Edmea clapped her hands. “Now. You want to look striking when you enter a room, Demelza. You don’t want to leave the room stricken—”
“I don’t leave the room stricken,” said Demelza.
Edmea ignored this. “We shall begin with a lesson on colors. I would ask if you are familiar with them as a concept, but judging from that yellow gown you wore the other day I am forced to assume otherwise.”
27The Lingering Legacy of Queen Vania the Vain
The new configuration of the mushroom tower allowed contestants to control their surroundings down to the knitted quality of a carpet and the design of a window. All they had to do was speak and the castle would adjust to their taste. For Ursula, it grew a kitchen and an herb garden. For Talvi, it constructed a chandelier of ice and coated the room in frost. For Edmea, the castle gilded her walls and transformed her linen sheets to silk. Zoraya’s room was essentially one large mirror. No one knew what Cordelia had done with her room, for it was now submerged in water. Demelza hadn’t altered anything about her room except for one thing:
She had removed the window.
The vine-like guardian of the residences had been perplexed. “What? Are you certain? But what about your philosophical discussions with the prince? Last time you were engaged in a rather spirited talk on whether or not magicwas evolving or disintegrating the universe, and I found it all very interesting…”
“I would actually prefer not to see the prince for a while,” Demelza had informed it.
“Ah… because he is too much a gentleman?”
Demelza did not dignify this with an answer. That night, however, she dreamt that Arris had found a way to her room anyway. He had woken her softly and apologized for not recognizing how exquisitely wonderful she was. He had a dessert in his hand, but his other hand cupped the back of her head and then he was talking about how sugar was no comparison to the sweetness of her lips…
And then Demelza had woken up.
On the second evening in a row that she had not seen Arris, Yvlle appeared in her mirror.
“I hear there was an attack,” said the princess without preamble. She wore her eye patch this evening, which meant that one of her eyeballs was rolling about the premises… spying.
“On Arris?” asked Demelza, suddenly panicked.
“No,” said Yvlle. “On one of the contestants. The Lady Edmea, I believe.”
“Oh. Yes,” said Demelza.
“I believe you saved her.”
Demelza nodded.
Yvlle raised an eyebrow. “To what end, might I ask?”
“I don’t care for underhanded victories… from anyone,”said Demelza. “Speaking of, why is Cordelia still here? Shouldn’t she have been thrown out of the competition?”
“Why? Was she caught?”
“Well, no, but Edmea—”
“Edmea’s dress was poisoned, but it could’ve been by anyone,” said Yvlle. “Why? Are you worried for Arris?”
“Should I be?” asked Demelza.
“You’re ignoring him,” said Yvlle. “To be clear, I’m not scolding, merely making an observation. I thought you’d agreed to give him a weekly report.”
“I did and I will,” said Demelza. “But it hasn’t been a week yet.”
Yvlle frowned. “True.”
“Why…? Has he… said anything?” asked Demelza.
“Should he have said anything?” asked Yvlle.
Demelza was tiring of this. The princess was sometimes coy or cruel or both, and Demelza could not discern why. Curiosity would normally keep her rooted, but today Edmea was teaching her all about hair-curling contraptions. Demelza, who was trying not to look too eager about the whole thing, had mentioned this to the other girls and somehow it had become a planned evening for everyone to fuss about with their hair in Edmea’s chamber. Edmea had been horrified.
