A sword point rested at a woman’s neck. She was bloodied and battered, kneeling in the snow. Dark kohl lined her eyes, and a pale crystal pendant hung from a leather cord around her throat. Her fingers were filthy.
She was about to be executed.
The woman looked up, and her brown eyes caught the light. Her gaze held nothing but hatred. She made the sign against evil across her chest and lifted her chin in defiance. She refused to close her eyes, staring unnervingly, as if she was trying to damnand curse the person she looked at for all eternity with no weapon but the wrath in her eyes.
“What you fear will come to pass. The one who is promised comes.” Her voice was low and gravelly. “And when she does, I hope she kills every last one of you.”
The sword behind the woman swung, and the vision went black.Elizabeth came back to herself with a gasp.
Was that a memory?
Her eyes darted to Caspian, who was now engrossed in his letter. She hoped he was truly lost in thought and hadn’t noticed her slipping into his mind.
A chill skittered down her spine. She felt a rush of sympathy for the nameless woman in the snow and a fresh wave of revulsion for the demon sitting before her. He had watched a woman’s execution and hadn’t lifted a finger to stop it.
Chapter 23
Small Rebellions
Tonight was her night with Caspian.
He had saved her. She knew she had to be grateful. But by the gods, she had another sleepless night, plagued by nightmares.
On the gray sheets, Fiza had set out a dark red ball gown, the skirts flared out prettily on the bedspread. It was pretty, and usually she would have enjoyed dressing up in an extravagant gown, but the sight of the red strewn across pale satin sheets made her stomach turn—it looked like blood.
Elizabeth held up a pale pink satin gown for dinner, expressing her dismay at the dark, depressing colours Fiza always chose for her.
“What about this one?” Fiza pointed at the dress she had laid out and wrung her hands, “The Master prefers black, or darker hues.”
Elizabeth insisted, “I would like to wear this one tonight, if it’s all the same to you.”
“It’s certainly lovely, but we don’t have any jewellery to match that colour,” Fiza fretted. “Perhaps the black one from last week? We have plenty of onyx and silver jewels to match.”
“I have some jewellery from home.” She did not want to be rude to her only friend in the castle, but she needed to feel a measure of herself again, and she couldn’t bear the thought of being dressed in the same colour that swirled in their wine goblets.
Fiza bit her lip. “The Master—”
Elizabeth offered what she hoped was a reassuring look. “You can blame me if he asks.”
She donned the pink gown, and Fiza laced up the corset in the back. The dress was a masterpiece of pale pink satin, with puffed sleeves and skirts, that flowed behind her in a short train.
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said, smiling.
“Nothing to thank me for, Lady. My job is to help you,” Fiza assured her.
“Yes, but I still appreciate your help.”
Fiza blinked, raising her brows, as if surprised at her sincerity. “Not at all.”
Elizabeth adorned her ears with pink tourmaline drops from her dwindling trove of jewellery from home, and Fiza swept her hair into an artfully braided style, leaving a few pieces out to frame her face. Her hair was shorter and darker now, and she looked paler, but in the pink gown, she looked more like her old self than she had in some time.
Entering the hall, she was treated to Caspian, alone, his eyes widening at her appearance.
He knew it was their night together, too, so she watched as he took in her attire and frowned.
He stood from his chair and walked over to her.
Caspian bowed deeply, a greeting fitting for a daughter of high nobility. A gentlemanly thing to do, but one that felt out of character for him.
