“The cooks do seem to, um, like you,” said Talvi.
“They do not like me.”
“They’re terrified of you, which is far more useful than affection,” said Demelza.
Ursula grumbled, but Demelza caught the flicker of a smile.
“This competition is not what I thought it’d be like,” said Ursula. She toed a lemon back and forth across the floor. She did not look up. “I thought I was here to escape my mother… or at least make a new path for myself. I did not imagine I would ever make friends.”
“Aww,” said Talvi.
Ursula looked faintly nauseous.
“When you say you didn’t imagine making friends… did you mean in general?” asked Demelza.
Ursula squawked in outrage and Demelza laughed. What followed was a mostly friendly game of hurling lemons at one another that ended only when Talvi—who really needed to sleep—threatened to squeeze lemons into their eyes if she was not allowed to shut hers.
Smiling and smelling of lemon, Demelza shuffled backto her room. Ursula was not alone in her shock over the tournament. As she crawled into bed, Demelza thought of how the competition was nothing at all like how she’d imagined.
Technically she was supposed to be here to find out everything about the contestants. And she was. But she was more delighted to discover what she was finding out about herself. She had always assumed that she longed for crowds, having only ever been in the cozy silence of Hush Manor. But she found that crowds exhausted her, and although she liked some social engagements, she needed time to herself. She was shocked at how much she liked the refinements of fancy shoes, considering she had always found her need for slippers an embarrassing reminder that she could not fly around like her sisters. Yvlle had loaned her several pairs—“a downright hideous collection of pastels, you are welcome to all of them and if you seek to burn them afterward I will be indebted to you”—and after noticing how Demelza had a tendency to pet them adoringly, piled the rest into the corners of her bedroom.
No one seemed to notice except Edmea, who remarked one day at breakfast that Demelza had an endless supply of ugly shoes. “Oh to possess the means to be a different flavor of hideous every day!” said Edmea. “It is a shame wealth can buy everything but sophistication.” The statement echoed through the breakfast hall. Demelza felt the crush of a thousand options when Edmea spoke to her. Should she be cutting? Was she even a person who could keep up with the endless banter of small, elegant cruelties? Would her earnestness beendearing or annoying? And then Demelza dismissed all the ways in which she might be caricatured for the truth:
“I think it’s fun,” she said.
Edmea raised an eyebrow. “It’s about as unfashionable as coating your hair in muck.”
“Perhaps I don’t want the beauty of my hair to intimidate you,” said Demelza.
This was hardly a concern, but it was fun to say and even more fun to hear the thrill of half the remaining contestants sucking in their breaths. Edmea laughed it off, but it had changed the mood amongst the girls. Where they had usually shrugged off Demelza’s attempts at conversation, now they engaged her. It was nice to be sought out…
Plus it made it easier to determine which contestants posed a threat to Prince Arris.
The next morning, the queen hosted a concert on the glass wyvern boat. On board, a musical trio of snow sylphs from the Aatos Mountains launched into a performance of mournful singing accompanied by ice flutes and frost-furred zithers.
“Prince Arris adores this music,” said the queen. “He finds it extremely relaxing and often meditative.”
The music was… awful. Of the twenty girls that were left, every face was a stoic portrait of endurance except for Talvi. Talvi whispered to Demelza: “My mothers made me sit through these performances every year when I was a child and I have always detested them. If the prince wishes for an explanation, I’m happy to give it but there is no way I shall willingly endure this a moment longer.” Talvi stood,smiled politely at the performers, and descended to the hull, where refreshments were to be served.
Queen Yzara watched her, that cryptic smile still curving her lips. When Aster, another Aatosian girl, got up and left, Demelza followed after her. Drowned out by the din of the terrible music, Demelza waited until they were alone on the staircase before uttering a single note. The ice ribbons on the banister melted at the sound.
“Do you intend to kill the prince?” asked Demelza.
“Not today,” murmured Aster thoughtfully. “Though I don’t think I’d need much cause… if he didn’t like this music, I’d do away with him within a week!”
Demelza frowned. “Wait, you like this music?”
“Oh, I adore it,” said Aster, wiping a tear from her eye.
“Then why did you leave the performance?”
“I am out of handkerchiefs and the music is so poignant that I know I shall soon weep and I do not wish to disturb my cosmetics.”
“Oh,” said Demelza.
She stepped aside and Aster continued on her way. Demelza had discovered that for some reason, no one seemed to remember speaking to her when they heard her sing. It was odd, considering that Arris had remembered… but perhaps that was because she had wanted him to, an impulse that was absent from her dealings with the other contestants.
After Aster left, Demelza waited in the shadows of the staircase until another contestant appeared. Zoraya. Zoraya looked faintly ill and when she saw Demelza, she flashed a sympathetic smile.
