Odgar smiles. “Well, if you’re looking for me,Iam going to get some rest.” He drops a kiss onto my forehead, and I step aside, scrubbing my forehead with my palm. Odgar’s warm laughter follows him through the door and down the hallway.
I rush from my cabin and head above deck for some much-needed fresh air. Blond hair blows freely in the breeze where Valdis stands, staring out at the sky now darkening with the impending nightfall.
I clear my throat. “Valdis?”
She glances over her shoulder at me, a smirk on her lips as though she has a teasing remark prepared for me. But her amusement immediately fizzles out. I stand beside her, my focus also on the ocean.
“Good to see that clarity in your eyes again,” she says.
My stomach sinks. “I’m sorry for whatever I said or did.”
Valdis waves her hand dismissively. “You weren’t in control at the time. We’re all aware.”
Somehow this doesn’t comfort me; my stomach sinks farther. I turn to her, and there is no unkindness on her face whatsoever. Not even pity. Concern, perhaps. She drums her fingers against the taffrail.
“Whatever you’re holding on to—whatever you don’t want to talk about—it’s festering like a wound inside you. Sometimes, I write things down when they’re bothering me. Or take a sword to a tree. Odgar does nalbinding. You ought to find your thing.”
“I want to learn how to fight,” I blurt.
She tilts her head, one side of her lips lifting before a full smile takes over her face, puckering her birthmark. “Alright,” she says. She steps back from the banister. “We start tonight.”
Chapter 40
My concern over Neris—andthe fact that I’ve not heard a word about her—eats away at me as I get dressed. I’ve barely finished wrestling with the ties of my bodice when the door swings open with a loudbang, sending my heart flying into my throat. I spin toward it, my hand clutching my chest as the masked woman marches into my room. Her crimson cape billows out behind her like a villain straight from a fairytale.
Except, she’s very real.
A moment ago, I’d been staring at my puffy-faced, haggard reflection in the mirror. The pink, floral dress I’m wearing fits awfully, and my bust is practically spilling out over the top. It screamsArionna, and I despise it. I cross my arms over my torso, and the masked woman cackles beneath her veil.
“It seems you are in need of better fitting garments,” she says. “Shall I send for some?”
My brows rise. I’m not certain if she’s to be trusted, but I nod regardless. “May I request trousers and a tunic?” I ask.
“There are riding garments in one of the drawers.” She makes awell, go ongesture toward an upright dresser. I pad across the room and slide a couple of drawers open, indeed findingtrousers and tunics neatly folded inside one. Part of me wants to smile at this discovery, but my face doesn’t cooperate.
“You’re welcome,” the woman says in a singsong voice that seems to counter her terrifying appearance.
I clear my throat and hug the clothing to my chest. “Thank you.”
The door clicks shut behind her as she leaves. Removing the corset is a relief, but I band my chest tightly for support before tossing on the tunic and trousers. They require rolling at the wrists and waist, and the arms of the tunic are just a tad tight around my biceps. It’s a far better fit than the dress, at least. The door flies open as I slip into some thin woolen socks and shove my feet back into my boots.
The masked woman stands in the doorway, her face aimed toward me. She clicks her tongue beneath her veil. “I personally preferred your last outfit, but suit yourself, darling. Come along.” She steps through the door, expecting me to follow her.
So, I do.
Our footsteps echo in the corridors. I take the time to admire the ornate columns and high ceilings. For an old castle, the walls and floors look newly installed or, at least, freshly painted. Which is likely since there had evidently been a destructive fire. As we round a corner, I let the words I’ve been holding back go loose. “Is my friend Reneris alright?”
We step into an immense dining hall with a massive table down the center. The masked woman points to one of the dining chairs, completely ignoring me. “Sit,” she says before disappearing behind a door. I’m barely in the seat when she steps out just a few heartbeats later with a bowl and practically drops it onto the table. “Eat up. Then we visit your scrappy friend.”
Hope fills my chest. She’s alive then, I assume. My eyes dip down to the food—which looks like gruel. I’d expected a feast at the castle.
“The kitchen staff is on break. Eat it or leave it,” says the woman.
Trying not to make a face, I scoop a spoonful of the lumpy white mush out of the bowl, and even when I tilt the spoon upside down, the food clings to it. I taste a bit of the gruel off the tip of my spoon. To my surprise, it isn’t unpleasant. Cinnamon and cloves cut through the startling, creamy sweetness. I take another spoonful forcing myself to eat though my stomach is knotted up with worry for Neris and with anxiety at the possibility of finding out about Father.
“We don’t have all the time in the world; don’t make me shovel it into your mouth for you,” says the woman.
I eat faster, even though I’m not hungry, even though my arm is beginning to protest each movement. I’m not sure if it was the adrenaline last night that kept away the worst of my pains, but I’m not sure I’ll survive much longer without the elixirs. My heart thuds, my appetite receding further.
