by Amber Argyle
“You don’t waste a perfectly good dress like this!” It was finer than anything she’d ever had in Hamel. She glared at Tinsy, daring the girl to try something like that again.
Rolling her eyes, Tinsy gathered a collection of soaps and oils onto a tray and turned around. Her gaze landed on Larkin, and she gasped.
Larkin looked down at herself, at the bruises that bloomed up her side and had turned the toes of her right foot black and green. Thankfully, her wrist didn’t appear swollen, and it didn’t hurt as much as it had—probably just sprained.
But it wasn’t her bruises the girl’s eyes lingered on, but Larkin’s pale, raised sigils. Her wedding sigils formed cuffs of twinning vines. Her right hand and left forearm bore geometric sigils for her sword and shield.
The sigil on her upper arm formed a vine filled with ahlea flowers that trailed down until it mingled with her wedding vines, blossoms peeking out here and there. The one on her neck formed diamond facets that surrounded her spine from the base of her skull to below her shoulder blades.
They were beautiful.
“Wh-What are they?” Tinsy asked.
Larkin opened her mouth, but the word sigil wouldn’t leave her lips. Neither would magic or pipers. The curse’s dark work. No wonder Idelmarchians thought the taken enchanted. Instead, Larkin flared her sigils, colors flashing beneath her skin. Her sword and shield were a comforting pressure in her hands. “This is what they are.”
Tinsy took a step back. “How?”
Larkin let her weapons fade. “The beast is not what you think it is.” It explained nothing, but it was all the curse would allow her to say.
Tinsy recoiled. “Your water is getting cold.”
Steam curled across the top. Clearly not, but Larkin didn’t push the girl. She stepped gingerly onto the wooden platform that spanned the bottom of the tub, eased gingerly down, and scrubbed herself with the bar of vetiver soap Tinsy provided.
She sighed in relief. She hadn’t been truly clean since Denan had taken her to the waterfall. Delightful memories made her cheeks flush with embarrassment.
Thankfully, Tinsy didn’t seem to notice as she poured water over Larkin’s head. As she’d promised, she lathered it and massaged her scalp. When she was finished, she poured more water. Rivulets of brown suds slipped down Larkin’s skin, staining the water. Larkin closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax.
By then, the water was practically boiling her alive, even though Tinsy had raked the coals. Larkin rinsed and oiled her hair. Stepping out, she wrapped linen around herself and gently scrunched her hair. Someone knocked on the door. Tinsy opened it to three girls. Larkin tightened her hold on her linen. The trio ignored her as they brought in a table, chest, and a horrible black dress with pearl buttons before leaving as quickly as they’d come.
“Put the dress on,” Tinsy said without looking at her.
Larkin pulled it down from where the girl had hung it on a spigot and stepped into it. It turned out to be skirts divided for riding and a shirt with pearl buttons rather than a traditional dress. The material felt stiff and uncomfortable.
Tinsy loosely tied the corset, did up the tiny row of buttons, and motioned to the chair. Larkin sat. The woman tugged Larkin’s hair into an elegant twist, curls framing her face. Then she rummaged through the trunk and pulled out an assortment of jars.
She eyed Larkin, then the contents of the jars, then Larkin, then the contents. She mixed some of the powders into an empty jar, dabbed it with her finger, and ran a streak of powder on Larkin’s cheek. She made a sound low in her throat and mixed in another powder. After shaking it, she put another streak on Larkin’s other cheek.
“That’s it,” she said in satisfaction. She dipped a brush in the powder and dusted every inch of Larkin’s exposed skin. One stroke at a time, Larkin’s freckles disappeared behind a thick layer of makeup.
Finally, Tinsy stood back and frowned at Larkin. “You’ll have to be careful in the palace. Dour as the druids pretend to be, all men like beautiful girls.”
Larkin looked down at herself. “I don’t understand.”
Tinsy motioned to the mirror before stepping aside.
Bracing herself, Larkin stood before it. She blinked at the image of her sister, Nesha, peering back at her.
No. Not Nesha, but Larkin’s own face.
Her hair had gone from frizzy copper to curling auburn. Her skin from mottled with freckles to smooth as cream. Even her plain brown eyes gleamed, though they were still the wrong color.
Larkin shifted uncomfortably. She’d always disliked her hair and her freckles. Until Denan had traced them with his thumb like he was drawing constellations, had spun her curls around his finger. She’d begun to realize that maybe what made her different also made her beautiful.
“Will it wash out?” Larkin tried to pretend the answer didn’t matter.
“Eventually.” Tinsy pulled the drain on the tub, the water splashing into a channel in the floor that led toward the yard.
The heavy door pushed open. Oben stepped aside; Iniya clicked into the room behind him. She looked Larkin up and down. “Well, you’re no great beauty, but covering those ridiculous freckles and taming that hair has helped.”
Larkin understood why her father had been so willing to leave all this wealth behind. “What does what I look like matter?”
Iniya hmphed. “Even here we have heard stories of the traitor girl allied with the beasts of the forest and her beautiful sister who drove her from the village, not once, but three times.”
Larkin winced. “Nesha is pregnant.”
Iniya held out a dome-shaped pillow.
The only way the old woman could know that … “You’ve been keeping track of us.”
Iniya stiffened, clearly affronted. “Can I help it if your father talks?” She turned on her heel, the click of her boot heels and cane forming a cadence.
Not quite believing her, Larkin hurried to catch up to the old woman as she stepped outside. “Where’s Tam?”
Iniya pointed to a black lump under one of the trees and started up the stairs. “It’s his turn to be thoroughly inspected for nits.”
“Tam,” Larkin called.
The black lump shifted. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Tam took one look at her and bolted to his feet, his hand on his ax hilt. He stared at her hair, then her skin, then back at her hair.
Hating that she’d woken him from sleep, she raised an eyebrow. “What?”
He settled and brushed detritus from his stolen clothes. “You look just like that evil sister of yours.”
Larkin’s first instinct was to argue—defending Nesha was as ingrained in her as never wasting a single scrap of food. She rubbed at the headache starting at her temples.
“You’ll frizz your hair!” Iniya called from the doorway.
Larkin jerked her hand down and muttered something not very nice under her breath.
Tam strode to her. His eyes were puffy, as if he’d cried himself to sleep. “I can see why your father ran away.”
As much as Larkin hated her father, she couldn’t disagree. She rested a hand on his arm. “Tam …”
“Come,” Iniya demanded from the house. “Dinner is ready.”
Tam pulled away from her touch, his face transforming to an impish one. “Do you think they have more meat puffs?”
Larkin swore she could feel the weight of Talox’s hand on her shoulder, his voice in her ear. “Humor is how Tam deals with the fear and pain.”
Ancestors, how could Talox be gone?
She wished Tam would talk to her—she missed Talox too. Instead, she rolled her eyes as she followed him inside.
“I don’t think meat puffs are fancy enough for—” She stopped at the sight of her father’s new wife seated at the table.
Raeneth’s gaze fixed on the tablecloth. Everything about the woman was round, from her breasts to her arched shoulders and her belly to the bottom of her buttocks. Even her face was round. She didn’t look like
a willing accomplice in tearing Larkin’s family apart and nearly destroying her mother.
Larkin turned on her heel. “I’ll eat outside.”
Iniya banged her cane on the ground.
Oben instantly blocked the doorway. He glared at her from under his craggy brows. Where had he come from?
Larkin glared over her shoulder at her grandmother. “Do you honestly think he can stop me?”
Iniya calmly spooned soup into her bowl. “Are you in the habit of murdering servants simply because they’re in your way?”
Larkin rounded on her. “He spent the money meant to buy our food on cheap beer and her.” She jabbed a finger at Raeneth. “You want to negotiate with me? I want her gone.”
Raeneth winced. Harben rose to his feet, his face the furious mask Larkin knew so well. His hands balled into fists at his side; he took a menacing step toward her. Relief surged through Larkin. This was the moment she’d been waiting for. The fight—the release—she’d needed ever since she left Denan. She took a defensive stance, all the lessons Denan, Talox, and Tam had drilled into her filling her head.
Raeneth’s hand shot out, gripping Harben’s forearm. “Don’t.” She looked up at him, brown eyes pleading. “You promised.” She pushed back from the table. “I’ll go.” She left without a backward glance.
The fight sloughed off Harben like a snake shedding his skin. “This fight is between us, Larkin. Leave her out of it.”
Larkin shook her head in disgust. “You have them all fooled, but not me. You won’t stop drinking. You’ll never stop.”
Harben held out hands that trembled. “Look at me, Larkin. Really look.”
He wanted her to see his clear gaze. His face was pale, lacking the flush of drink. His actions and words were crisp. She wasn’t fooled.
“He hasn’t had a drop since he came to this house,” Iniya said. “Nor will he.”
“As if you could stop him,” Larkin said.
His hands fell to his sides. “I—” He shook his head. “I’m trying, Larkin. That’s all I can do.”
Larkin trembled with pent-up rage that had nowhere to go. “The fact that you’re trying now is more of a betrayal than anything.”
Head down, he left the room.
Tam eased a step closer. “Larkin, you don’t have to like them to make a deal with them.”
“Raeneth is part of the plan,” Iniya said.
“How?” Larkin demanded.
“Sit down and find out.” When Larkin hesitated, Iniya buttered her scone. “I don’t like her either—a barmaid may well be a step down from your trollop of a mother—but she gave me a grandson, so I tolerate her presence.”
Like she wouldn’t tolerate Larkin’s or her sisters’ presence. That baby held more weight to the old woman than any of them, just because he was a boy. She was wrong. So wrong. Sela was the most important person in all the Alamant—and the Idelmarch, for that matter.
And I am a warrior. As well as a princess, though Larkin didn’t feel she’d done anything to earn that title, aside from being kidnapped by a prince. She considered rubbing all of that in her grandmother’s face, then decided the old woman didn’t deserve to know the details of her family’s life.
Let her believe her lies.
Larkin folded her arms, wincing at the soreness in her wrist from punching her father. “You don’t need a grandson anymore.”
Iniya’s gaze sharpened. “Someone has to rule after I am gone.” Her voice was as smooth as the butter she spread.
Larkin didn’t believe her for a second. She let out a long breath and released the tension from her muscles. She plopped down at the table. “Fine. Let’s hear this plan of yours, Grandmother.”
Tam settled in the chair Raeneth had vacated and started loading both his and Larkin’s plates. “Yeah, let’s hear it, Granny.”
She stared at him, eyes popping out of her head. “Did I not make it perfectly clear you would not be allowed in my house until you’ve been thoroughly inspected—”
Tam flattened her with a look. “My house in the Alamant is twice as grand as this. When I’m not serving as the prince’s personal guard—or Larkin’s—I command my own unit of a hundred soldiers. Your own granddaughter is a princess.” He dunked his scone in his soup and bit into it. He winced, probably realizing it was a sweet bread, and shook the remains in Iniya’s direction. “So from now on, you’re going to pretend to be respectful.”
Iniya blinked, opened her mouth, and shut it again. “A princess?”
Tam rolled his eyes. “And unlike in the Idelmarch, Larkin has power.”
Not yet. Still, Larkin wasn’t about to argue.
Iniya’s gaze turned inward. “Very well, Tam, Commander of a Hundred Men and Defender of the Prince. You may remain.” She took a delicate bite of her own scone. “The feast begins in two days. While I’m not technically allowed to bring more than two guests, the druids won’t turn away Nesha and her guard”—she looked pointedly at Tam—“sent by their very own prize Black Druid, Garrot.”
Tam huffed. “Appears I’ve been demoted.” He leaned into Larkin. “I might actually miss terrorizing Idelmarchians as a druid. It’s more fun when you can see their reactions.”
Rolling her eyes, Larkin tore apart her own scone and slathered it with butter and jam. “Garrot is important to the druids?”
Iniya stirred her soup, ran the edge of her spoon over the bowl’s rim, and set it delicately on her plate. “If all goes according to his plans, Garrot will be the next Master Druid.”
The forest take him and my sister both, Larkin thought darkly.
“And the current Master Druid would be all right with his disowned granddaughter at his celebrations?” Tam asked.
“The hero of Hamel?” Iniya scoffed. “He could not very well turn her away.”
Nesha, a hero—for betraying her family and nearly getting Larkin killed, twice. She hid her clenched fists under the table. “And after?”
“Leave that to me,” Iniya said. “But first, we attend the Black Rites.”
Larkin didn’t like the sound of that.
Tam looked up. “Black Rites?”
Iniya lifted her bowl to her lips. “Any regular druid who wishes to become a Black Druid must enter the Forbidden Forest and discover its secret.”
This was why the Black Druids were feared and admired—they had survived what no one else had.
Tam’s eyes widened. “Without knowing what’s inside?”
“A few make it back intact,” Iniya said.
Tam sat back with a huff. “That’s not far off from murder.”
“What’s a few less druids? While there, I must speak with a man, Humbent.”
Larkin looked between Tam and Iniya. “Just like that? We attend the equinox celebrations and try to get inside the crypts and library?”
“Just?” Iniya huffed. “If the druids realize who you are, we’ll all be part of the equinox’s culminating activity: the public hangings.”
Tinsy led Larkin upstairs to a darkened room. She opened the first set of three drapes, revealing pale blue everything—from the walls to the tufted furniture, drapes, and bed frothing with lace.
Against one wall, a dusty row of dolls sat in size from largest to smallest. They wore elegant gowns. Their wooden faces were beautifully painted, though that paint had faded and chipped.
Larkin touched the gorgeous embroidery on one dress, the jewels on the bodice of another, the dusty hair of a third—real and as riotous a red as Larkin’s own. “Whose bedroom was this?” Her father had been an only child.
Tinsy opened the last set of drapes. “These are Madame Iniya’s things from her days at the palace.”
Fitting that the Mad Queen would have a room full of dolls. There were other dolls with different color hair—blondes and reds. Hair from those long since dead.
They were her family too, she realized. Her great-grandparents and the rest of their children killed at the palace. Larkin recoiled and brushed the
dust off her fingers. She wandered to the glass doors, released the catch, and stepped out onto the round balcony. The castle spires loomed high and to the right above the curtain wall. No guards surrounded Iniya’s house. Why was Iniya allowed to live autonomously outside the walls of the palace that should have been hers?
“Do you know Iniya’s story?” Larkin asked.
Tinsy stiffened. “She never speaks of it.” She left the room without another word.
“Is this what I’m meant to do?” Settling on the couch, Larkin took her amulet out and pushed the sharp branch into the skin of her forearm. She hissed at the pain.
The vision came with the taste of ashes and copper—the same vision she’d had before, of the day the curse began. Larkin wandered among the dead and dying, the shadows devouring. At the dais, she watched Eiryss and Dray fight and lose.
When the vision released her, she lay panting, tears welling in her eyes. What did it mean?
“How am I supposed to guard anyone with this?” Tam said from the doorway. He crossed the room, holding a dull metal sword. He pushed the tip into the rug. “It doesn’t bend! One good hit, and it will shatter like ice. And they didn’t even bother giving me a shield!”
Sitting up, Larkin pressed against the puncture mark to stop the bleeding. “You can’t very well show up with your sacred sword, can you?”
He harrumphed. “What is it you always say: ‘the forest take you’? More like the Idelmarchians take you. I don’t know how you stand these dark, dank houses.”
She stiffened. Her home in Hamel had been a beehive hut made of staggered stones and a dirt floor. There had been no window, and when the wood of their door had swelled, it wouldn’t open at all.
“Sorry,” Tam said.
She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. It did. Poverty wasn’t something one shook off. It haunted her. It would always haunt her.
Tam looked about the room and made a face at the dolls. “I guess you can take the bed and I’ll sleep on the couch.” He started pushing the furniture to the edge of the room.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Well, we can’t exactly practice in the yard where anyone from the street might see.” He produced two sticks, the branches freshly trimmed. He grabbed two pillows off the bed, tossing her one and holding the other like a shield. “In a line, you stand shoulder to shoulder. Mulgars only come at you from the front. They’re all wild animal and no finesse. So when they crash into you, sweep your shield, stab from below. Reposition.”