“War woman. Yeah. Think I should splash some blood over me?”
“I think I have just the thing.” He gestured to the chair I had occupied when he braided my hair, and I lifted the gown enough to sit without stretching and pulling at all the tiny snaps and clips holding it in place. When he met my eyes in the mirror, Edmund placed a small, flat folded bag on the shelf that held the pins and combs and elastics and gewgaws. He opened it and pulled out a feather. Itwas a dark gray feather that caught the light, flashing like steel. The next feather was shorter and black, and when it caught the light it glistened like a moonbow.
I frowned as he pinned both in place among the braids. “You want me to wear buzzard feathers?”
Edmund pulled out another one and pinned it as well, his lips turned up in the faintest of smiles. Then more feathers, black and gray until twelve feathers dangled to my shoulders, complementing the black dress, making me look grave, forbidding, and a lot dangerous. Pretty amazing, actually.
But. “Again.Buzzard feathers?”
“Notbuzzard. Such a coarse word for such a powerful creature. Vulture flight feathers: turkey vultures and black vultures.” His small smile spread. “They dispose of the dead.”
I burst out laughing and was still laughing when he placedle breloqueinto my hands.
“Try to place it just here”—he indicated on my forehead—“and tilted back to here, to hold the braids and give the feathers stability.”
It had come off easily.It might not grab my head anymore,I thought.
I lifted the gold laurel-leaf circlet into place and the crown of the Dark Queen snapped on tight—too tight, of course, but what else was new.
He took small hairpins with citrines, or maybe yellow diamonds, on the ends, and placed them here and there in my braids, followed by twelve more pins graced with smaller red stones. I hoped they weren’t rubies, but feared they were. I’d lose them for sure, but I didn’t argue. They made a statement.
“And now your silver weapons.” Edmund pulled thin gloves onto his fingers to protect them from the metal, and took a stake into his hands.
“You don’t need the gloves,” I said.
“No. But if Quint returns, she needn’t be made aware of that.”
“You still keep secrets, even though you’re the Emperor of Europe.”
“Mmmm. More so now, actually. As do you.”
I looked closer at the stakes as he slid them into my braids, gold and silver, engraved and patterned, each different and ornate and gorgeous. “Those aren’t mine.”
“They are my gift to you, My Queen. I had them made by a Mithran goldsmith and his human silversmith partner. The Mithran has been a master at his craft since Medieval times. The stakes are not purely decorative. Should you have to fight again someday—despite the angel’s prediction—all will know who you staked.”
He turned the chair and stepped back, assessing. “Yes. That will do.” He held out a hand and, as if I needed help to stand, I placed my left hand into his and rose to my feet. “And then there is this.” Edmund stepped into the bedroom and returned with a sheathed knife.
“Unlike the Mughal blade, this lion head kukri does not have a prophecy attached, however it is rich in history. It is said it that this blade is the original, upon which all the others are based, from the military kukri to the trinkets sold in the marketplaces. This blade is damascene, the hilt steel and gold with amber and ruby ornamentation. The eyes of the lion are golden diamonds and quite lovely. I had them valued. George added them to the insurance policy of the Dark Queen.”
“I have an insurance policy?”
He smiled slightly. “The sheath is constructed of hand-carved ebony with black silk overlay, and crisscrossed in pure hammered gold.”
He inspected my dress with its thigh-high split and said, “Pull your skirt aside.”
I’d been dressed many times by other people, but it still felt weird. I gathered the skirt and pulled it between my legs, up and away, revealing my entire leg from hip to ankle.
Edmund knelt and buckled the sheath into place, attaching its antique metal teeth, tugging the bands until it all clung in the right position. “It will likely slip if you dance, so I suggest you remove it if you—when you—dance after the coronation.” He gestured, and I dropped the skirt. He smiled and though I knew Ed would never hurt me, thatsmile was scary, the smile of a conqueror. “Yes. Look,” he commanded, pointing at the mirror.
I went to the tall mirror in the corner and pulled the two sidepieces out, giving me a three-angled view. “I look badass.”
“A warrior queen. Now,” he said, more to himself than to me. “Boots or dancing shoes?” He frowned. “I think the boots will snag on the fabric no matter what we do. So dancing shoes it is.” He placed a pair by my feet and undid the buckles. I stepped in and he buckled them for me, his hands sure and certain.
“And now your primary weapon, a weapon such as the world has never seen before. I understand that Madame Melisende provided a well-secured, padded pocket at your left side. I also understand she still grouches quite dreadfully at being forced to designpocketsin all your creations.”
I took the Glob and dropped it in. It was fairly heavy, but the dress continued to hang properly, not pulled lopsided, thanks to all the clips and snaps and stuff. I looked at myself again, Edmund behind me, both of us wearing black and expressions that were similar—considering, evaluating, assessing. I was taller, of course. Neither one of us was beautiful in any strict sense of the word. Striking, yes. Powerful, yes.
We looked good together. Standing together we could have been real royalty or maybe lovers.
