Demelza practically stomped to the winter gardens, her eyes set on one person and one person only. Ursula and Talvi followed after her. Talvi looked nervous.
“Is this really necessary, Demelza? Perhaps speak to her in private?”
Ursula loped in bear form. A bit of spittle appeared at her muzzle, and Demelza imagined here was General Azeria’s famous bloodlust shining through at last.
“Rip her hair!”
“Ursula!” scolded Talvi. “That is… that is uncouth!”
Ursula huffed.
A crystalline cage enclosed the courtyard, each bar an exquisitely carved piece of ice. Inside, the air was redolent of winter roses and warmed as if by unseen fires. Clouds of all sizes—some no larger than a cherry and others briefly gargantuan—floated past Demelza. A pair of life-sized lovers danced to invisible music, twirling once, then twice, before their forms stretched beyond recognition, flattened and then dissipated to mist. A great whale dove down from the courtyard’s ceiling, turning gracefully and leaping as if to breach some hidden surface before the clouds unraveled like sea-foam. Amidst these wonders stood Edmea, surrounded by her small cohort of admirers. In her arms, a huge, white snake sinuously coiled about her shoulders before melting into the air.
“You,” said Demelza, pointing at Lady Edmea.
Edmea did not turn, but she did remark in an exaggerated whisper: “Careful, ladies. I can’t imagine which is worse, getting your dress or your reputation muddied by proximity to this creature.”
Beside Demelza, Ursula snarled. “Definitely rip out her hair.”
“Surely some wound in her spirit is causing her to react in such a fashion?” said Talvi. She was out of breath from keeping up with Demelza and Ursula. When a cloud mouse scurried toward her, she demolished it with a single exhale and then looked extremely distraught.
“Edmea,” said Demelza.
As she walked farther into the courtyard, she became aware of the remaining contestants’ weighted glances. Orinthia had smiled at her yesterday. Now she was stony faced. Zoraya had offered to give her a recipe to nourish her hair after the mud fell off. Now she seemed preoccupied with a hive of cloudy bees.
Every single one of the contestants—contestants who, as recently as yesterday, had been friendly—must have heard Edmea. But they did not look in Demelza’s direction. And they did not speak to her. She felt herself turning translucent and fading into the background. She had known that feeling all her life, and the thought of turning invisible once more made her heart race and her thoughts jumble.
Edmea turned, looking innocent and shocked. “Are you speaking to me, Demelza?”
“Yes.”
Edmea laughed. “And what could you possibly have to say to me?”
“I don’t take kindly to liars,” said Demelza.
Edmea tilted her head. “And what, pray tell, have I possibly lied about?”
Demelza’s panic hardened. She looked around the room and knew immediately what the others saw: an uncouth girl who did not know how to play this game. Her face turned hot. Demelza and her sisters always had trouble lying. It was agony for a veritas swan to lie and whenever Demelza tried, each false word poked her tongue like a hot needle. If she spoke the truth she would be seen as an overly sensitive and hotheaded fool. Why was she turning herself into a spectacle? Because her feelings had been hurt? Because she was terrified of being shunted to irrelevance and invisibility? What kind of annoyingly earnest reasoning was that?
“I—” Demelza started to say, but Edmea spared her.
“All I said was that the tale of the toad seemed awfully convenient and that perhaps the prince must have some reason for keeping you around. He took pity on you during the talent trial, which, trust me, I can understand why,” said Edmea, smiling. “But I see no revelation of talent or gifts since then? What I have noticed is that you’re curiously… not around. And no one has ever seen you in the company of the prince, so perhaps you are here for different reasons. Are you here to spy on us? To report back to their royal highnesses? What is your relationship with the prince?”
“That is a private matter,” said Demelza, hating that she was unable to lie outright. She could salvage this, she told herself. “Love is a private matter.”
“Love,” said Edmea, her voice flat.
Immediately, Demelza knew she had made a misstep. Beside her, Ursula shook her muzzle. Talvi sucked in her breath.
Edmea looked about the room. “She thinks the prince loves her. Well then. My apologies, Demelza.”
Demelza realized her finger was still outstretched. She dropped it. She glanced at the contestants. She had not wanted to be invisible, but she didn’t want to be this either. An object of incredulity.
“I see now that assuming you might be a spy was giving you far too much credit,” said Edmea. “I am certain that time would cure you of such ridiculous fantasies, but I daresay after the second trial, we won’t be seeing much of you.”
As usual, Arris climbed into Demelza’s bedroom once evening fell and the dinner service had concluded. The guardian of the residences had become accustomed to this pattern. In fact, these days it seemed a bit concerned.
“No efforts at youthful mischief? Are you quite all right? At your age, one could not tear me away from the company of nymphs! I used to creep and crawl and sneak out of anything designed to contain me! Your generation is an utterly bloodless lot. I find it deeply concerning.”
