Now Verin is in front of me, and she throws a fist into her palm, then nods. “You strike well, too,” she says. “When Nora comes to find me, you should join her.”
CHAPTER 12
CALLYN
The following day, when little Princess Sinna is taken for her lessons, servants deliver trunks of clothes for me and Nora. With wide eyes, we watch them sort through everything. Breeches and tunics and vests, along with boots and belts and gloves—more clothes than we could wear in a week.
They’re working with such a cool efficiency that I don’t want to disrupt it, but this can’t all be for us.
“I’m sorry,” I say carefully. “What . . . ?what are these for?”
An older man who’s hanging tunics in the wardrobe says, “By order from the queen’s sister. She says you can find her in the arena when you’re dressed and ready.”
Well then.
I think of my mother and how she died on the battlefield. I have to rub a hand over her pendant again.
That just reminds me of Alek telling me of the pendant’s origins, and I yank my hand down.
Callyn. You’re here. Are you well?
His voice was so rough and startled. I wish I understood the emotion in his eyes.
But there sure wasn’t any misunderstanding the threat in his voice when Nora was clawing at him.Get her off of me or I’ll be forced to do it myself.
My knuckles still ache from punching him, and I remember the wounded look on his face. I simultaneously regret it and wish I’d done it harder.
I hate that I keep thinking about him.
Nora all but attacks the clothes when the servants are gone. She presses a pair of calfskin breeches to her cheek. “Oh, Cally-cal. Have you ever felt anything sosoft?” She gasps and seizes a boot. “I hope they fit.”
I think of every other piece of finery we’ve been offered since we first set foot in the palace. “They’ll fit.”
She’s already peeling off her skirts. “Hurry. I think she’s waiting. What do you think she’ll teach us?”
I have no idea. Verin is terrifying in her own way. She plucked Nora off Alek as if my sisterwasa little cat.
You strike well, she said. I keep hearing the words in my head, turning them over and over like they could mean something different each time. I can’t remember the last time anyone ever complimented me on any kind ofphysicalprowess. My meat pies and sweetcakes, sure. Punching Alek in the face? That was more instinct.
“Comeon,” Nora urges as she throws a boot at me.
I sigh and stand to unlace my skirts.
I haven’t worn trousers in years. Nora hasn’t either. Even with barn chores, skirts were always more practical in the bakery: easy to mend, easy to layer in the winter, easy to stitch pockets wherever I needed them. I’ve never longed for anything different.
When we’re dressed, Nora stands before a mirror, turning this way and that. She’s chosen breeches the color of willow bark and a vest dyed a richer blue than I’ve ever seen. Black boots lace all the way to her knees. “I don’t ever want to wear skirtsagain,” she sighs.
I can’t help staring at her. The boots make her legs look ten miles long, and the vest reveals curves that I didn’t realize were beginning to appear. Somewhere along the line she’s grown another few inches, too. I’m so used to her being . . . ?well,Nora, that I somehow forgot to notice that childhood was slipping away.
I blink, and my thoughts replay the moment that soldier thrust a sword through her body. I’ll never be able to forget the choking sound she made. Sudden emotion grips my throat, and I step forward and wrap my arms around her.
Nora yips. “Cally-cal! What—”
But my breath hitches, and she breaks off with a sigh. She hugs me back, pressing her face into my shoulder for longer than I expect.
Eventually she whispers, “It’s your monthly time, hmm?”
I jerk back. “Clouds above, Nora!”
