Talisa shivered and paused with one foot on the stairs. “You’ll do what you must,” she whispered in response. “And so will I.” And with stoic resolve, she started up the stairs.
Celieria City ~ The Royal Palace
When Jiarine entered the queen’s antechambers to prepare Her Majesty for the army’s departure celebration, she found Annoura’s bedchamber door firmly closed and the space outside filled with Dazzles milling uselessly about.
“What are you doing here?” she cried when she saw them. “Why aren’t you helping Her Majesty get dressed?”
“The queen has refused to let anyone enter, my lady,” one of the Dazzles explained. “She says she’s not coming out. She says she will not watch her husband ride to his death.”
Alarmed, Jiarine hurried to the bedchamber door and rapped twice.
“Go away!” a hoarse croak of a voice called from within the room. “I told you, I will not go!”
“Your Majesty, it’s Jiarine. Lady Montevero.”
Silence. Then she heard the sound of the lock twisting inside. The door swung inward a bare crack. “Only you, Jiarine. No one else.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” Jiarine shooed the other courtiers away, then slipped inside. When the door closed behind her and she turned, Jiarine was shocked by the appearance of Celieria’s beautiful and rightfully vain queen.
Annoura’s face was blotched and swollen from tears, her blue eyes so badly bloodshot her irises stood out in stark relief. With her silvery blond hair hung in a wild tangle around her face, she was the living picture of despair and inconsolable grief.
“Oh, Your Majesty,” Jiarine breathed. Never would she have believed that there was anything or anyone in the world Annoura cared for this much.
Once again, an unexpected flash of sympathy for Celieria’s queen welled up inside Jiarine. Poor Annoura. She would never know how hard the Mages of Eld had worked to bring her so low. Nor would she ever know how great a role Jiarine had played in bringing this state of affairs about.
Annoura turned away and lifted shaking hands to cover her face. The queen’s shoulders quaked and the sound of a shuddering inhalation told Jiarine a fresh torrent of tears was struggling to break free.
“What should I do?” Annoura wailed softly. “The king’s departure is in less than a bell, but I can’t let anyone see me like this.” In a softer voice, she added, “Least of all him.”
Oh, yes, there’d been a break between the royal couple. Exactly the devastating chasm Master Manza had worked so hard to orchestrate. And after her years at court, Jiarine knew Queen Annoura well enough to suspect that nothing would ever be the same between the king and queen again.
Jiarine’s thoughts churned rapidly. The queen was expected to see her husband and Celieria’s armies off to war. Dorian would not want his people to perceive a divided front. But there wasn’t enough time, short of healing magic, to repair the queen’s swollen face, painfully red eyes, and tear-splotched complexion before she was due to step out into the public eye.
Jiarine snapped her fingers. “Veils.”
Annoura lifted her head from her hands. “Veils?”
“Yes.” Feeling more confident, Jiarine nodded. “Veils. Your Majesty, it’s the perfect solution.”
She turned and hurried to the door that led into the queen’s extensive personal wardrobe chamber. Struck by the perfect, almost ironic symbolism of her idea, Jiarine went straight to a scarlet gown that Annoura had had made last year but never yet had the occasion to wear. She also fetched a neatly folded stack of sheer scarlet veils.
She brought them back into the main room and brandished them in triumph. “What better solution than to see them off just as theshei’dalinsof the Fey see off their men to war?”
Annoura recoiled at the sight of all the scarlet cloth filling Jiarine’s hands. “You think I want to look like one of…them?”
There was no time to argue. “Not red, then, white if you prefer. Blue. The color doesn’t matter, Your Majesty, only the fact that you can appear in public without anyone seeing your face and knowing how badly you’ve been hurt.”
“I…” The queen hesitated, and Jiarine could see Annoura’s pride returning. Her shoulders squared and her spine straightened. She gave her reddened eyes a final swipe and reached for the clothes in Jiarine’s hands. “You’re right. It’s the perfect solution. Come help me put this on. And hurry. We’ve only half a bell.”
Dorian looked shocked when he saw her.
It was the scarlet, Annoura decided. Jiarine had chosen well. Red was the color of theshei’dalins, but it was also the color of blood. Like the blood that would soon flow across Celieria’s northern borders. Like the blood that gushed from a mortally wounded heart.
His eyes darkened, and his brows drew together in a troubled frown. “Annoura…” He reached for her hands.
She drew them back out of his reach and clasped them at her waist. “Our people are waiting, Sire.”
His expression went blank. Not quite as stony as the Fey could manage, but close enough. “Then let us go to them, madam.” He turned and held out his arm.
