“Yes, and I dashed that dream,” Florence acknowledged. “But I offer you another: I would like to apprentice you, Lady Alana. With your permission, I would follow you to the court at Altaigne and train you in the craft.”
I released a bitter laugh. “Crazy woman; you’d see us both burned.”
“No one but the prince need know,” Florence countered. “I understand that Prince Nicolas has a number of enemies, some ofwhom have already threatened your life, have they not? You have more power than you realize, my lady. If you must be bound to a life of forced sovereignty, surely you would prefer an advantage over your political opponents.”
“You’re asking if I would study the same magic that cursed me to silence?”
“Yes, I am.”
Stunned by the audacious suggestion, I could only gape. Florence took my silence as an opportunity.
“Consider it carefully. You’ll be in Hadria for several days, so think on my offer, and tell no one, not even the prince. I wouldn’t want your decision influenced by his pressure.”
I held my tongue, gaze shifting from Florence to the Lord of Night. His expression was changed somehow, surely a trick of light and shadow. Where before He appeared carved in woe, now He was merely curious.
The weight of my situation pressed down upon me: Percy’s recovery, the risk of his poisoning being exposed, the constant threat of my curse’s discovery, and the prince’s unknown enemies undoubtedly circling like vultures for their own attacks of opportunity. I thought of the assailant in my chambers, the helplessness I felt. Here was Florence, offering the means to protect myself, to become something more than an observer and victim.
“You’re right,” I said quietly, meeting Florence’s eyes with newfound resolve. “I accept your offer.”
Her smile was radiant. “I’ll make arrangements to accompany you back to Gallae under the guise of a second lady-in-waiting. No one will suspect a thing.”
To embrace the very thing that kept me in isolation for all those years might be a terrible move to make, but I had little choice. The alternative was to remain meek, to depend forever on others for my protection, forever living in fear of discovery and death. This was the only means of securing control over my own fate.
“You asked what I see when I look upon the statue,” I said, voice dropping to a whisper as I took one last glance at the carved faces. “What do you see?”
Florence grinned. “The Lord smiles upon me. Soon, He shall do the same for you.”
The dining hall in the palace was far larger than the one within Castle Altaigne, and it accommodated many more guests. Atop a tiered dais were three tables of honor. I sat at the left end of the center table, beside Nicolas. Next to him was Lord Marius, and Viscount Quinn took the other end. We had an unblemished view of the entire chamber: each of my handmaidens and Winnie sat at one table, Marquis Trefor at another, all mingling with the people who livened Pontarena. There was even a table for servants and guards, whose invitation to dine alongside the nobility was enlightening. I wondered why it was not so in Gallae.
Throughout the evening, I also observed the easy affection displayed by the Hadrians around me. Lord Marius’ daughter kissed her father’s cheeks when she arrived, then embraced her friends with genuine warmth when they stopped by to chat; even the servants exchanged brief touches on shoulders and arms as they served. The contrast to Gallae was striking here, where physical affection seemed as natural as breathing. The easy intimacy of it all made my heart ache with longing. Winnie and Angharad had been the only people besides my parents to ever hold me in affectionate embrace.
To my left, the rest of the Costa family and a few other high-ranking nobles all sat, their chatter far livelier than the reserved nature of the Callan-Montford family tree. On that note, noisy conversations and laughter filled the entire hall. The only quiet table was the one to my right, which seated seven Maitres, each distinguished by their deep black garments. They passed occasional whispers, but mostly observed the rest of the room; Maitre Florence spared me a single warm glance, but made no show of our earlier agreement.
A feast of seafood and local specialties was set out before us, all served with a chilled, spiced wine. Absolutely nothing was familiar on my plate, and as I gawked at what appeared to be a seashell filled with mucus, I gave the prince an uncertain look.
Nicolas smiled, lifting one from his own plate, and slurped it up without issue. My face scrunched at the assaulting vision. “They’re only oysters, Alana. Won’t you try one?”
Leaning forward, I watched with horror as Quinn downed the shellfish, then proceeded to take some large aquatic insect, snap it in half, and slurp out its innards. Below, a smitten Miss Sofia watched with dreamy eyes. She was deranged.
I hesitantly tried the oyster, pleased enough by the taste but struggling to overcome my gag reflex as I went to swallow it. I covered my mouth, forcing it down with all my willpower, then followed it up with several mouthfuls of steaming rice. Even that had an odd taste to it, like saffron and fish.
Taking pity on me, Nicolas offered a date from his fork. I inhaled it with relief, unwittingly drawing in his scent. He smelled of women’s perfume and sweat, though only weakly, as if he’d tried to wash it away. I swallowed, frowning and lowering my gaze to the assortment with mounting distaste.
The meal dragged on for hours. Even after everyone finished eating, they continued to loiter. A man stood from the furthest table, approaching the middle of the room. He wore a strange hat adorned with fluffy pink feathers, and his mustache was groomed in such a way that it stuck out like the whiskers of a cat. I was still getting my bearings on what constitutedstrange,but by the squint in Nicolas’ gaze, I could tell he was unusual.
The room fell into a respectful quiet as he introduced himself. He began his act in short order, taking three oranges from a bowl and juggling them about. My head tilted in interest.
A small applause followed and he came nearer to the prince, snatching another fruit straight from his plate. Nicolas raised his brow, but allowed it, and the strange man somehow kept of four oranges in the air, and when that lost its effect, he traded the fruits out for dinner plates, then glassware. As his act concluded, he bowed and let every chalice crash on the floor. A roar of approval echoed throughout the dining hall.
The funny man went around the room next, delivering jokes and rhymes at everyone’s expense. His comedy brought about an impossible sense of equality; he went right up Lord Marius and mocked his obesity right to his face, but because he spoke it inclever limerick, the room fell into riotous laughter. Even the insulted lord banged his fist on the table with mirthful convulsions. I kept my mouth covered, laughing into it so none could hear, but the prince watched me with particular fondness.
“Do you enjoy this sort of thing?” he asked.
I managed a nod. It was definitely a welcome break from the sober halls of Gallae.
Nicolas smiled. “Perhaps we’re due for some changes at home.”
The comedian moved on to another table, all eyes drawn to him. I took that opportunity to lean close to the prince. Emboldened by the Hadrian custom, I planted a kiss upon his cheek in the local fashion.
