Iywan’s brows dip, his lips tugging down. He runs a hand over his neat, grey braids, and his shoulders slump as he sighs. “Has your new dressmaker been feeding you lies?”
“We’ve already established that Forayers arrested Durvla for a dress that she made herself. Who’s to say that they’re not mistakenly arresting Grounder citizens for owning fairytales?”
Iywan scrubs his hand down his dark face. “Princess, you need not worry about such rumors. It’s best you focus on marriage. In fact…” He briskly strides toward his desk and lifts a scroll tied in a ribbon. Approaching me again, he places the scroll in my hand. “A list of suitors for your perusal. I have a meeting with Councilor Jac momentarily. Would it be possible for us to continue this conversation at a later time?”
If it means not having to discuss these suitors, “Yes.”
Iywan thanks me and opens the door, allowing me out first. As he bows and walks away, I shove the scroll against Callum’s chest. It has been a rather decent day; I’m not ready to ruin it by looking at that godsforsaken list.
CHAPTER 17
Durvla
Despite the beauty of Paramount,I miss my familiar surroundings. I miss being around people who understand me. Here, it’s even scarier being under the scrutiny of Carys and her staff.
Back home, I didn’t socialize much. When my hearing first began to wane, my mother immediately taught me how to sign. How she’d learned herself, she never told me. But since Osheen was my childhood playmate, he picked up on it at the same time I did. The knowledge of my deafness never went beyond Osheen and Orla.
My ears are ringing again by the time I return to my bedchamber. If I don’t try to relax, I’ll have an episode. My head is already aching relentlessly. Osheen always knew just what to do when my malady took over. He’d learned from Ma. I can handle most episodes on my own, but sometimes a comforting presence makes all the difference. Osheen would often sit on the ground beside me and take my shakyhands into his. Or rub my back until my world stopped spinning and the nausea eased.
I set the library books down on the side table and sink onto the comfortable bed. For a while, I lie there, trying to clear my mind and relax. But eventually I force myself to get up. There’s work to be done.
If I were home right now, I would be spending time with Taig after a hard day of work. Instead, I start working on some swatches with the spun silk from Barr na Cahar, trying to figure out the best size needle to use and the design to stick with. The process is tedious, but there’s something calming about it. Before long, my eyes are straining in the diminishing light.
I rise from the bed, walking around the room to light candles and shift around the logs in the fireplace. Then I sit at the desk, drawing a candle closer to the dress design that I’ve redrawn countless times. Somehow, I have to get an entire gown finished within a month. It’s impossible—but impossibility is not an option. The flame from the candle wavers above my paper, casting distorting shadows. An idea strikes.
I know exactly what I need to do.
“I’ll ask you one last time,” says a gravelly voice. “Where is he?”
Osheen slumps against a boulder on the ground, his hands shackled behind his back. He’s a weeping mess, fear radiating off him in nearly tactile waves.
A Forayer draws back his hand and slaps Osheen’s face so hard, his head snaps to the side. Osheen’s eyes water and his breathing grows ragged. His lips remain firmly shut, his eyes panicked but stubborn, nonetheless.
“Last chance,” says the Forayer.
Osheen remains silent. The next slap reverberates throughout the clearing. Osheen spits blood as the Forayer unsheathes a menacing dagger. His eyes widen.
“He’s in a trapdoor under the floorboards!”
The Forayer gives Osheen a slow, sinister smile. “Thank you,” he says.
Then he drags the dagger across Osheen’s throat from ear to ear.
I wake up screaming, my ribs constricting my heart and lungs. Darkness is everywhere, and I fight the sheets that entrap me. Tears stream down my cheeks and I’m shaking so badly that I wrap my arms around my torso in a vain attempt to hold myself together. My skin crawls with astounding unease, and I’m certain my blood has turned to ice.
The nightmare leaves me with the picture of Osheen’s gaping neck burned into my mind. I cannot unsee it. I clamber out of bed and head to the fireplace to add more logs, though the fire does nothing to warm me. All the while I can’t stop the shaking or the buzzing sensation under my skin. Before the nightmare about Osheen, I dreamed the castle was on fire. Sunlagh, spare me…
As if the goddess of dreams has ever been merciful to me.
A shadow dances against the wall.Someone’s behind me.I spin to face the potential assailant, but there’s no one. When I turn back to the wall, there are no shadows either. Probably just a trick of the flames.
Or maybe I’m losing my mind.
Cold sweat makes my nightgown cling to my skin. I peel off the drenched garment and take a fresh one from the wardrobe.
Nightmares are a norm for me, but this one has been, by far, the most vivid and certainly the most terrifying. I don’t know how long it takes before I can breathe steadily again. I light candles until the room is illuminated enough for me to resume working on Princess Carys’s dress. The bed is daunting, even in the light, so I sit at the desk with the spun silk and knitting needles to begin working onthe lace motif. It’s easier to focus on creating motifs rather than dwell on my overactive subconscious.
I’ve figured out the appearance I want to aim for, but most of this is going to be freehand. Wherever the stitch takes me, as long as I’m still meeting the measurements, it should be fine. Ideally, it would be better to work a lace design with black fibers in daylight, but I’m not left with many options right now.
