“Considering I’ve got to marry one of them, I can’t imagine that’s a bad thing,” he said.
He grinned and Demelza registered that she should laugh, but she could not focus. Thanks to Edmea, she was at best invisible, and at worst irrelevant. If none of the contestants would speak to her, then she would be of no use to the prince. Even if she somehow made it past the second trial, he would be certain to cast her out, and Demelza did not want to go. She had grown to love the grounds of Rathe Castle and its strange wonders. She had made friends in Ursula, Talvi… even Arris.
Did he think of her as a friend? Would he notice if she was gone? If she returned to Hush Manor, she realized she would still think of this. This slice of pie and the boy who had made it for seemingly no other reason than that she had mentioned it was her favorite. The very thought touched something within her that was as tender as a fresh bruise.
“What is it?” asked Arris, leaning forward. “Is the pie that bad?”
“They’re avoiding me,” said Demelza.
“Who?” asked Arris.
“Everyone,” said Demelza, miserable. “None of the contestants will let me come near them anymore.”
“Is it the mud, you think?” asked Arris. “I’ve actually gotten used to the smell; it’s almost pleasantly like rotting leaves and summertime ponds.”
In the corner of her room, the surface of the mirror rippled. Yvlle stood in the reflection with her arms crossed, her black sleeves rolled to her elbows. Something winked and flashed in the princess’s fingers and it took Demelza a moment to realize it was Yvlle’s eye. Her other eye glowered at them. She had not bothered with her usual eye patch, and through the fall of her chestnut hair, Demelza glimpsed a dark and angry socket.
“We have a problem,” said Yvlle, her gaze slicing to Demelza.
“What?” asked Arris.
“Not what, who,” said Yvlle. “More specifically you.”
Demelza steeled herself. “I have done nothing except—”
“Stop right there,” said Yvlle, holding up her eyeball. “I have watched you and doing nothing is the problem!”
“That’s ridiculous,” said Arris. “She’s brought us the best information and saved my life and—”
“I’m not talking about that, Brother. I’m talking about the fact that this is a competition for my brother’s hand in marriage, Demelza!” said Yvlle. “You have not revealed yourself as appropriately besotted! And then your comment to Edmea was carried around—”
“What comment?” asked Arris.
“I said that what was between us is a private matter and foolishly added that love is a private matter,” said Demelza.
Arris blinked. “You said you loved me?”
“You are hardly ever seen communicating with Arris,” added Yvlle. “It is as if you are not here for him at all!”
“But I’m not!” protested Demelza. “If I spend time simpering about, then I won’t know the secrets of the other contestants and you’ll have no use for me!”
“And if you capture our mother’s curiosity for the wrong reasons, you’ll be thrown out of the competition and then we will certainly have no use for you,” said Yvlle.
“I find all this talk of a person’s worthwhileness rather cruel,” said Arris.
Demelza thought it was an endearing sentiment, but really—
“And this is why you are so easy to kill, my beloved twin,” said Yvlle. She tugged at her hair, and Demelza saw profound exhaustion etched in the princess’s features. She was worried for her brother.
“You must manage both, Demelza,” said Yvlle, her voice softer this time. “More flirtations and the like are needed. With the trial so soon, you cannot afford to rank low amongst the contestants. I have done my best to discover what our mother plans but so far I’ve found nothing. If you want to remain here, then it lies in your hands. Not ours.”
23To Kiss a Friend
The time and place where Arris and Demelza planned to put a stop to the rumors had been carefully chosen. They would meet right after breakfast, in a copse of trees beside the winter courtyard, where the contestants would be gathering to hear the rules for tomorrow’s trial. The trees were the most important part, for they were peeping myrtle. The blossoms—dramatic, velvet and black—were notoriously voyeuristic and in the presence of any sort of intimacy turned translucent as a glass pane. They were popular choices for the walkways of a garden around a ballroom. Arris had heard that a particularly suspicious wife in the Ulva Wylds had elected to begin her second life as a peeping myrtle, provided she was planted just outside her husband’s bedroom.
Arris had woken early this morning in anticipation of the planned kiss. It all felt rather clinical, and since he knew the whole idea was to be witnessed by everyone, he had stressed about his attire for an entire hour. He couldn’t wear white, considering that had been his sartorial opening for thestart of the tournament. He had worn copper for the first trial. Silver would look trite amongst the frost and sparkle of Rathe Castle’s winter atmosphere. Blue? No. He always looked younger in blue. Red? Far too aggressive. Yellow would make him look like a bird. He had settled, in the end, on a color he rarely wore. Black.
One would think he eschewed the hue because it might as well belong to Yvlle entirely, but Arris avoided it for a different reason: he liked it. In fact, he felt he liked it too much. When he wore black, he looked good. Older. He felt authoritative.
