My throat is closed with rising tears, and before I can say a word, she turns and walks out, leaving me with hair styled perfectly like hers.
Chapter 74
An untethered feeling hangs heavy in the air around me. What the fuck just happened? As a surge of panic tries to rise up in me, I force it down. Now is my moment, my day, and I will not let anyone ruin it for me. What I need to do is think logically. What was Thea trying to achieve?
As much as I want to believe she was lying to me, hoping to turn me against Kyor, what would be the point? With the whiteness of her hair and the familiarity in her features, there is no denying she is Estel’s sister. And according to her, Kyor loved her, or at least made her believe that he did, and then he left her to be stripped. So what of their child? Benny had said that it had perished, but Kyor had said he was unsure if the pair had even slept together. But the evidence of their intimacy was there in the black-and-white drawing.
Is there a blue-eyed heir to the throne toddling around somewhere in one of the lower rings?
All my insecurities return, punching into me as though they never left. I cover my mouth, trying to stop myself from heaving. Was this all just a game to him? Breaking hearts, ruining lives, just because he could? No. I shake my head.
No, I know Kyor. He’s not like that.
Yet, I still feel sick. My head is in my hands when there’s a sharp knock at the door.
‘My lady, it is time we accompanied you to the ball.’
It’s the gruff maid’s voice again. Not Thea’s, of that much I’m certain.
I stand, wiping my eyes and looking at my hair in the mirror. Fucking Thea did my hair to match hers. To match the way she said Kyor liked it.
I can’t wear it like this. I reach up to braid it, but I’m interrupted before I can even begin. ‘My lady?’ The voice comes again, this time with an edge of impatience.
‘I’ll just be a minute,’ I call back, letting my hands drop from my hair.
I draw in a long breath. I wash my face, grab a hairbrush and rake it through my hair, the perfect curls gone, forced into loose waves instead. I bend my lips into something reminiscent of a smile. That will have to do.
This is about the gifted. Me, Godsdamn it all. This is my ball and I will not let my fears and insecurities ruin the victory of the moment. With a sharp inhale I push Thea’s poisonous words down into the deepest recesses of my soul. They can haunt me there another day, but not now.
Besides, everything I did was for Kay, for her future. Whatever is between Kyor and me, it has no bearing on this moment. Kay and I are free. And that is everything.
I wonder just who I’m trying to convince.
With another breath in, I tilt my chin up and open the door to the gruff-sounding maid. I have no idea how long I have kept her waiting, but rather than showing any annoyance, she offers a warm smile.
‘You look beautiful, Lady Rose,’ she says. ‘Really beautiful. I’ll escort you to the ballroom.’
‘Thank you. It’s fine though. I don’t need a chaperone.’
‘I’ll just lead you to it,’ she assures me. ‘Don’t worry. No one expects a maid to be on your arm today.’ Another smile.
I’ve never been in the Spire, so I accept her assistance, though in the end it’s a fairly straightforward walk down the steep steps, which bring me out at the bottom of the palace. Huddled by the doorway is a cluster of priestesses. I scan their faces, but none are Dinah.
‘Excuse me,’ I ask one. ‘Can you tell me if Dinah is okay? I saw her … I saw her at the end.’
The priestesses exchange a series of tight-lipped looks, and fear rolls through me. Before I can speak again, one bestoned priestess takes pity on me.
‘To be an avatar of the Gods takes much energy. Dinah will be resting for a day or two yet but is unharmed from the experience.’
‘Thank you,’ I say gratefully. There. Yet another thing to begrateful for. Dinah is well. Kay is safe. I have my magic. I am determined to count my blessings, even if I’m now unsure whether Kyor is among them.
While the escort from this point is unnecessary the maid leads me towards the ballroom, the two of us now flanked by the procession of priestesses. We approach a series of knights and their dire wolves lining the path, and unease prickles down my neck. Is it an honour guard or increased security following the previous rebel incidents?
As I walk, the knights genuflect to me as though I’m someone important. My mouth dries while my heart is suddenly racing again.
My moment of recognition – reclamation–is finally here.
‘The gifted. Lady Rose Kultavaris,’ one of the priestesses confirms imperiously to the knight on the door. As he goes to open the door and announce me, the maid takes my hand and curtsies deeply. ‘One of us,’ she whispers to me, with such pride and awe that heat prickles my eyes. She gives my hand one final squeeze and releases it before rising to her feet and striding away.
