The attention of the entire room shifts from me to this boy, who seems to grow taller as he confidently continues. “Rowenna told us a story about a surprise party you threw for your mother. It was flower-fairy themed, and the two of you made everyone wings of chicken wire and tulle, and decorated the gardens with jars of fireflies and flower garlands. But it rained the night of the celebration, and everything was ruined. The rest of you lamented the unfortunate timing and were ready to move on, but Rowenna refused to accept defeat. She didn’t eat, do her lessons, or leave your chambers until the entire kingdom agreed to recreate the party—down to the smallest detail—and pretend the first had never happened.”
The courtiers shoot the young man quizzical looks. Several shake their heads and whisper. Elodie insists Rowenna never told such a tale and whisks me off into other conversations. But I can’t stop glancing back at the copper-haired boy, whose eyes remain fixed on me as the hours pass. Insistent and unabashed.
More than once, I try to slip away and corner him. I need to know who he is and how he knew my sister. But Elodie and the queen’s ladies are harder to escape than a briar patch. Every time I try to get away, Ibecome more entangled. I’m almost relieved when the door bangs open and King Soren saunters into the room, signaling the end of the salon. Alaric and at least a dozen blue-robed men and women follow.
“Ah, excellent. Just the Tashiri daughter-in-law I was hoping to find!” Soren booms in the same jovial voice he used in the square. “What do you say to a little predinner show?” he asks the gathered crowd.
The courtiers erupt with applause, and dread curls through my chest like a thorny vine. The only reason they’d be excited for a “show” from me is if they’re already aware of my ability to grow bagrava.
Does the entire seeds-forsaken mountain know my secret?
King Soren rummages around in his waistcoat and makes a production of kneeling before me, holding out a tiny purple seed in the center of his palm. “Would you regale us with your talents, darling Indira?”
My eyes dart from Soren’s wide ugly face to the perfect, delicate bagrava seed. They couldn’t be more opposite. They have no business being this close.
I lurch to my feet and stumble past Soren, feeling like I’m going to vomit. I don’t know where I’m going, but I have to get out of here. Away from the Vanzadorian king and the treason he expects me to commit against Tashir.
I knew he’d demand I grow bagrava, of course. He made his expectations clear. I just didn’t expect to be ambushed so soon—in front of an audience. I don’t want to show these people this most sacred inner part of me. It’s bad enough they take the harvested bagrava; they can’t have my connection with Earth Mother too.
Unfortunately, I only make it two steps before I slam into a rock-hard chest.
Alaric’schest.
Our eyes meet, but he quickly averts his gaze.
“Bring your blushing bride back over here,” Soren commands his son. “There’s no need to be shy, Indira,” he adds, flashing me a sickly sweet smile. “We’re all great admirers of your work. Won’t you honorus with a short demonstration?”
“No.” The word comes out in a humiliating squeak, but it’s something. A few short days ago, I wouldn’t have had the courage to disagree with Soren at all, especially in front of a crowd.
King Soren’s smile falters a fraction. “Perhaps my new daughter just needs some encouragement?” He looks to the courtiers, who clap even louder.
The sound is thunderous. Maddening. I press my hands over my ears.
Soren motions again to Alaric, who grits his teeth and moves forward, hands outstretched to drive me back.
“Enough!” Queen Tessa’s voice rings out over the clamor, and the salon instantly falls quiet. The next thing I know, she’s at my side, draping her arm around my shoulders and ushering me away from her son and husband. “That’s quite enough. You’re going to give the poor girl a heart attack. Indira only just arrived. She’s clearly terrified and exhausted. I won’t tolerate such cruelty in my salon.”
Soren’s grin remains intact, but now it’s brittle at the edges. “I’d hardly call this cruelty, my dear. We’re simply helping Indira feel comfortable and welcome. This is what she’d be doing in Tashir, after all.”
“It’s too much.” Queen Tessa firmly shakes her head. “In fact, all of this is too much. Too many people, too much commotion. Why don’t you all head to dinner?” She points to Soren, Alaric, and their robed followers, as well as the majority of the courtiers. “Indira, my ladies, and I will join you shortly—once she’s had a chance to catch her breath.”
To my shock, Alaric is the first to head for the door, without a word of complaint. The courtiers follow with only a few whispers and backward glances. Soren lets out a laborious sigh but eventually nods.
“Your heart is too big, my love,” he says as he kisses the back of Queen Tessa’s hand. But his tone makes it sound more like a criticism than a compliment. “Don’t tarry too long—I’d hate for your food toget cold.”
“We shan’t be but a minute,” Tessa says as she plucks her hand free.
Still, Soren doesn’t move, and they stare silently at each other, having an entire conversation with their eyes. Finally, he turns and strides out of the salon, leaving me alone with the queen and her ladies—and Elodie, of course.
Queen Tessa leads me back to the divan and pulls me down beside her. “Forgive my husband. He means well, but his enthusiasm can be overwhelming.”
I remain silent because Idon’tforgive her husband, nor do I think he means well.
Queen Tessa gives my hand a squeeze, prompting me to look at her. “Now, where were we before Soren so rudely interrupted?”
“Indira was going to tell us more about herself,” Elodie chimes in, flashing me an encouraging look. But I’m too shaken to play along. Too exhausted to lie and scheme, or attempt to learn anything useful from these women. I just want to retreat to my chamber.
Flee back to Tashir, if I’m honest.
