One of the stable hands took Peanut Butter’s reins then and I dismounted, shakily. My mind raced so that I didn’t even see him led off, only blindly followed the funnel of people to the square.
As soon as I was out of the footpath, I wrenched my satchel open. Lip gloss, snacks, lacy things Sorrel was probably dismayed I hadn’t made use of yet. Wild ideas spun through my head. I could use the paper and ink to make a fortune teller. No, damn it, I was supposed to be the fortune teller. Would they be impressed by the gummy bears I’d been saving? Not likely.
The first thing to do was to look presentable. I ducked inside a shop, barely noting the commodities on display as I beseeched a startled woman to please, for the love of the queen, let me change in her storeroom. The shopkeeper took pity on me, and I threw on my maroon dress and smoothed my long brown hair. A plan just barely struck me. I seized it before it could spiral away. It didn’t matter so much what it was as long as I had something to do in front of the crowd. The very worst thing would be getting up there and doingnothing.Everyone knew me as a witch’s apprentice, the woman who traveled across the seas to support the queen. I didn’t like to think what Queen Elthra would do if she discovered I was a nobody in front of the women and men she was trying to impress.
The villagers cheered as I scaled the stone steps and approached the queen. Without the usual generous amount of fabric trailing after her, she looked almost small in her armor. The metal didn’t gleam the way I had seen it in the sun, but there was a certain romantic quality to the gold under the light of the torches.
Queen Elthra didn’t turn to face me but held her hand out in my direction. I supposed I should bow over it—I didn’t think women usually kissed a female monarch’s ring—but I didn’t know for sure.
Noticing my hesitation, Queen Elthra flapped her hand at me and shot me a look out of the corner of her eye. “What does pink mean?” she hissed low enough that only I heard.
I should have expected that. I darted a panicked look at her face. Her pale cheeks were flushed and her eyes shining at her adorers despite my delay. Anyone could have heard the genuine charisma in her voice as she incited the crowd. It hardly mattered what color the mood ring was.
“Excitement, Your Grace.”
She nodded once, satisfied, and gestured me to center stage.
I stepped forward, my stomach roiling. There was nothing between me and the crowd. Shopkeepers, village officials, farmers, and children looked back, expectantly. From his spot on the lower front step, Ironclaw turned from the crowd to survey me. He wore the new sword on his back, the one with the black-wrapped handle. His customary daggers sat on his hips. His shirtsleeves were rolled down over his forearms for once and he wore a dark jerkin over his torso. He was ready for a fight in the event the evening turned.
His eyes on me were assessing—I hadn’t worn the maroon dress since we’d left Castle Creneda and the neckline was lower than anything I would have chosen for myself. I couldn’t bear to put the leather corset back on over the dress. The cut of the bust was structured enough.
For once, it seemed Ironclaw’s stern expression softened.
Oh hell.He was going to arrive at my bedroll with...expectation. It was a situation of my own doing yet with that look on his face and the sun descending, it finally felt real. I fought back a shudder. No, I couldn’t mentally deal with that right now.
I forced myself to look away. The crowd stared back.
“Greetings, Sage Ravine!” I croaked.
The crowd cheered, giving me a moment to calm my breath. Their enthusiasm was encouraging. Then it struck me. They weren’t happy to seeme. They thought I knew magic. I would probably settle in for a show too if I lived in a remote medieval village with no television.
I was acutely aware of Queen Elthra’s gaze on my back as I forced myself to speak.
“Your queen is not my own, yet I came across the Seas of Melancholy to serve your worthy leader in the fight against the Dark Mage Amédée.”
There was an impressed murmur. The Seas of Melancholy were on the edge of the map in my special edition books. To these landlocked folk, the seas might as well be on another planet.
“We need your support in our campaign”—I hoped I was using the right terminology—“and to show you why, I need a volunteer from the crowd.”
I scanned the gathering for a raised hand, squinting to see among the glowing lanterns, and found none. Not one person had put their hand up.
The air crackled as an entire village square of medieval folk gawked at me. No one moved.
Shit, they had never seen a magic show.
“A volunteer to come onstage with me,” I restated. “A brave young person to which no harm will come—ah! You there!”
A girl had tentatively lifted her hand. It wasn’t even a proper raise. She was middle school-aged, her sandy hair cut to her chin, and looked a little shocked to find her hand in the air.
I beckoned her forward.
“Yes, come forward, Brave One,” I said in some semblance of a stage voice.
As she navigated the press of people, I had a moment to search the crowd again. I spotted dark, longish hair and a serious expression. A man was talking to Draw but Draw’s attention was on me, his ear merely cocked in the man’s direction. Draw was back in his gray robes with the black sash. He smiled.
A small smile escaped me.
It was silly because I didn’t know magic and was moments away from disappointing a livid queen and crowd of villagers desperate for entertainment, but still, his eyes were on me, and I felt a thrill go through me.
