SIXTEEN
Farah hosted lunch in the gardens. A gown had been sent to Ellina’s rooms for the occasion, along with a servant to help. The servant seemed unnecessary—Ellina had never before needed help dressing—and she was about to send the young female away. Then she got a better look at the gown.
It was pretty, Ellina supposed, made of stiff blue fabric that bunched at the waist and spilled down in thick panels. The neckline was high, the seams done in delicate gold piping. But it was the back of the dress that made Ellina pause—it had been outfitted with a hundred tiny pearl buttons marching all the way up the spine. Ellina would never be able to get into such a dress herself…or out of it.
The servant worked quietly, starting with the buttons at the bottom and moving up. Slowly, the gown tightened around Ellina’s waist. It cut into her ribs, shallowed her breathing. Ellina hated it. What had Farah been thinking, sending such an outfit? The dress was worse than a corset. She felt caged between its seams.
It occurred to Ellina that that had been the point.
The servant sensed Ellina’s frustration and began working faster. Her fingers trembled, fumbling over the buttons and loops. She glanced at Ellina in the mirror once, quickly, then away. Finally, the young female stepped back. “You look beautiful,” she said dutifully.
No, Ellina thought, she did not. Her eyes were stormy. Her skin looked pinched and pale. The shoulders of the dress were made of sheer gossamer, and a scar from an old whipping could be seen through the fabric.
Ellina knew how she really looked.
“Where is your partner?” Ellina asked abruptly, turning away from the mirror. “Servants usually work in pairs.”
“He is…gone.”
Ellina thought of the servant Youvan had blinded. She thought of the southern soldiers hunting down every last stateroom witness. She thought of her mother’s blood spilling between Farah’s hands.
The young elf must have seen Ellina’s mind because she added, “He was sent away. By Queen Farah. He was assigned a new task elsewhere.” The servant toyed with her empty hands. “He was my father.”
It struck Ellina how young this servant was. She was smaller than Ellina, with wispy white-blonde hair and wide, watery eyes. Those eyes seemed unable to settle on any one object. They flitted from Ellina, to the mirror, to the gown, to the floor, back to Ellina.
“You miss him,” Ellina said. The servant dropped her gaze and said nothing. It would be unwise to admit missing her father when the queen had been the one to order his leaving. To speak out against one was to speak ill of the other, and by now all the servants knew what happened to those who spoke ill of their new queen.
Ellina picked at the fabric of her dress. “I never knew my father. He died when I was young.”
The servant looked up. Her restless eyes seemed to settle. “I am sorry.”
Ellina shrugged. It was difficult to mourn someone she had never truly known. Her mother’s bondmate had been chosen for political purposes rather than for love, as was typical. Bondmates did not hold a seat on the queen’s council and were rarely qualified to enter the senate. Their sole purpose was to produce heirs, and once they had done that they were often given leave to return home. Had Ellina’s father lived, it was possible that she would not have known him anyway.
“Tell me your name,” Ellina said to the servant.
“It is Livila.”
“Livila,” Ellina repeated. “Will your father return soon?”
“I do not think it will be soon. But one day.”
Ellina’s smile was light. “Then you have something to look forward to.”
???
The highlanders were pushed into the pit one by one.
Venick, alongside seven of their strongest elves, watched from the nearby woods. The lowland soldiers had prepared the pit the night before, crisscrossing thick logs at its bottom, weaving smaller fronds and dried seaweed in between to help the fire catch. Now those soldiers stood at the pit’s steep edge, a torch in each of their hands, waiting for the moment when the highlanders had all been shoved down and they could throw their torches down with them. The kindling would catch. The logs would. And finally, the highlanders.It’s better, you see, because it takes longer.
Townspeople gathered in the field outside the city to watch. The women chatted, the men grinning and knocking elbows as if this was a wedding rather than an execution. Bets were being made, Venick had heard, on which highlander would survive the longest.
The three male prisoners were thrown into the pit first. They struggled, straining against their captors, digging in their heels. The woman came next, and she struggled most of all. One of the soldiers laughed. The sound was strangely lighthearted, as if her panic was a private joke shared between them. He slapped her across the face and shoved her down with the rest.
The townspeople pushed closer. They leered over the pit’s edge. They weren’t worried for themselves—the hole was too deep for the highlanders to climb back out, or for fire to pose them any danger.
Usually.
Last night, Venick had asked for volunteers. Several elves had come forward, including Rahven, who seemed eager to make himself useful. “In thanks for all that you have done for me.”
