Several days after the prince recovered, mists crept over the lawns of the fortress like spreading poison.
I tightened a fur mantle around my shoulders, watching as a line of cloaked Stav Guard rode into the gates, saddles laden with pouches and bags.
They’d recovered the bones I’d seen glowing in the rotted knolls after the rank melding.
Across the courtyard, I caught the king’s gaze. It wasn’t kind; his eyes burned with something sharp and greedy. Damir dipped his chin toward me, a grin spreading.
He was pleased.
He would ask for more; he would search for more.
Let him rest.
I did not know how to end it. If I did not comply, perhaps Kael would be used against me.
If I did as the king asked, a deadly creature built in the darkness would level his blade at my throat soon enough.
“I don’t even know whereto go for a fitting.” I finished tying off the end of my braid and faced Emi, who looked less like a Stav Guard and more like one of Queen Ingir’s courtiers in the pale dress. “In Skalfirth, ladies did not get fitted for gowns. They had us—their servants—make them.”
“Your days of pricking your fingers and untangling yarn are over.”
I tossed my braid over my shoulder, inspecting my face in the mirror. Since using my craft for the king, the scars of silver in my eyes had brightened.
In truth, I rather enjoyed the times when Lady Jakobson would demand her daughters’ or her own dresses be sewn. Selena and I would sit and snicker with other women, catch up on gossip, who might be courting whom, while Kael got to go gut rancid fish and eel in the deep seas with Thorian.
I slid my palms over my hips. Fuller than they’d been back home. The hearty meals sat on my bones better than seed breads and root stews.
Emi offered me a bemused look and nudged my side with her elbow. “You’ll enjoy yourself, I swear it. The market is diverting and you could use it. These last weeks, you’ve been jolting at everything.”
“Could it be because ravagers have attacked? The prince nearly died? Feels like I brought a curse to this place.”
Emi tilted her head back and forth. “You certainly brought changes, in more soul than one. Come on, you’ll enjoy the market.”
A bit of heated panic rose like a wave from my belly to my throat. “I’ve spent most of my life avoiding strangers and folk I don’t know.”
With a gentle smile, Emi placed a hand on my arm. “I’ll be with you today. No market beginner should haggle with Margun alone, it’d be rather cruel.”
“Margun is the silk merchant?”
“I suspect she’s a troll in a woman’s body.” Emi waved a hand, erasing the thought. “She’s tricky and loves a good scheme. Cunning as she is, the woman knows how to supply this fortress with the finest of silks, yarns, and wool.”
All the ladies of the palace were to be fitted. The watchtowers blew their horns before the sun rose this morning, a signal the royal Myrdan caravan was spotted beyond the knolls and would be here by nightfall. On the morrow, Damir ordered, a celebratory feast to honor the Sentry and me would occur at the first star of dusk.
I plucked a cloak from a hook near the door and draped it over my shoulders, glancing at Emi. “Why are you in such a pleasant mood?”
Emi blew out her lips. “I am never in a foul mood.”
“Stav Nightlark,” I taunted, “only this morning you rampaged over the consistency of your pottage. I think you even insisted the cook was trying to poison you.”
Tucking a stiletto knife in her boot, Emi lifted her gaze. “Don’t let her fool you. She has it in for me. Loves Darkwin, though. His plate arrived with two additional spiced rolls.”
I snickered and stepped into the sitting chamber of my room. Truth be told, I was a tangle of thoughts. One moment, I was knotted in my stomach with excitement at the thought of leaving the inner walls of Stonegate again. Then, in the next, I did not want the crowds, the questions, the glances.
Weeks here, and…some of it I did not despise. Emi. Prince Thane. Where I thought I would hate them, I dared consider them friends. Stonegate was a force, and I feared it was drawing me in, deeper and deeper with its mystery and glamor.
Emi spoke true about SúlkaMargun. One bell toll in the market found me perched on a stool as the woman circled me, a wolf with its prey. She tapped one hooked finger against her lip.
The silk merchant was slender, with sunken cheeks, but she moved like a queen in her own shop. Margun brazenly inspected the length of my hair, my hands, my arms, my shoulders, the natural bend of my knees, all while her knuckle kept tapping her lip.
