Larus laughs and turns to a servant. He takes from him a package wrapped with a white ribbon and hands it to me.
“For me? When did you have time to buy something?”
“I ordered it weeks ago. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to get it when we arrived so late last night, but as Arnan’s luck would have it, the merchant was having a drink at the bar.”
I untie the ribbon, and the fabric releases, nearly slipping from my hands.
Silk. Fine Selaran silk dyed a soft, forest green. A gold cord falls to the ground. The belt, I’m guessing. It’s a beautiful garment. And it can’t have been cheap.
“Larus, this is too much,” I say, but he holds up a hand to stop me.
“What you wear sends a message,” he repeats, a lesson in his words as usual.
I think for a moment and then realize his meaning. Selaran silk in a Nithyrian color. The dress is the bridge between Selara and Nithyria, and that’s the part I’m meant to play. I should save it for when we meet the king—he’s due to arrive tomorrow—but I can’t bear to wear my miserable leather trousers for a moment longer when this dress exists and it's mine. I have to at least try it on.
I hurry below deck and find a dark corner that I darken even further to give myself privacy while I change. I’m not sure how to tie the cord, so I settle for the most obvious answer: directly around the waist. Then I wander through the stowed belongings until I find a looking glass.
Good gods. The dress drapes beautifully over my curves, hugging my hips and just grazing the ground beneath my feet. My heavy boots look a little silly peeking out from under it, but I’m certain I can find something better before I meet the king.The soft green looks lovely with my dark hair, which I release from its bun and allow to fall in gentle waves onto my shoulders. I find a gold necklace in one of my chests, a gift from my mother just before the war. It sits between my breasts, drawing attention to them.
I will not be seducing the king. But there’s no harm in letting him admire me.
It’ll make it all the easier when it’s time to stab him in the kidney.
I step back onto the deck, and heads slowly turn as I walk by. Typhon, of all people, is the first to compliment me. “Kerensa’s grace smiles on you,” he says. His gaze is admiring, appraising without leering, and I feel guilty for having misjudged him all this time. “But let me help you with this.”
He gestures to the belt, and I nod, giving him permission to tie it a bit lower so it hugs my hips. “That’s the style, or at least it was last year.”
I thank him for his help as Larus leaves his conversation with the captain to join us once more.
He stands back and takes me in, then gives his nod of approval. “Different shoes, but it’ll do nicely, I think.”
“Exquisite taste as always, Larus,” says Typhon. They continue to chatter their approval, but I notice Adria smirking at me from across the deck.
“Excuse me,” I say and head to her.
On a different day, I might have shrunk from Adria’s mockery, but today, I’m in the mood to fight. It’s funny, but somehow taking off my armor has given me more courage than wearing it ever did.
“Something funny?” I ask.
“They’ll laugh you out of the court in those shoes.” To my surprise, she pushes off the railing and starts heading to thestairs. I guess I won’t be getting that fight today after all. She doesn’t gesture or look back; she just assumes I’ll follow her.
And she’s right. I find her below the deck, flinging garments from her own chest with reckless abandon. From somewhere near the bottom, she retrieves a pair of sandals. They’re made of some kind of reed or jute with long strips of leather that must wind around the ankle somehow.
“Why do you have those?” I ask as she hands them to me. I sit on the ground and remove my boots, but I’m not sure what to do with the leather straps, so I leave them off.
Adria bends to help me. She crosses the leather straps in a pattern I know I won’t be able to replicate and ties them behind my calves. “From my last trip to the capital. They stripped me of my weapons and my armor and made me dress up just like this. To show my loyalty to Selara.” Her voice shakes with the same barely contained rage I felt just last night.
Adria has never talked to me before about her surrender to Ronan. Seth had taken command of Father’s closest forces after Father had lost his duel with the new king, and he quickly surrendered according to their arrangement. But Adria had been hundreds of miles away fighting in the southern desert near Minar. When news had arrived of Father’s defeat, she refused to lay down her arms.
I’ve often wondered why she changed her mind. I’d imagined she’d die before admitting defeat. She was like Father in that way. But she had signed the treaty and given up our lands without so much as an insult, according to Typhon.
I know better than to ask her. I pull myself up and walk to the looking glass. The sandals are a bit too big for me, but I manage to walk in them okay, and I must admit they are a much better fit for the gown.
Adria joins me. I haven’t stood with her like this in a long time. I was wrong about our lack of resemblance. While ourfigures remain as different as ever, you can see the likeness in our faces more with each passing year: not just the eyes, but the same freckles on our noses and cheeks, the same pout of our lower lips. She nods at my reflection, approving, and then she turns me to her.
“This is a costume you’re wearing. It’s a role that you’ll play, that you have to play so we can do what we need to do.” I wonder if she said something like this to herself when she entered the throne room. “They can’t take who you are from you. No matter what you have to say, no matter what you have to pretend to think or feel, they can’t change your heart. Only you can do that.”
She stands back from me. I find myself wishing I had Ronan’s power to know what she was feeling. She’s my sister, but I’ve seldom felt love or warmth from her. Anger, resentment, disappointment—I’ve felt those plenty. But what does she know of my heart? How could she know my heart when I don’t know hers at all?
