Let’s see how Leilani likes the bed she’s made for herself.
I’m honour-bound to ensure it’s as uncomfortable as possible.
CAUGHT IN A TRAP
LEILANI
ELVIPAUSESJUSTshy of the palace ballroom to straighten my train.
My father claims he’s hosting a banquet for the Outrealmers on the eve of our departure as a simple gesture of goodwill, to celebrate the Queen rallying after Astrophel persuaded him to allow the Xylian healers to tend her, while also marking Thawtide. But he’s hiding something, I’m sure of it. I just don’t know what. He learnt his lesson after I confronted him in the Bindery. In the moonscycle and a quarter since the council meeting, he’s kept his distance. Encouraged Astrophel to do the same. Prevented me scrying his thoughts.
I’m clad in white in accordance with Thawtide tradition. My train drapes from my shoulders, puddling like fresh snowfall on the floor behind me, the velvet shot through with silver starflowers, embroidery delicate as spider-web. A beautiful gown, but I’d give anything not to be wearing it. Not to be here.
Beware.
I stop my ears to my brandsong’s whispers, try to ignore the creeping sense of danger that chokes like a noose, but the memory of my father’s threat that I would pay for blackmailing him lingers. He always keeps his word. Always. But he hasn’t made good on that promise yet. The omission hangs over me; a dark cloud I can’t shake.
I can’t risk anything damaging the alliance I fought so hard for, and I can’t imagine how forcing the Outrealmers and the court together for an entire evening can end in anything other than disaster.
Elvi moves her attention from my train to my mantle. ‘I can’t understand any of this,’ she says. ‘Bad enough he’s sheltering traitors in the palace ahead of your tour of the realm. Did he really need to host a banquet in their honour, too?’
My stomach tightens. The whispers rise up again.
Beware. Beware. Beware.
‘The river-roach is a piece of work. Conceited little thing, though the Clanschief is smitten. Can’t keep his eyes off her – or his hands, according to the kitchen maids.’
Elvi is prattling, scarcely pausing to draw breath, her cheeks flushed with the exhilaration and indignation of it all. The arrival of the foreign delegates raised more than a few eyebrows at court. And tempers. But my plan is working. People are so desperate to stem the spread of the Sickening, they’re tolerating the idea of us touring the realm, collaborating to try and curb it. Though they’re not happy about it.
‘Any news on whether he’s planning to join us this evening – the Clanschief, I mean?’
I purse my lips. ‘I’ve heard nothing.’
‘I hope he stays away.’ Ministrations over, Elvi ushers me towards the door.
I hope Blayze stays away too. He and Astrophel locked horns again this afternoon, and my nerves can’t stand any more. I want my last night at court to pass smoothly – without incident. For the frayed threads binding the Quaternity to endure till morning.
Elvi seizes my hand. ‘You’ll be careful, won’t you? You can’t trust these Outrealmers. Promise me, you’ll be careful.’
‘If you promise to take care of my mother while I’m gone?’
Elvi squeezes my fingers. ‘Of course.’
We cross the threshold, Elvi trailing the requisite three paces behind me. Everyone’s staring. I focus on the decorations. The heady scent of starflowers.
I was a child the last time Thawtide was celebrated at court, my memories of that night hazy. Since the permafrost spread to Meissa, there’s been little reason to celebrate. The rainstorms still come, but they’re fleeting, no longer heralding the start of a true warmer growing season. My father’s terror of Flamefever only serving as added deterrent against large court gatherings. But tonight, the ballroom is a vision. My father’s isolationist policies are working to perfection – you’d scarcely believe the world outside the palace is rotting around us.
Twinkling lanterns cover every surface, strewn over tables like land-locked stars. Garlands of starflowers swag the ring of chandeliers that follow the oval of the room, creating a delicate halo of blossom and candlelight overhead. Chased silver chargers and crystal goblets sparkle at every place setting.
Heaviness settles in my chest. For all its flaws, the Crystal Court is the only home I’ve ever known and I’m leaving in the morning. I may never return.
My father and Astrophel stand in an awkward receiving line, arms clasped behind their backs, their immaculate white tunics studded with every order of chivalry they possess between them.
Talk about overegging the pudding.
My father nods at me, careful to maintain his distance. Astrophel drops a shallow bow. I take my place alongside them, standing closest to the door. Elvi’s cheeks pink as she approaches Astrophel. She lowers her gaze and lengthens her stride, bustling past to join the assembled waiting courtiers on the further side of the room. Izarius numbers among them and I’m glad of another friendly face in the room, especially since Orthriel remains in the North, delivering the Kingswrit to Lulana and Galtair, ensuring we’ll receive shelter and supplies for our onward journey.
A whisper of skirts draws my attention to the door. My mother, supported by one of her liegeladies, enters the room. She leans heavily on her walking staff and stops to embrace me. Her arms are fragile and brittle, like ice-cased twigs. Tears prick, but I blink them back. She mustn’t see how afraid I am for her.
