A trumpet sounded, and Jerrald looked over his shoulder, already walking, Omar shielded under one arm. “Well?” he said exasperated. “Come on.”
Chapter Four: Knife at the Throat
An hour later, I willedmyself not to fidget in the grand room in which I found myself. I had changed back into the maroon dress, though I left the leather corset in my bag. I’d done little more to my windswept hair than smooth it down and back. My face felt puffy from so much sun and wind, my stomach growled despite finishing off my water bottle, and I was tired after a walk in descending darkness in unfamiliar boots. To be summoned in front of a dais with a crowd at my back was too much. Regardless, I straightened my spine.
If there was ever a character in theLandsome Roadsworld that I never wanted to meet, it was her.
She looked down at me, her icy-blond hair perfectly wound in an elaborate spiral around her head, a blue jewel at her throat, shoulders bare. Her gown was elaborate, the excess fabric arrayed in a sweeping waterfall at her feet. She seemed completely at ease upon the dais of a beautiful, firelit room, her whole court standing, facing her, with me in between. And now I could see why Sherry Whitehorse always wrote about her eyes. They were a brilliant blue with dark, full lashes—and were currently pointed in my direction with disdain.
“If she’s not a witch, then what is she?” Queen Elthra, fourth of her name, Regal Protectress of Landsome, contemplated me with a tilt of her head.
I opened my mouth, but Jerrald stepped on my foot, crushing it to the flagstone floor.
The crowd stirred and a wizened old woman brought my bag forward. The elder squinted at the make of the bag. “Never seen stitching like this, Your Grace. The elves are no more in Landsome, and besides, they would thread from drips of honey, whereas this stitching is brown.” She tsked and squinted harder. “Whoever made this used a finely forged metal to clasp it shut, like a lock on a door. I deduced how to open it though.” I huffed as she undid the clasps and my flower crown fell to the ground. The hunting clothes slithered after it. “There,” her cracked voice rang out, “her secrets are open to us, Your Grace.”
Queen Elthra sat a little straighter as she tried to peer into the bag without going down there herself.
“More bags!” the wizened voice exclaimed. She snapped her fingers and a small boy rushed forward. The two of them struggled for a moment to identify the zippers and make use of them. I knew they were successful when a buzzing zip announced itself loudly.
Someone in the crowd gasped.
“Quiet!” the queen commanded, but she was breathless too. “What’s in there? Tell me at once. Dark artifacts?”
The old woman—who I was beginning to have quite negative feelings toward, all things considered—held aloft a pair of black underthings prescribed by Sorrel. My face reddened.
It seemed I did not have to worry though.
“Lace handkerchiefs, Your Grace.” The woman nodded sagely.
The boy unzipped another pouch and held it up for her examination.
“Eh? Oh, and parchment and such. Possibly she stole the bag—the craftsmanship is too fine to belong to a stray girl alone on the road—look at her.” The old woman let my bag drop to the ground and turned her attention on me. “She’s not beautiful enough to be a witch. Why would she not have ensorcelled those thick eyebrows?”
I opened my mouth, but shut it before Jerrald could elbow me.
“And she’s not a warrior,” the queen summarized thoughtfully. She waved a lazy hand and the boy started to right my bag, but the old woman made a noise of impatience and shoveled everything inside.
