She is not done playing the game. She has just swapped our places.
Chapter Twenty
That evening, three violet gazeswatch Lila and me set up service in the red-draped dining room. Behind the head of the cherry table hangs the royal portrait of Wilhelm Vandorne the Uniter, founder of the Amyrian kingdom thousands of years ago. He wears an enormous black beard and a leopard-trimmed cape, the Golden Whip clutched in one hand. A giant eagle perches on his other arm, dwarfed by its owner’s massive frame. To the right is the portrait of his son, the late Gregor the Great, similarly dark-haired, wearing intricate armor, the whip now inlaid with spikes. To the left is a rosy-cheeked Maxian from his early two hundreds, lounging in a loose white tunic and holding a bitten apple. So soft and golden in comparison to his father and grandfather. A kissing king, indeed.
Next to me, Lila muddles together lavender sprigs, honey, and lemon in a goblet. Even with the array of herbs and fruits on the serving cart, the scent of oil on my skin lingers.
“To sparkle the water, you need to infuse it with your breath,” Lila says.
“My breath?”
She pours water from the carafe into the goblet. “The specialty drink has bubbles, but it isn’t fermented, it’s mixed. So I exhale into the water, infusing it with my breath.”
I scrunch up my nose. “Is that clean?”
Lila laughs. “I don’t know. And I don’t think they care. They just like the bubbles. Here, watch.”
Cupping her palms, she breathes out, and herbal magic drifts into the plane. The air in her palm shimmers, the candlelight catching its movement, and she drops it into the glass, then stirs. The water fizzes.
“Done.” She smiles, turning to me.
“How did you discover this?”
Those rich eyes, like rain-soaked clay, slide to mine, and she lifts her chin. “If they can wield their magic to destroy…why can’t I use mine to create?”
I suck in a breath. “Lila.”
“I mean it. As long as they choose to ruin, I choose to build.”
Tears prick my eyes, and I blink rapidly. “But what if they will always destroy everything we build?”
A demolished parlor. The Unluckie keening as the gold vanished from his grasp.
“Then I will always rebuild,” she says, jaw set. “If we don’t, there will be nothing.”
I pick up the cool, fizzing drink, her granular act of protest. “You are powerful,” I state.
Before she can reply, the plane stills. The door clicks open.
Lord Eli enters, dressed in a trim emerald tunic, followed by the cloaked figure of the king’s executioner, the wide hood falling to his shoulders, a stretch of skin visible behind his mask. Lila smiles, soft and natural like the rising sun. If I did not witness the transition, I would not see it for what it truly is: armor.
“Good evening, my lord.” She curtsies.
In Illusion, she would be punished for speaking first. But in the House of Reign, we are entertainers, company. Eli’s gaze flickers over Lila before landing on the set table with only three spots. The executioner retreats to a corner, arms clasped behind his back.
“Hello, Lila, Avery,” Eli says. “When will Lady Kassandra arrive?”
My throat tightens, and I curtsy. “Lady Kassandra has had too much sun today.”
“I’ll have a balm sent over.”
“My lord, would it be possible to send over a pain tonic as well? I know she suffers from a terrible headache.” I wince, knowing she will not be happy.
“I’ll let a Healer know to prepare something.”
For a moment, the coiled tension loosens from my muscles. It’s small, but it’s something.
“Are you okay, after today?”
