Edmea smiled.
One by one, the contestants exited the tent to the grand ballroom that awaited them. Earlier an attendant had told her to hang back… she was the victor, after all. If she went before anyone else, she would steal their spotlight. Demelza wasn’t quite sure where she should stand. Near the back? Stay at her podium? As she was deliberating what to do with herself, Zoraya marched up to her. She was tear stricken and her face was puffy from weeping.
“You don’t even love him!” said Zoraya angrily. “You will never know him as I do! Only I know how the prince spends his evenings pining for true love!”
Demelza stood there, shocked.Actually, he spends them puttering around in a kitchen…
“I’m the one who knows that his favorite color is green—”
It’s yellow.
“We have matching shoes, you know—that means that he always intended for us to walk the same path,” said Zoraya. “He wears them all the time.”
He is almost always barefoot.
“So just think on that,” said Zoraya in a final huff. “Think of how well you know him!” She took a deep breath. “Know that you have stolen my happiness, Demelza. For the rest of my days I shall see his face… that wave of chestnut hair, those dark eyes… the dimple on the right side of his face.”
Finally, Demelza found her voice:
“His dimple is on the left.”
Zoraya drew in a shuddering breath and stalked off.
Alone, Demelza had no choice but to face the storm of her own thoughts. Won. She had won. She had won the whole tournament.
She closed her eyes, replaying how it had felt to walk into the tent, to feel the glow of a thousand gazes lavishing her with not simply attention… but admiration. It was like gasping for air after years spent holding one’s breath.
But now what? Now she would become queen? Now she would be a bride?
All her life, Demelza had been taught to fear love and marriage. Her mother always spoke of love as a trap, for with love came the winged key that controlled a veritas swan for all eternity. It had taken a while for Demelza to find Arris a danger to her, but even once she realized that danger, nothing had come of it. No wings had shot out of her back. No feathers appeared on her sheets. Maybe what she thought had been a wingless, cursed existence had in fact been a blessing. Maybe alone of her sisters, Demelza could wed and love without fear…
Something rustled behind her. Demelza turned, full offoolish hope. She wondered if she had summoned him. The figure stepped into the light.
Cordelia.
“Hello little bird,” said the Famishing maiden.
“Hello,” said Demelza. Instinctively, she stepped backward. Cordelia looked the same. Her skin was bright as a sapphire. Her hair was held back by elaborate ropes of seashells no bigger than one’s thumbnail. Her dress looked like pearl nacre, with ballooning sleeves and a high waistline that made the whole effect sweet. Childish, even.
It did not match her face.
There was a red gleam in her eyes. Her lips looked rusted. And when she tilted her head to look at Demelza, it reminded her of an eel stalking prey.
“You have won. You have my congratulations,” said Cordelia, her voice flat. “But that means I have lost… and I cannot return home empty-handed…”
Demelza swallowed. “What do you want from me? The assurance that I will give your father’s kingdom favorable taxes? Some sort of palace recognition?”
Cordelia laughed. “No, no… I wouldn’t resort to bribing. You would be treasure enough—”
“But I—”
“I figured out what you are… a veritas swan, yes?”
Demelza was too shocked to answer and Cordelia’s grin widened.
“You’d be powerful alive… but dead? Well, then you’d be a treasure,” said Cordelia.
Cordelia lunged at her. Demelza feinted left beforedarting beneath the girl’s outstretched arm. Her amethyst gown was heavier than she expected and when Cordelia stamped on her hem, Demelza went sprawling.
