Felias stands, his voice breaking me from my stupor. “Why don’t you go and collect the things you’ll need for this evening, Shivaria. I’ll have the rest sent over in the morning.”
I nod and try not to run to my room like I’m fleeing a predator. I tell myself that this is a good thing. Last night I was worried I’d never have an opportunity to stand in the presence of the king. Tonight, I’m being thrust into the midst of his home. It isn’t the destination that bothers me, but how I’ll have gotten there.
Awri had this evening planned and my presence at her side assured as if I’d wrapped and gifted myself to her of my own accord. Tacticians win wars, not the soldiers that fight in them, and unlike my newfound friend, I am no tactician.
Tig and Eon don’t startle when I burst into the room, though they seem concerned by my lack of composure. I debate asking Felias to smuggle them in with my luggage. Not that I need an attendant, but their presence in the evenings and every morning when I wake have come to be my most treasured times of day. If the king returns while I remain at the palace, there’s a good chance that I’ll never see the sprites again. A sharp pang of regret strikes my heart at the thought.
I pull myself together and brush off the feeling of loss as I produce a small velvet sack from the closet, stuffing some essentials inside.
The sisters follow me around the room curiously as I explain, “I’m going to stay at the palace for a few days. I hope. Maybe longer. I’m not sure.”
Whisps of their voices travel past my ears but I can’t settle myself enough to properly listen right now. I walk to the door and take one lastglance around the room until I’m sure I have everything I need for the night.
“I wish I could take you with me,” I say.
And maybe I’m fooling myself, but I think they’d like that too.
When I make it downstairs Awri and Felias are waiting in the foyer. Enrik hands me my cloak and I discreetly brush my hand over the hidden interior pocket, making sure the small pouch of herbs hasn’t fallen out. I won't risk being caught without it again.
Felias pecks each of my cheeks lightly. I wish I knew the man better because there is a world of what he wants to say seeping out in the expression on his face, but I don’t understand a single thing he’s trying to convey.
Awri turns to him. “Thank you, Felias. You have no idea what a relief it will be to have your niece by my side. I’m sure the king will want to thank you both properly for your efforts.”
It’s the last thing she says before leading me into the carriage and I latch onto the hope thatthisis the act that sets me before her sovereign. We ride in silence, the carriage beginning its ascent toward the palace as my stomach twists itself into knots. It’s clear from the smug look on her face that she’s pleased with herself and the well-orchestrated outcome of the evening. I can’t even blame her.
“You’ll have to teach me how to do that,” I say.
Her eyes move from the window and land upon mine.
“Teach you what?” she asks, shifting her weight beneath her.
“How to have everyone in the room agree to give me exactly what I want before I’ve even asked for it.”
“That’s rather blunt.” She smiles.
“I didn’t think you’d mind,” I say.
“I don’t. There is little I appreciate more than honesty.”
I don’t like the pang her simple declaration sends deep into my gut. There will come a day when the female across from me will hate me, and I won’t blame her for that either. It is only a matter of time before she learns from me the lesson Leanna tried to teach me years ago. When you care about others, you open yourself up to wounds you cannot defend against.
“It’s a skill that takes time to learn.” Her voice brings me back to our conversation.
I huff a laugh. “I’m not sure I’ll live long enough to perfect it.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” she says quietly, her eyes taking me in fully before they fall back to the window, and I leave her to her thoughts.
I won’t live long enough to perfect the art I watched her so easily craft. I suppose she forgot long ago just how short and fragile mortal lives are. What meaning does ninety years have to a feyn? Can they truly grasp the fleeting nature of our mortality? I think not.
The carriage draws to a stop and Awri disappears into the night. I follow after her, slack jawed as my eyes look skyward. I try in vain to discern the palace’s black spires from the dark peaks of the mountains looming behind them.
While the exterior of the palace is dark stone, the steps leading up to the grand entrance, and all that I see within, is carved from white marble with thick veins of gold. Ornate pillars span the entry, each one carved uniquely to display rich pockets of gold imbedded in the stone.
Some are carved into protruding flowers. Others into birds in mid-flight. It would take days to study them all. Part of me wishes I could spend the time doing so, because each one my eyes fall upon is more beautiful than the last.
My awe of the grandeur quickly sours when my eyes land on a white pillar wrapped in a trellis of golden vines, and I consider the coin a single golden rose would fetch. I’ve witnessed children dying of starvation, elders begging in the streets for crumbs. How could anyone reside in such obscene opulence with the knowledge that so many suffer? I remind myself that when the La’tari king takes the A’kori throne these pillars will be destroyed, and the wealth of this kingdom will be dispersed to those who need it most.
I follow Awri, determined to ignore the grandeur of the palace and focus instead on our direction and the placement of the guards. I take note of their numbers, which halls they guard, and which doors they bar entry to. I follow her deep into the recesses of the palace, knowing it will take a handful of scouting missions before I have it clearly mapped out in my mind.
