I smile as innocently as I can. “Just an eager student.”
“Yes, I can see that.” He’s still chuckling. “I have the opening ceremony to prepare for, so why don’t you come back in a few days and I’ll get you a uniform. I’m very curious to see if you’re as violent in action as you are with your words.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
PHANTOM PAIN
The corridors of Widow’s Hall are bustling with our newest arrivals from Petruvia’s shores. The chambers of Ambassador Taelon and Lorwen Night, however, are exceptionally quiet.
Why? Perhaps because Taelon Night spends his alone, while his wife lies with a member of Virdeian court. Someone should have warned the Nights that the corridors of Widow’s Hall have eyes—and they see all. As do I.
These halls are awhisper: the Nights have strange new bedfellows. Lorwen has taken up with a Virdeian lover, while Taelon has fallen out of bed and out of favor with King Pendrix.
Why? Well, whatever the reason, believe you me, if anyone is to find the truth, it’s a woman who lives enshadowed.
Fondly,
Shadow Queen
I spend my night listening in on our Petruvian guests so I can rattle them the way they did Luc. Even made sure to slip a copy of the Shadow Queen’s column under each of their doors this morning, so they can’t miss it.
The arena at Widow’s Hall is a dark gray-stoned structure formed into an elongated ring. The center is a large grassy field,its perimeter lined with wooden tiered benches. Since this space is mostly used for decurio training, there are rooms built into the base of the arena for equipment storage.
Usually, the arena is covered by a domed ceiling made of tshira. For today’s event, the roof has been retracted with magic, allowing the light from the beacons atop Widow’s Hall to illuminate the stage.
I sit on the edge of the same row as Mathson and Yelina, trying not to squirm. There’s no reason to be this nervous. The opening ceremony is painless. The decurio will perform a demonstration, Luc and Kaidren will each give a speech, and then we all go home. Easy.
Why, then, is my stomach so knotted?
Sef sits with me, looking far more at ease than I feel. I’m so busy watching the field, tensely awaiting the start of the ceremony, I don’t notice the approaching Petruvians until Yelina says loudly, “Why don’t you join us?”
I look up, startled.
It’s Taelon and his wife, Lorwen, in their indigo cloaks. Their heads are high and haughty, as though they don’t notice the reproachful looks they’re getting from the rest of the stands. Most people have already read the Shadow Queen’s column this morning.
“Sit with us.” Yelina pats the space around her. “My son is the Praeceptor. It would be an honor.” Her Petruvian accent slips out—her lips curl on hers’s, hert’s are sharpened, and hero’s are elongated.
Lorwen’s face lights up. “You sound Petruvian.”
“I am.” Mathson and Yelina Kyler’s marriage was never one of love, but rather one of political advantage. Decades ago, Honorate Mathson Kyler was sent to one of Petruvia’s tournaments. Yelina, the daughter of a high-ranked member ofPetruvian court, was promised to him in marriage as one of the terms of the treaty.
Treaties are tenuous and can change depending on the regime—the whim of a fickle Petruvian king, or the shifting priorities of the ever-changing Virdeian Praeceptor—but a marriage treaty is permanently binding.
At Yelina’s invitation, Lorwen Night becomes a completely different person. Her frosty demeanor melts as she sits beside my stepmother. Taelon stands next to her, saying nothing. There isn’t room for him.
My stomach drops. I see what’s about to happen.
“Remira, you don’t mind giving up your seat for our guests, do you, dear?” Yelina asks me, voice dripping with false sweetness. “She’s Opheran,” she adds in an exaggerated whisper to the Petruvians. “She probably prefers standing anyway.”
I picture ripping her hair from her scalp. Then I force a smile. “Not at all.” I take a quick look around. I don’t see any open seats nearby.
Sef takes my hand and gently squeezes my fingers. “Don’t worry. I have a better spot in mind.” Without another word, we descend the bench steps to stand beneath them, watching between the legs of the rest of the audience.
Relegated to the shadows. As always.
At least this time I have Sef with me. Yelina chatters away above us. She takes quickly to Lorwen, who launches into a long-winded rant about the cold. Yelina offers her sympathies, sounding more genuinely sincere than I’ve ever heard her.
I scowl. “I could hardly stand Yelina before. What are we supposed to do now that there’s two of them?”
