Ulder was perhaps in his sixties, wavy gold-gray hair framing his bearded face. A bored expression defined his broad features, and on his head, a crown of gold caught the light of the candlelight replacing the fading sun.
“The men and women to his sides are his advisors,” Khayrivven explained as Lory took in the now-filled spots at the king’s sides. On the female side, two more women had joined the ladies from before, one of them surprisingly young, while the other three had to be at least in their fifties.
On the other side, four men sat straight-backed, their eyes on the crowd as if expecting trouble. Closest to the king, clad in white and lapis-lazuli blue, sat Airmal Ycken, the man whom she’d stolen from. His tall, slim form stuck out like a sore thumb between the other men, who were all of broader, sturdier build, and his black curls were tied into a top knot like the last time she’d seen him. His deep brown, oblong face was tense, his crooked nose throwing shadows on his mouth and cheeks as he turned his head from side to side, obviously looking for something or someone. Lory didn’t know the second man, or the third, but when she spotted the fourth, she was catapulted back in time, her heart hammering in her chest as those golden features pulled into a grimace of fury and a heavy door was slammed in her face.
In both their faces. Evven had been there that day.
“Are you sure this is the right place?” Evven prompted for the fifth time since they’d crawled into the narrow space behind the barrels at the corner, where their view on the formidable limestone building wouldn’t be disturbed by the occasional carriage driving by.
In this part of Dunai, people didn’t go out on the streets on foot during that time of the day; they didn’t go out at all during the noon heat if they didn’t need to. For weeks, Lory had been scouting the area, making sure to know the routines of the household, how many people lived there, and who came and went, and she’d cried only once when she’d spotted the woman and the young child on her arm through a window.
“Don’t you think if we had a rich father, we wouldn’t be living on the street?”
How naive Evven was. Too sweet, too trusting. And way too good for this world.
Lory sighed, swallowing the harshness threatening to accompany her words. “Not if he doesn’t know we exist.”
“Then why did mother never tell him?” Evven reasoned. “Maybe she’d still be alive if she had.” His light brown eyes tightened as he tried to convince himself this wasn’t going to be an utter disaster.
Mother hadn’t told them their father’s name until her last breath, but she’d mentioned he was a nobleman in Dunai. She’d also mentioned that she had no intention of ever going back to him.
That had been the week before she’d gotten injured and her wound became infected.
She’d been dead for three months now, and Lory and Evven were starving. They were children, barely nine years old.Without someone to care for them, they might not survive this city.
“Maybe she didn’t want him to know for a reason,” Lory suggested. “Maybe she was right to.” But in her young mind, she hoped that her mother had been wrong and a knock on that heavy, wooden door would be enough to make all their worries go away. That they’d have a bed to sleep in and food on the table, clothes to wear?—
As if in emphasis of her thoughts, Evven’s stomach rumbled with hunger, and she couldn’t watch her twin brother suffer any longer.
With a nod, Lory climbed out of their hiding place, waiting for Evven to follow before making for the limestone stairs leading up to that door.
Evven scrambled along, his thin arm brushing hers as they came to a halt on the lowest step.
“Everything will be all right,” she said to Evven, but it was more a beseeching of the Guardians, whom their mother had prayed to during long nights of hunger, when she’d given her share of a meager dinner to Lory and Evven.
One steadying breath wasn’t enough to get her up the final stairs, but she couldn’t stay behind when Evven was already climbing his way up.
So Lory followed, taking up a protective stance half a foot in front of his shoulder, as she lifted her hand and knocked.
“Are you all right?” Khayrivven’s voice penetrated her memories like in a haze, bringing her back to the ballroom and the music and the colors and fragrances.
A quick nod was all Lory managed, just like that one day she and Evven had set out to reunite with the onlyfamily they had left. But she was far from all right when all she could see was the man who’d shut the door in her face all those years ago, and he sat enthroned next to the ruler of the realm like he hadn’t condemned Evven and her to an orphan life on the streets.
Swallowing tears of fury, Lory blew out a steadying breath.
“Who’s that man?” She didn’t dare look at the familiar face again, so much like Evven’s, only so much older than her twin would ever be.
Khayrivven took a moment to figure out who she was referring to, his eyes first tracking Lord Ycken’s movements, then that of Lory’s father. “That’s Lord Bohem Cann, advisor to the king.”
Bohem Cann.
She hadn’t heard that name in so many years, sworn to herself to never think it again, yet here she was, a part of her realizing that it was truly him, while the other part was ready to turn on her heels and march from the ballroom.
“Lor—” Khayrivven’s voice got stuck in his throat as, from behind the dais, a group of young women entered the room.
Their dresses floated around their bodies like clouds of pastel silk, their elegant strides declaring them as a part of this court and of noble blood.
Out of nowhere, Khayrivven’s hand shot for Lory’s, gripping tightly as if anxious he wouldn’t be able to remain in place if he didn’t hold on to something.
