somehow tied my hair into all those little pieces woven together while still managing to display the prettier curls.
Maybe she had white magic.
I played with the end of the braid and met her eyes in the mirror. “Are you a strong believer in the Light?”
Her head bobbed up and down and she didn’t hesitate to say, “Aye, of course. I’m very devoted to the Light. I spend every new moon at temple and take my offerings on all the right days.”
I turned to face her, sensing that there was more. “But…?”
She looked at me, then at her hands, then out the window. “But, I come from a rural village in Soravale, one near the Great Cliffs of Binash. Have you heard of them?” I shook my head. She didn’t seem surprised. “There are relics there, on the cliffs; old, crude, monuments from when the pagans worshipped freely. When we would travel to temple to leave our offerings, there would be offerings left to the pagan gods as well. One time, a boy about my age had fallen off the cliff. His dad found him with broken legs and a broken back. They were waiting for him to die, holding a vigil and such. I went with my mother to temple to pray for him, to offer what we could on his behalf. And as we passed the statues, I saw his mother there, knelt before the pagan gods and praying with all the strength that she had. I will never forget the sight because she was wailing so loud she seemed to shake the stars. But the strangest thing…” Matilda shivered and rubbed her arms as if to ward off the chill. “The strangest thing was the fireflies over her head. A hundred of them, I swear it. I’ll always remember that because we so rarely saw them and never that close to the Sea. The wind would push them back and into the trees. And yet there they were, as she prayed and cried out for her son, they hovered over her as if they were praying too.”
I swallowed, struggling to accept her story. “What happened to the little boy?”
She held my gaze. “He sat up in bed the next day. He even learned to walk again.”
I couldn’t find the right response, but the sound of carriage wheels saved me from needing to. Matilda raced to the window. I followed her.
We stood side by side while Shiksa jumped up to the windowsill to see what had captured our attention. I stroked her back as I tried to make out who was who.
“Have you ever seen a royal coach that didn’t belong to Soravale?” I asked Matilda.
“A few,” she murmured. “The one in front with the black and red banner is Tenovia.”
“There’s Soravale,” I whispered. “Hugo and Anatal are here.” At least I had one ally in the bunch.
We watched all the pomp and circumstance as Tyrn stepped out to greet the visiting monarchs. Tenovia’s sovereigns descended their carriages first, then the carriage drove away to make room for Hugo and Anatal.
We waited for someone to summon me or announce progress with Conandra, but nobody came. Eventually Matilda retired for the evening and I took down my hair in favor of a bath.
Near midnight, another carriage pulled up. I had just lain down in bed when the footmen started shouting to each other across the courtyard.
Shiksa’s head lifted from the pillow next to me and her ears perked up. I turned to her. “Give me your best guess. Who do you think it is?”
She canted her head to the side and stared at me like I’d gone mad.
“Fine,” I grumbled. “I’ll check. Don’t bother getting up.”
She pushed my shoulder with her muzzle. I rolled my eyes. “Such a slave master, you are.”
I winced at the cold stone beneath my feet and hurried over to the window, hopping back and forth on my toes.
The elegant coach pulled up and tired footmen hustled around to accommodate the newly arrived monarchs. I peered into the dark and tried to make out the royal colors painted on the carriage.
Finally, a footman appeared and let down the stairs, a purple carpet followed and rolled to the gravel. Tyrn appeared on the portico above and at last the door was opened. Gray traveling dress against purple carpet could only mean Barstus had arrived.
With one more monarch in residence, I could feel Conandra looming.
I was ready, though. As prepared as I could be.
Although I’d hated these days of solitude, returning to this castle brought back memories. I remembered the sights and sounds and smells of all the different rooms and the twists and turns of the corridors. I remembered some of the faces of the older servants—servants Tyrn hadn’t fired or replaced—and I could swear they recognized me, too. The more they spent time with me, the more they saw the truth.
They bowed with more respect. They brought food they knew I would like. Their gazes had softened. I hoped that if the servants could see me, therealme, that maybe the royals could as well.
Conandra and the consequences of the trial hovered on the horizon, but I had truth on my side.
That had to count for something.
