I sigh and immediately regret it, as Philippa takes the opportunity to cinch me tighter while my breath is expelled. “What if Iwantto discourage one or two of them? Or all of them for that matter?”
My lady coolly pretends not to have heard. I find it difficult to read her expressions. That careful mask of manners she assumes so naturally is an effective defense, one I could no doubt benefit from myself, if only I could learn the knack of it. “You must take particular care not to speak to Prince Valtar until you have spoken to each of the others. Preferably, you should dance with them first as well. He will no doubt be wearing your colors tonight for all to see, and tensions will be high.”
“Surely he won’t though,” I protest. “I told you, I didn’tbestowmy colors on him, not in any actualbestowingsort of sense. It was a bandage, nothing more. He knows as much. He’s not going to go flaunting it about.” The idea of Valtar flaunting anything under any circumstances is so laughable, I have to suppress a giggle.
Philippa gives me a severe look. “It is a sign of victory won—the victory of securing your regard, even if only for an evening. He will display it prominently.”
“What a crock of nonsense,” I whisper, but not loud enough for Philippa to hear, or at least, not loud enough for her to deem me worth answering. She pats my shoulder, and I turn slowly, allowing her a last inspection of her handiwork. The shimmering gown is as heavy and ornate as all the others, with a plunging V bodice trimmed with delicate pearl beadwork in little starburst patterns. My hair is pinned to create a deceptively natural-looking fall of shining curls, and the sleeves drape in such a way to disguise my burns. I must give Philippa her dues—I look spectacular. That is to say, I am nothing if not a spectacle.
While my lady turns to pick up the assorted bric-a-brac left over from her efforts, I take the opportunity to slip over to the table where the gremler’s nest-globe sits. The gremler pricks up its little ears, nose twitching, and offers a squeak of greeting as I peer down at it through the small opening. “No luck today,” Iwhisper. “I wanted to slip away, to find somewhere we could go, but…” I shrug one shoulder. The day passed as all days here in Stromin Palace have before it: with a carefully regimented schedule, guards tailing my every footstep, and no opportunity to so much as breathe on my own save a few spare moments stolen in the privy. After spending all day in the library with Master Gormon, my hopes of inventing and implementing some daring escape between now and tomorrow’s trial have faded to nothing.
“Don’t worry though,” I add, slipping my hand into the globe to rub the top of the gremler’s head, taking care not to touch the scabbed-over wound. “I’m going to figure out something. Wait and see. Meanwhile, I’ll bring you back a treat from the banquet.”
Within a few minutes, Captain Norlan and the rest of my escort arrive to take me to the banquet hall. While it might be wishful thinking, I believe I could navigate my way through the twisting passages without their assistance. I’m growing more and more familiar with the layout of the palace, slowly but surely adding to my own mental map of its intricacies.
The banquet hall itself feels empty compared to two nights ago. The delegates from the various kingdoms are not present. The champions alone stand together below the dais, dressed in their finest and prepared to make themselves pleasing. Only four champions, however. Valtar is not with them.
My heart does something shivery in my breast before dropping to my stomach. Perhaps I shouldn’t have told him that the championship was all for nothing. Perhaps, knowing I did not intend to remain, he decided not to bother staying on at all. Have I lost my only ally? But no, surely King Alderin would not allow a champion to simply quit partway through and leave Stromin Palace. If nothing else, it would compromise the secrecy of this whole endeavor.
“Princess Roselle.”
The king appears behind me, emerging from the shadows of the passage into thescintillight. Unlike me, he is not accompanied by a pack of trailing guardsmen. Instead he is armed with a sword, which he wears in a scabbard hanging from a bejeweled girdle. Other than the guards, I’ve not seen weapons openly displayed since coming to this place. It takes me rather by surprise.
“Allow me, Princess,” the king says, offering his arm. It is so strange, so surreal. Little more than a month ago, I would never have dreamed that someone like me—Rosie Harpwood of Gartsworth Village—would be standing in a place like this, before a man like this, being offered his arm of all things! I’ve little choice but to accept, resting my fingers lightly against his sleeve.
He glides into the vaulted hall, head high and shoulders back. The four champions turn to watch us, their gazes strangely hungry. The king leads me directly to the four of them, and they bow low. Am I supposed to curtsy? I make a little bob, which feels both too much and too little simultaneously.
“Tonight,” Alderin says, “you shall enjoy the company of your champions without the pressure of observing eyes. I shall remain on hand, of course, but you are free to dance and make merry as you like.” He indicates the banquet table, once more spread with delicacies and drinks. Then he snaps his fingers, and the musicians hidden in the gallery strike up a lively dance tune. Overhead, thescintilssuddenly burst into an array of various colors, filling the hall with otherworldly ambiance. It takes a great deal of magic forscintilsto burn anything other than clear white; Alderin is sparing no expense for these banquets of his.
I don’t have time to dwell on such thoughts, however. No sooner does Alderin slip away from my side and move to take his seat on the dais throne above us than the four princes swarm melike bees to a flower. Taigan, naturally, pushes himself to the forefront, and I’m just bracing myself against his forceful “Princess, may I have this—” when a hand slips around my waist and pulls me abruptly to one side. A dizzying whirl, and I find myself face-to-face with Prince Warrick.
“May I have this dance, Princess?” he asks in a smooth, deep voice even as he draws me out onto the dance floor and away from the other three. It’s so unexpected, I cannot stop the surprised giggle that forces its way to my lips. I rather hate myself for uttering such a sound in the presence of this tall, serious man. He must think me a burbling idiot! But regardless, he moves me into the pattern of dance steps, keeping time with surprising alacrity.
“I didn’t realize you could dance,” I blurt, and immediately wish I could take it back.
Warrick merely smiles, however. “While there may be some debate on that topic,” he says, turning me smoothly in a swish of velvet skirts, “I like to think I dance rather well, actually.”
I flush. After all, having seen him perform so admirably in the first trial, why should I be surprised at his unexpected grace on the dance floor? For he does dance very well. Possibly the best of any of the champions, judging by my own limited experience. The melody is swift and requires some intricate steps to keep up with it, but while Warrick is perhaps a bit stiff due to his injury, he manages with both style and flair. Perhaps I should not be so quick to make assumptions.
I look over his shoulder as he moves me through the pattern, catching glimpses of the other champions. Lacking anything better to do, they stand as far apart from each other as they can manage, all glaring out at the two of us on the dance floor. Taigan looks especially gloomy, despite the gleam of coloredscintillight in his hair. Elis’s scowl vanishes the instant he catches my eye,replaced by a roguish half smile that sends me blushing all over again, blast him. Rune stands opposite him on the floor, straight and still, his attention fixed on me like I’m a puzzle to be solved.
And still no sign of Valtar anywhere.
I’m not disappointed. I refuse to let myself be disappointed. It’s not as though I spent all day looking forward to seeing him again…wondering if he’s thinking about me or planning to wear my colors. It’s not as though I anticipated dancing with him or talking with him or telling him about my near miss with Prince Taigan earlier today. I scarcely thought of him at all…because anytime hedidcome to mind, I firmly dismissed the thought as not worth thinking and focused my attention elsewhere. Which is why I’m not disappointed now. I’m just confused. Nothing more.
“Your mind is not on the dance, Princess.”
I startle at Warrick’s voice. “Sorry.” My lips remain parted, prepared to offer some further excuse. Only nothing comes to mind.
Warrick shakes his head gently. “No need to apologize. You must have a great deal on your mind. The weight of the world rests on your shoulders.”
I wince. “You have no idea.”
“Actually, perhaps I do.” He smiles then, but somehow, the expression only makes the sorrow in his eyes deepen. “It is, after all, my responsibility to protect Anfalen from the ills of the world. You were raised there, were you not?”
“Yes,” I acknowledge. “In Gartsworth, beside Inamaer Forest.”
“I know the area,” he says. “A beautiful part of the world. Perhaps, indeed, the most beautiful. As yet untouched by dracori flame.” He tilts his head, forcing me to meet his gaze. “But that does not mean the dracori will not reach it. And soon. All that isgood and green will be scorched by Mhoryga’s fire. It is only a matter of time.”
