I dread the day she can no longer look after my sister. I sometimes worry I’ve kept her to this role too long.
“Norla,” I say. “How is she?”
Her face breaks into a warm smile. “She’s doing very well—this week. She will be happy to see you.”
This week. I wonder if that means she destroyed the crops last week.
“I’ll visit with her for a while if you’d like to fetch some dinner.”
That smile widens. “I will, thank you.” She swats me on the arm. “Your Majesty.”
I lean down and kiss her on the forehead. “You have my gratitude, as always.”
She squeezes my arm. “I know.”
Then she’s gone, and I step farther into the room.
Victoria is near the back corner, sitting cross-legged on the stone floor, wearing a simple linen dress. She has a colorful array of a hundred metal and glass tiles on the floor in front of her, and she’s arranging them in patterned lines—one of her favorite games. Her hair is lighter than mine, a golden blond, and it’s so long that it reaches her waist. When she was young and difficult, Norla used to cut it short, but when Victoria grew older, she grew to love having her hair combed. Now she’ll sit for an hour every morning, just letting someone run a brush through her tresses.
She doesn’t look up as I approach, but I know she’s already aware I’m here. Our father used to get frustrated that she wouldn’t greet him with excitement when he returned, but I figured out early on that Victoria seems to have an odd impression of time. It doesn’t matter how long we’ve been gone. As soon as we’rehere, it’s as if we’ve been here all along.
“The red and black is missing,” she says.
“No, it’s not,” I say. I drop to sit cross-legged in front of her, the tiles arrayed between us. I’m very careful not to touch any of them. “You’ll find it.”
She slides the tiles around. They’re very pretty, a mixture of thick glass and steel, forged so hot that the glass doesn’t crack, even when she drops them against the stone floor.
“Are you hungry?” I say. “It’s close to dinnertime.”
“No.”
“Norla said you’ve had a good week.”
“We went for a walk.”
“You did?” My heart thumps as I think about the wildfires that no one can stop.
“Yes.” She picks up two tiles, one blue and yellow, one green and orange. Then she smiles at me. She’s really very beautiful, and when she smiles like that, I sometimes see the young woman she might have been, if she hadn’t been birthed into tragedy.
I also think about the men who’ve dared to try convincing me that they have the skills to “help” the princess with her condition.
“We saw two butterflies,” she tells me, bouncing the tiles. “These colors.”
“Two,” I say. “That sounds very lucky.”
“Norla said one was a moth. But she was wrong.”
“Silly Norla.”
“It’s not silly. It’s ignorant.”
I snort, glad I sent the nanny away. “Vic.”
She sets down the tiles. “The red and black is missing,” she says again.
“It’s not. You’ll find it. You always do.”
She surveys the tiles, moving them carefully along the stones. “Who are they?”
