“Fuck quiet,” Dorion snarled. “It was her, but she’s not there.”
“I would’ve expected her to at least meet our eyes. Maybe welcome us to Irridain.”
Dorion’s shoulders curled forward, and his voice dropped to almost nothing. “The old Laphira would’ve.”
“People change,” Lore said. “She lost her husband. She’s raising a child alone. Things like that can have a strong impact on a person.”
Dorion raked his fingers through his hair and started pacing, my favorite thing to do when I needed to think. Apparently his habit too. “Something’s wrong with her, and I need to find out what it is. Fix it.”
“Talk to her first, maybe,” I said. “She might not be feeling well or…I don’t know. She could’ve changed, as Lore said.”
Dorion leveled me a long look. “I know Laphira well. There’s something wrong with her.”
“There’s something wrong witheverythinghere.” I still didn’t see the point. “She’s wearing the talisman. That’s what I’m most interested in.”
Dorion growled. “I need to help Laphira.”
“You can do that while we’re here.” I strode to the door to the hall. “Meanwhile, we don’t want to be kicked out of the castle. The queen was angry we didn’t arrive earlier. No reason to be late for dinner and make her madder.”
Lore joined me, his hand on my lower back, and we stepped out into the hall, quickly making our way down to the first level with Dorion trailing behind. Farris, thankfully, remained on the sofa, though he sighed when we left the room.
On the main level, we followed the clink of cutlery and the low murmur of voices to an enormous dining room that rivaled the biggest one at Evergorne.
Every seat but three had been taken, and fortunately, the three were together.
Queen Naveer looked up, scowling, and waved her hand to the seats. “You’re trying my patience.”
“I do apologize,” Dorion said in his most courtly way. He dipped forward in a bow, and we did the same, before we strode around the table to the other side and sat, Dorion on my right, Lore on my left.
This put Dorion next to Laphira. Good. Now he could find out if anything was wrong and fix it if something was.
“Do not be late again.” Naveer flicked her hand toward a servant standing near the door to the kitchens. The womanbowed and opened the door, hurrying down a hall while calling out orders to the other staff.
I peered around at the dining room stretching on both sides and above us like a cathedral. Well, one created by someone in a fever dream. Its vaulted ceiling arched high overhead and was made of pale blue stone. The walls were a deep, veined blue that shimmered in the candlelight. Massive stained-glass windows lined the wall behind me, the colorful glass showing scenes of crowned figures with blank faces, wolves feasting as they sat at a table, and a sword plunged into the heart of someone lying on a slab of stone table. White drapes with blue flecks framed the windows.
The table that dominated the center of the room had been made of a smooth gray wood, and it stretched on and on, flanked by fifty or so lords and ladies sitting in high-backed chairs on either side. They’d dressed to look good, males wearing stiff, formal tunics embroidered with various colored threads, their chests pinned with brooches. Women wore elaborate gowns of every color imaginable, and their hair was universally coiled into braided crowns on the tops of their heads.
I’d missed hearing that I, too, should be wearing a braided crown, but no matter.
A few of the other guests smiled, though too broadly, their teeth a shade too white. Others stared, their expressions unreadable. Not a single person spoke. The rest watched us with predatory interest.
The queen didn’t rise, though I wouldn’t expect that. We were fortunate she’d allowed us to enter after her. She sat at the far end of the table, her golden crown gleaming in the lights.
The carved doors flew open, and servants bustled in, carrying trays of the first course, a chilled green soup that was placed in front of each guest. The bowls had been crafted from black glass,and each dish had been topped with three delicate petals of gold, floating in an artful display.
I thanked the servant who placed mine, though he didn’t meet my eye or respond. When I looked around the table, I found the same expression on every face outside Lore and Dorion: serene, distant, like a room full of actors waiting for their next cue.
I reached for my spoon, but something pulled my attention away before I could lift it.
A painting hung on the wall behind Queen Naveer, partially hidden by her high-backed chair. It depicted a regal woman seated on a bone-white throne carved with dark sigils. Her skin was deep brown, her expression severe, and her darker brown eyes pierced straight ahead. She wore a pink gown and a golden necklace with spikes that reminded me of jagged teeth. Her hair, coiled back in tight braids, had been threaded through with golden rings that matched the crown on her head—the crown the queen now wore.
Her resemblance to Queen Naveer was unmistakable. A grandmother or a recent ancestor, then.
I glanced down at my soup, swallowed, and forced a spoonful past the knot forming in my throat.
A few bites into my meal, the portrait drew my attention again, an irresistible pull I couldn't ignore.
The painted woman's gaze had shifted. It now stared directly at me with an intensity that made my skin crawl.
