“How was your stay in Fyreglade?” she asked, unbothered. “I hear your father refuses to return home. A shame, really. An empty house should belong to someone who will make use of it.”
Her smile thinned.
“You could live there—if you were to finally marry.”
Her tone turned honeyed.
“A woman your age, unwed… it begins to look unbecoming.”
Amerei didn’t flinch.
Zeporah leaned forward.
“I have shielded you from whispers in these halls, child, but Elváliev’s court would not be so kind. You must think carefully about your place.”
Her gaze cut sharper, satisfaction curling her lips.
“My son could use your counsel—however rounded your ears may be. And you, you are in desperate need of a husband. As it happens, I know just the match.”
Amerei lifted her cup and drank slowly, letting silence answer for her.
Zeporah’s smile faltered. “Ungrateful?”
Amerei set the cup down, steady.
“No, my lady,” she replied. Then, firmer: “Only certain that I serve you best here, in Casqadia.”
“I will consider it,” Zeporah muttered, her tone already dismissive.
She plucked a grape, rolling it between her fingers before letting it fall back to the platter.
“Tell me,” she said lightly, as though in passing, “my Evander… he has his father’s knack, does he not?”
Amerei’s brows knit. “With the bow?”
A graceful shrug. Zeporah sighed.
“So I’ve heard.” Her eyes flicked, cool and measuring. “Some whisper he rivals even the Ruakites of old. But I imagine gossip grows taller the farther it travels.”
Amerei forced a small smile, refusing the bait.
“I couldn’t say,” she answered. “I assume he’s as skilled with a javelin as he is with a bow. He’s quite the athlete, that much is true.”
Zeporah’s smile lingered—unreadable.
“So I’ve heard,” she echoed, voice soft but edged.
Cold silence settled between them.
Then, with a wave of her hand, Zeporah dismissed it all.
“That will be all, child.”
Amerei rose with quiet grace, hiding her relief until she was past the threshold.
The corridors beyond Zeporah’s chambers breathed stone and sea, mercifully free of incense. Amerei drew a breath—deep, steadying—only then realizing how long she had held it. The air cooled her lungs, bracing her spine as she gathered herself.
Her steps quickened, her resolve returning with each one. Every stride felt like reclaiming ground the queen had tried to strip from her—until the scent of salt and oil lanterns told her she was close.
