“Don’t like it?” Lore asked, his thigh brushing mine.
“I’m not hungry.” It was only partially true. Good food, I could eat. But this felt tainted. Everything about Irridain Court unsettled me in a way I couldn’t explain, and it wasn’t only the queen’stwisted sense of justice. This place had a veneer of beauty, but something nasty festered beneath.
I tugged my gaze from the portrait, where the woman’s eyes and mouth hadnotmoved, and directed my attention to Laphira.
She hadn't even shifted since we'd sat down. Not a gesture, a glance, or even the natural fidgeting that comes with being human.
The princess’s hands rested on the table on either side of her plate. Her gown hugged her slender body, and she’d arranged her dark hair on her head like all the other women, in a braided crown. Her head was tilted back slightly as if she was studying the chandelier above, the one I only now noted had been constructed of grotesque, waxen skulls laid out in a broad ring with thick, cream-colored candles mounted on the top of each head.
At first, I thought she was admiring the monstrous structure. Then I realized she wasn’t looking at it at all, just facing in its direction, her gaze unblinking.
A servant appeared at her elbow with a bottle of wine, ready to refill her goblet that appeared untouched. The instant the bottle tilted, Laphira sucked in a breath. Her shoulders tensed, and her hands twitched on the table. For an instant, her serenity cracked. She smiled, the movement almost mechanical, like a doll being directed by a child.
Her mother’s slick smile rose, and when I met her eyes, she winked.
Chills wracked through my frame while the servant bowed and slipped away.
Dorion leaned closer to me, keeping his voice low. “It’s Laphira, but I don’t understand. She hasn’t said a thing to me, no matter what I say.”
Pain flickered across his face as he watched her. His fingers drummed against his plate in a nervousrhythm.
“Maybe she isn’t feeling well. She might not want to talk to a stranger.”
“I’ve said all sorts of things, ones that in the past might make her laugh. I’ve even insulted her, but she hasn’t responded.”
Leaning forward slightly, I studied her while she continued to stare at the chandelier.
“Laphira?” he said softly. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
She didn’t react. Didn’t turn his way.
Dorion’s jaw clenched. His hand rose, hovering in the air as if he was going to touch her shoulder but couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. He drew back, his hand dropping back onto his thigh.
“She’s too kind to ignore someone,” he whispered.
Yet she was. Perhaps shehadchanged.
Movement above caught my eye. The chandelier swayed, though no breeze stirred the air.
The candle flames flickered in unison, then steadied. But something was wrong with the wax. Instead of normal dripping, thick drops formed in the eye sockets of each skull.
They drizzled down the skeletal cheekbones like tears.
My breath caught as the waxy drops hit and pooled on the golden ring below.
The skulls were weeping.
Then a drop flew wide, hitting the stone wall behind a woman wearing a pale green gown. She didn’t appear to notice. No one else looked up from their conversation or meal.
Another drop arced toward me, landing on the back of my hand lying on the table.
I hissed and yanked my hand close, pressing my napkin against my skin. When I pulled the napkin away, the hot wax had left a red welt.
I looked back up, and horror crawled up my spine.
Every skull had Laphira's face. Dozens of her stared down with that same vacant expression. The carved features were perfect, from her delicate nose, the arch of her brows, to the intricate braids of her hair formed in waxy detail.
A room full of the princess's severed heads watched us dine.
