Using magic openly in the Mirien was forbidden, so she would have to take exceptional care that no one loyal to Captain Carr saw—or else face the same gallows that had ended her mother.
Chapter
Thirty
SAINT AMICE'S DAY . . . first fire . . . a dress too fine . . . ambush at the banquet . . . a dangerous request
As a little girl, Saint Amice’s Day had always been one of Bryn’s favorite holidays. It coincided with the coming of winter, which whispered promises of spiced honey buns, warm apple cider, and lighting cozy fires in each of the castle’s fireplaces. Mir winters were mild compared to what she’d experienced in the Baersladen, but when she woke in the morning, a chill was already creeping down her room’s chimney.
A servant had laid wood for a fire the day before in anticipation of the day’s traditions. Bryn slid out from under the bedcovers and padded over to the fireplace.
“Kora yoquin,” she whispered, tracing the hex in the air.
The kindling sparked, caught flame, and in another minute, the fire was crackling.
A knock came at the door. She tightened her robe around her.
“Enter.”
Lisbeth, a quiet servant girl who couldn’t be older than eight, peeked in. Since the attack, Captain Carr had replaced most of the older servants with young ones that weren’t as much of a threat.
Lisbeth’s eyes widened to see the roaring fire. “Good morning, my lady. I came to light the Saint Amice’s Day fire, but—”
Bryn smiled. “I already took care of it, Lisbeth. Thank you.”
The servant girl twisted the doorknob anxiously as though she had more to say. “Captain Carr asked me to help you prepare yourself for the midday feast.”
Bryn brushed a few flecks of ash off her robe. “Oh, that’s all right. I can manage on my own.”
Saint Amice’s Day wasn’t one of the grander holidays in the Mirien. The first fires of the season were lit in castle and cottage hearths alike throughout the kingdom, and spiced dough balls were baked over the fires at the end of roasting sticks and dipped in mulled wine. It was an occasion for families to reflect on the upcoming quieter months of winter, not a time for grand banquets or dances.
Lisbeth’s small fingers tightened on the doorknob. “He insisted I braid your hair and dress you in a formal gown.”
A vein of suspicion ran through Bryn’s mind. Why did she need to wear a formal gown to roast dough balls over a fire?
Still, she could hardly turn Lisbeth away, which might get the girl in trouble.
“Very well. Shall I sit on the bed?”
Lisbeth looked relieved when Bryn perched on the foot of the bed. The little girl used Bryn’s silver combs to brush her hair and divide it into sections, then braided them into intricate knots that circled her head with two thick braids draping down her shoulders. Lisbeth dusted powdered rust from a tin over Bryn’s cheeks and neckline. Bryn sat patiently, trying to hidehow she picked at her fingers in her lap. It had been a long time since she’d gone through the painstakingly long process of dressing as a proper Mir lady. Before, she’d been young enough that she’d escaped the worst of it, but she had vivid memories of her mother spending the better part of a day in her chambers preparing for an evening feast.
Another knock came as Lisbeth was putting the finishing touches on Bryn’s styling.
“Enter,” Bryn called.
A teenage servant girl came in with a gown draped over her arms. “Your gown for Saint Amice’s Day, my lady.”
Bryn recognized the gown immediately. It was a shimmering gold color with white satin ribbons over the bodice and lace sleeves.
My mother’s gown.
“That gown is intended for the winter solstice,” Bryn said. “It’s too formal for this occasion. I shall wear a simple velvet one from my closet.”
The older servant girl exchanged a worried look with Lisbeth. “Captain Carr wishes for you to wear it today.”
Now, it was evident that Captain Carr had something else in mind besides roasted dough balls and mulled wine. Bryn clamped her jaw shut, looking at the dress in dread. There was only one reason he’d want her looking so formal.
“Set it there.” Bryn motioned to a chair near her dressing mirror.
