“Sister.” Gwenarie’s sharp voice cuts through the room, and my tension immediately returns. “What are you doing? We’re late for tea with Shastara and Vanel.”
“Sorry.” Lunarie stands and gives me a warm smile. “I must go, but it was lovely speaking with you.”
“Why are you bothering to speak to it?” Gwen snaps. “Its only purpose is to lie on its back until the king tires of it.”
I stand. “Are you referring to me as an ‘it’?”
She turns her acidic gaze on me. “What makes you think you can speak to me, whore?”
“Gwen.” Lunarie puts a hand on her arm. “Come along.”
Gwenarie shakes her off and steps toward me. “Don’t youeverthink you can address me. One day, when I am queen, I will have you dragged through the streets to the Day Wood and left for the animals.” She sneers and turns to walk away. “Not that any animal would want to taste something so foul as you.”
Choose your words wisely, Solano had counseled. Well, Mama always said I was stubborn about following directions. “Hey, Gwenarie, Solano enjoyed my taste quite a bit after dinner a few days ago. Perhaps you heard about that?”
She stops mid-stride and turns toward me, her hands already formed into claws. A hiss goes up from the nobles, and more than a few of them laugh behind their hands.
“Gwen!” Lunarie grabs her sister’s arm. “Tea. We must get to tea.”
Gwenarie lunges again, but Lunarie holds her back as I palm the butter knife from the scone dish.
“You’re already dead, changeling.” Gwenarie spits at my feet in a rather un-high-fae-like display, then storms from the room with Lunarie at her heels.
A few of the laughing nobles clap as I drop the knife.
“Gwen is going to rip you apart.” Ilyana smirks as I hurry to the doors. “You should’ve just let me drown you. You’d be better off.” Her laugh is like claws down my spine as I dart away and to my chambers. I half expect to find Gwen there waiting to murder me, but the rooms are quiet and empty. Sinking to the floor, I give myself a few moments to sort out my emotions. They roil and change like a boiling pot of black cherries. Love, hate, fear, and desire. Solano’s turned me every which way since the moment I met him in Moonhollow. This feud with Gwenarie is just another part of it. And what of Lunarie being kind to me? Is she truly just the opposite of her sister? I can’t tell. It’s like I’m at the center of a maelstrom, a cyclone roaring around me and closing in.
Standing, I stretch and go to my paints and canvases. There’s only one way to sort through all this, to figure me out. It starts with the stroke of a brush and won’t end until my self-portrait becomes clear.
21
Emma
Turning my canvas toward the wall, I follow Lucidia into the bathing room. She’s distracted this afternoon, her eyes never meeting mine as she tells me to wash up. I do, the paint rinsing off me under the warm shower. Mama would probably fall over dead at the luxury of warm water falling from a hole in the stone ceiling. I try to appreciate it, to be thankful that I get to experience it, but homesickness hits me hard every time I think about my little cottage in the Nightlands.
I finish washing my hair and body. Truly, Lysetta would kill for this shower and these soaps, I remind myself, so I must enjoy every bit of it. Turning the small handle, I shut the water off and hurry out. A white, fluffy towel awaits, and I dry myself as best I can as Lucidia fusses around in the closet.
“Are there going to be so many nobles at dinner this time?” I call as I sit at the vanity as she instructed.
“No.” Her reply is curt as she walks in with a light rose gown. “But there is a special guest from the Nightlands.”
A thrill goes through me. Could it be someone from my village? No, of course not. I try to temper my excitement. “Who is it?”
“One of King Sigrid’s nobles.” She dries my hair more thoroughly, her usually-scolding lips silent.
“What’s wrong?” I look at her in the mirror. “Tell me.”
She shakes her head. “It’s nothing. Here, your hair is the best I can do it.” She sets the brush on the counter with shaking fingers.
I turn and take both of her hands. “What’s happened?”
“Nothing I can speak of.” She takes a deep breath. “Come, let’s get you dressed.”
I follow her to my room and let her help me into the flowing gown. It’s funny how quickly I’ve taken to the pampering afforded me here. For a moment—a short one—I almost miss the endless sock darning at the small table in my cottage.
Lucidia’s fingers slip from the last button on the dress, but she eventually gets it fastened.
I turn to her. “Maybe I can help.”
