My body feels sluggish as it recovers. The one thing I know is that my magic works fine inside my body.
Vaguely, I remember Roshan being here at one point, sitting on the bed, his beautiful eyes glossed over with regret and contrition. But I can’t trust myself or my memories when it comes to him, not anymore. What if I’d imagined his presence, his tender words? Fabricated his sorrowful apologies? All out of self-preservation?
I’m so sorry, my starling...
It’s not for too much longer...
Do you hate me? Please don’t hate me...
I love you, Sura.
The last one burns like an open wound, because thisisn’tlove. It’s like dealing with two different entities occupying the same body: the man I chose to give my heart to and the tyrant king who stole my magic.
Easing out of bed, I hurry into the bathing room and wash the horrors of the last few days and nights from my skin. But like my invisible scars, they’re imprinted on me forever. Every face, every plea, every scream, every sob. The water sluices over my hated bracers, and I curse them over and over. Even the simurgh inside of me has gone quiet, cowed into submission.
I no longer recognize myself.
When I’m dried and wrapped in a soft robe, I sit and accept the meal that has been delivered by the handmaidens. They all keep their eyes downcast and hurry out of the room.
The food smells delicious: flaky bread, creamy spinach, tender cuts of lamb. But it all tastes of dust in my mouth. Accustomed to being alone, I eat methodically, simply to fuel my body. Food is no longer a pleasure to savor; it’s a necessity. If I ever get the opportunity to escape, I need to be strong to be able to take it.
A knock on the door makes me glance up.
“Enter,” I say, wondering if I’m being summoned by the king for more coerced theatrics.
“Lady Suraya?” a feminine voice asks before a head of glossy auburn hair pokes around the doorjamb. It should concern me that it’s relief I feel at the sight of Helena, but I’m so deprived of company that even my old nemesis is a welcome distraction. “Are you busy?”
“No, please come in. I’m nearly finished eating. And it’s Suraya.”
She enters slowly. She’s wearing an elegant formal ensemble that fits her lean, athletic frame like a glove. The sheer emerald-green silk and jeweled stomacher complement her pale complexion, falling in delicate waves to the floor. “Supper just ended in the dining room. I escaped after the last course before the dancing begins.”
My heart squeezes at the memory of the last ball and the dance Roshan and I had shared. It seems surreal, as if it had happened in a dream.
“There’s a ball?” I ask, my voice emerging like gravel, though if I’m being honest I have no desire to attend any court functions.
Helena nods as she sits on the edge of the sofa and folds her hands into her lap. “The aldermen from all the houses are here to celebrate the new peace agreement.”
I straighten with interest, hope blooming like a fragile flower that I might get to go home sooner rather than later. “Peace agreement?”
“One that covers local taxes, trading routes, and concessions for land, as well as how to address disputes without bloodshed,” she says. “And they’re discussing a courting ball.”
She ducks her face as if embarrassed, which doesn’t fool me in the least.
“Courting ball?” I echo, brows rising.
Helena’s cheeks go a disarming shade of pink. “Potential bridal propositions for marriage to the king... if yours is off the table. It’s political, you understand. The aldermen are insistent that the king needs to cement his position with the houses.”
I want to roll my eyes. If I had a gold coin every time an alderman thought something was good for the Imperial House, I would be a very rich woman. They’re all angling to get one of their own on the throne and solidify theirownpositions, not that of the king. Before I had any claim to Roshan, I’d been deeply aware of their political games. Though as the Starkeeper none of them could belittle me on the matter of nobility of birth—I outrank them all.
But now... I suppose things are different.
Everyone must now know that the king and I are... estranged. Perhaps even that I am little more than a glorified captive. Gossip is coveted currency in the capital city. Knowledge of my magical bracers and being locked in my bedchamber by the king himself would have reached every corner of Oryndhr, so no wonder the houses are scurrying to present a replacement future queen from one of their ranks.
In the past, I would have thought that Helena was telling me only to unsettle me or to drive a wedge between Roshan and me—but the king of Oryndhr has done that quite effectively on his own. I’m so numb from all the betrayals that I feel nothing at Helena’s coy revelation. No sorrow, no jealousy, no bitterness. I feel strangely hollow, but the king has never owed me anything beyond reciprocation of my feelings. And the truth is, despite sharing his dreams of a future together, he’d never taken any formal steps toward a betrothal.
“That makes sense,” I say eventually.
Helena frowns as if she’d almost expected me to burst into sobs or rage and make a scene. But I merely tuck my feet up on the chair under my robe and continue to finish my meal.
