by Cara Witter
Daniella was, technically, and Braisia knew it. Diamis hadn’t come from noble blood, nor had her late mother—though no one would dare say something like this to him. Daniella, however, was fair game. Her father cared a great deal for her physical safety, but very little for anything else concerning her well-being.
Next to Braisia, Adiante—Daniella’s other companion—pursed her small lips, watching Daniella for a reaction.
Daniella denied it to them. Years in the company of the nobility at Castle Peldenar had taught her it was best not to engage the other girls in bouts of nastiness.
Braisia smoothed her voluminous skirts, lush burgundy velvets trimmed with mink, before squarely facing Daniella again. “Even if you don’t care to put forward a regal appearance to the nobility, I should think you’d concern yourself with maintaining the attentions of General Dektrian.”
Daniella blanched and turned immediately to the window. She could have snapped back that Erich Dektrian was also a peasant, and she was the daughter of his commander, and so he should be the one working to maintain her interest.
But the truth was, she’d held his interest all too well. “I’m not especially concerned about his attentions,” she said.
Braisia gave a little harrumph and returned to inspecting the folds of the velvet around her knees. Daniella thought she might drop the matter—and perhaps she would have, if Adiante hadn’t felt the need to chime in.
“I do hope your father sends General Dektrian into the field again soon,” she said. “Otherwise who knows what trouble he’ll get into at court in your absence.”
It was the trouble Erich caused for Daniella while she was at court that concerned her. She’d suggested this venture because she’d heard some of the diplomats discussing it and was desperate for a way to escape his attentions. She’d been surprised when her father agreed—he almost never let her leave the castle grounds, let alone travel to Andronim. If her father could have sent Erich away instead of her, he no doubt would have, but Erich was presently engaged in a month-long summit with the other commanders, working out a strategy for the eventual invasion of Mortiche, and couldn’t be spared.
“That isn’t my concern,” she said as flatly as possible.
Adiante looked up at her, interest piqued. “Really? Did you two have a falling out?”
Daniella sighed. She’d avoided this topic mainly by staying away from the two of them on the boat, which hadn’t been difficult, as these ladies went to great lengths to avoid both the wind and the sun. She didn’t want to talk about Erich, didn’t want to even think about him, to still miss the softness of his touch, his crooked smile, the way his dark hair stood all at ends in the morning.
“I ended it,” she said. “A week before we left Peldenar. He . . . wasn’t the man I thought he was.”
Adiante snorted. “I wish I’d known before we left. He could have used someone to console him, and I’d give my left foot to find exactly what kind of man he is.”
The thought of Adiante and Erich together made Daniella’s skin crawl, and she hated that she still cared. “I’m sure your husband would be thrilled to know he’s married a woman with such a charitable disposition.”
Adiante looked impressed at the insult. “Really, though. What happened?”
Their coach rolled over a smooth wooden bridge across one of the city’s wide canals, and Daniella noted a statue of Arkista down a side street—the former goddess of Andronim, before her father had put an end to such things. The statue remained, though; Diamis hadn’t gone to as much effort to stamp out worship here as he had in other places. Arkista’s people had long ago let her languish on their own.
“He lied to me,” Daniella said. “About something unforgivable.” She turned back to the window, intending that to be the end of the conversation.
But from the corner of her eye, she saw Adiante and Braisia exchange a look. As much as they enjoyed sniping, it was a poor substitute for the kind of gossip they really loved—the tales of romances that they and the other noblewomen wrote in letters and passed around amongst themselves for sighs and giggles. Daniella knew that she and Erich had featured in a few such stories, though she gathered she was more often the oppressive betrothed than the plucky heroine.
“Daniella,” Adiante said, leaning forward. “You cannot leave us in suspense like that. You two were practically engaged.”
A tightness grew in Daniella’s chest, and she drew a deep breath. She didn’t for a moment believe that Adiante or Braisia could be discreet with the truth, but then again, did it matter? It was Erich whose reputation should suffer for the things he’d done, not hers. Not to mention her father.
And it was easier to have the courage to say these things when they were both far away.
“My father hired him to seduce me,” Daniella said, the words bitter in her mouth. “It’s how he got his generalship, for submitting to my father’s demands.” It was only Erich’s ill-timed attack of conscience that led him to tell her the truth—that he’d been manipulating her from the very beginning and had been handsomely rewarded for it.
She had both of their attention now. Braisia sat up straight. “I might have known,” she said. “It always was strange the way he fixated on you.” She clearly thought there was no other reason someone like Erich—the handsome, charming military hero—would have been interested in someone like Daniella, the awkward, bookish shut-in. She knew how they all saw her.
Adiante looked speechless at Daniella’s admission, and for a moment, Daniella had hope that she might even be supportive. Adiante was her same age and the closest she had to anything resembling a friend, which, given how little Adiante respected her, wasn’t saying much. But things had been better between them since Daniella had been courted by Erich—once Daniella herself had a suitor, she finally had something to contribute to Adiante’s constant chatter about the men she bedded.
But hope was a skittish thing, like a flash of motion out of the corner of one’s eye. Upon closer inspection, it always turned out to be nothing more than her own imagination.
“So he never truly cared for you?” Adiante asked, a little too eagerly.
She noticed that neither woman seemed concerned about her father’s role in this, only Erich’s. But then, it was common knowledge that Diamis kept her practically under lock and key. She supposed it made a sick sense that the way her father kept control over his grown daughter was to have her lover in his close employ.
It had never made sense to her why he’d always needed that control. It wasn’t as if she’d ever tried to run away or even had the courage to directly disobey him.
“I wish that were the case,” Daniella said. And she meant it, only because then, after that betrayal left her stinging—gods, how it still stung—Erich might have left her alone.
Adiante’s face lit up. “I’m remembering now that I saw General Dektrian outside your rooms one night, as I was returning to my own. I assumed he’d only stepped out to enjoy a bit of that parchweed he’s so fond of, but he looked like he’d been there for hours.”
“He had,” Daniella said. “My father was furious when he learned Erich told me the truth.” Erich claimed he had truly grown to love her. He sat outside her room, making it impossible for her to leave without him dogging her heels and begging for her to take him back. All the confessions, all the words he’d told her so many times before, playing on the lonely heart of a lonely girl—that she was his everything, his dreams were only of her, they shared one blood, one soul—had felt much more sentimental before she’d known the truth.
His pleadings had grown more desperate, more tinged with a simmering anger as the week went on, and twice she’d woken to find him inside her chamber, watching her sleep. Daniella had tried going to the guards, but none of them dared contradict a general. It was only when she’d gone to her father that Erich has been forced to vacate the hallway. Daniell
a had hoped her father would take Erich’s generalship back for giving away his assignment, but apparently Erich had become indispensable—he was a great military leader, and his heroics in the Andronish war had made him popular with both the nobility and common people.
The very next night, Erich climbed in her window. To prove he didn’t give a damn for his position, he’d said. He’d risk it all just to have her back in his arms.
By then, the very thought made Daniella sick, and terrified of what he might do when she didn’t give in. And while Erich had become crucial to her father’s military, at least Diamis had apparently realized the potential danger in Erich’s obsession and felt it safer for her to be away.
She wondered, too, if her father realized for once that he’d gone too far. If he felt regret, even just a little, for what he’d done to her.
If so, it would be a first.
“Well,” Adiante said. “And I thought we’d have to reach the palace before I heard the best gossip.”
Braisia looked over at Adiante with a bored expression. She couldn’t have tired of the news this quickly, but Braisia seemed to think that enthusiasm caused wrinkles and avoided it the same way she did the sun. “It’s not as if Daniella is much of a storyteller,” Braisia said, “for all the books she reads.”
Ah, yes. It always came back to the insults about books, which was the one thing Daniella never felt a bit of remorse for, no matter how much she was teased for it.
Daniella peered out of her window—pointedly ignoring Adiante as she even more pointedly stared—and watched the people of Drepaine lined up along the streets, some waving as she went by. A tall, dark-haired figure standing near a fruit stall caught her eye. He looked vaguely familiar—something about the resolute set to his shoulders as he watched her pass. It wasn’t until they were nearly upon the massive marbled gates of the Lunar Palace that Daniella became sure how she knew him.
The Drim. The one who had broken into the castle all those years ago, held her at knife point and then summoned a dead body to spar with him using dark magics. She was half certain she’d imagined much of that, but she was positive about the last—she’d hid there in the dark with the decapitated body, frozen with terror, her gown soaked in blood, until she’d managed to calm her nerves enough to claw her way through the darkness in search of the rune marks and finally make her way to her rooms.
She’d never entered those passageways again.
Daniella shivered, hoping her mind was playing tricks on her. She’d wondered more than once if the Drim had been involved in the proliferation of blood magic of late. The number of men and women executed for its practice had nearly doubled these last few months. Her father had no tolerance for deviant magic—allowing only Vorgalians to practice their charms and potions, as their magics were practically benign.
But no one could deny that the sudden increase was concerning. She’d overheard one of her father’s captains saying that trying to capture the mages was like trying to push back the tide, to which her father sharply suggested that the captain build a sea wall.
If the Drim was in the city, Daniella was no longer interested in seeing more of it. The sooner she could get behind the white stone walls of the palace, the better. The coach rolled over a stone bridge and through the massive gates, and Daniella turned her attention forward. The looming palace had been the seat of Andronish power for over five hundred years. The pure white spires and smooth, curving architecture symbolized the power and wealth of the line of Andronish kings, which had ruled from that point onward.
At least until three years ago, when her father had taken the country right out from under them.
Now Lord Governor Leander Tehlran took up residence in the palace at Drepaine and governance of the country. Daniella had always wondered why her father chose Lord Tehlran for such a position. For her part, she had never trusted the man—he was too calculating, too pitiless—but she’d never discussed her concerns with her father.
She never really discussed anything with her father.
The coach pulled to a jerky halt in front of the palace entrance, and one of the Sevairnese guards flanking the outside opened the door for them. Before Daniella could step out, though, Lady Braisia swept past in a swish of velvet and a cloud of her strong cinnamon and clove perfume. Adiante glanced wide-eyed at Daniella—who should have had the honor of exiting first—but Daniella only smiled grimly and said nothing.
A cheer rose from the crowd. It wasn’t difficult to imagine how they could believe she was Daniella—the people here had never seen their conqueror’s daughter, and Daniella supposed that Braisia looked the part. Daniella tried not to think that any one of them could be the blood puppet spies of that Drim.
Daniella was next out of the coach, and she knew she would be nearly invisible to the crowd in contrast to the extravagant Braisia. More concerned with comfort than style for the long journey, Daniella was wearing a simple dark green traveling dress, her red hair tumbling from its loose braid. She now regretted her lack of care. Between Braisia’s pompous personality and obvious desire to take charge, it might only take something as simple as not being formally attired to completely undermine Daniella’s authority with the people she was here to meet.
A wiry, beak-nosed chamberlain approached down the palace steps. “Lady Daniella, if you’ll follow me, please,” he said to Braisia before turning to lead them into the palace.
Braisia strutted after him, basking in the attention. Daniella opened her mouth to correct him. She couldn’t allow Braisia to feel too powerful; the woman could ruin the entire purpose of her visit if she . . .
A short hiss sounded, and one of the guards gave a ragged shout and shoved Daniella roughly to the ground. Daniella’s head struck the marble steps, leaving her dazed and numb. The world twisted and heaved in a mass of color and chaos, tinged around the edges in deep red. Screams and sounds of panic assaulted her ears, fuzzy and slightly muted. Hands seized her and she felt herself pulled upward, the world tilting unnaturally.
As she put a hand to the gash on her forehead, the scene before her began to steady. The chaotic sounds of the crowd barely registered as she viewed a sight that not even the protective circle of heavily armed guards could obscure.
Lying on the marble steps in an ignobly contorted position was Lady Braisia, her eyes staring blankly at the sky, a crossbow shaft jutting from her neck. A pool of blood spread out around her head, dripping down the steps. Some in the crowd screamed in terror, turning to run, and for good reason. But elsewhere, a voice called, “The tyrant’s brat is dead!” And another: “Let Diamis feel the fury of Andronim!”
Gods. How many of the people here wanted her dead? The palace spun around her, and Daniella retched. She felt a tug on her arms as someone—probably the guard—hauled her to her feet and rushed her toward the palace doors.
As the world faded completely from focus, the last thing Daniella remembered seeing was a bit of Braisia’s velvet, soaked in blood.
Four
Perchaya hadn’t come to the market today to get a glimpse of the Sevairnese princess, but judging by the press of the crowd ahead of her, she was the only one on the street who hadn’t. She’d only been trying to run an errand for her pregnant sister; Reisa had been craving cabbage and, much like when they were children, Perchaya could deny her younger sister nothing.
Perchaya held tight to her sack of cabbage—red and crisp, just how Reisa liked it—and tried in vain to move close enough to the wall of a textiles shop to edge around a pair of young girls who were staring eagerly up at the white stone palace with their arms linked. From down the street came the voices of the criers—”Make way! Make way!”—and a large, brightly painted coach driven by a team of four horses came rolling up the street, parting the crowd.
A rather portly man backed up against Perchaya as the crowd contracted, and Perchaya found herself pressed against a wal
l. The man stank of ale and too many days without a bath. Perchaya held her breath, and when her lungs began to ache, thought about what place she could make most effective use of her elbow.
If this kept up, they would be having juiced cabbage for supper.
The coach rolled past and the crowd filled the street again, and once more Perchaya could breathe. She watched the coach roll up to the white marble steps of the palace.
That’s when she saw him, a familiar face in the crowd. A man who looked about her age, maybe a few years older, clean-shaven and dark-haired. She didn’t know his name, but she’d seen him before—once he’d been reading by the river where she’d taken the laundry to wash, and another day, she’d passed him on the street where Reisa and Iadan lived. Both times he’d smiled and nodded at her. They weren’t interactions she would have remembered if it weren’t for the intensity of his gaze and the crinkle at the corners of his eyes when he smiled.
Perchaya had cursed herself for hours after their laundry encounter—if it could be called that. He’d sat there while she washed, and she’d caught him looking at her no fewer than three times. She should have introduced herself. She should have made idle talk about the weather or the temperature of the water—which was much colder than it looked, due to the fresh snow melt flowing from the foothills this early in the spring.
She had since thought of dozens of pleasant topics for conversation, but then, when she’d seen him again on the street, she’d passed him by with only a murmured hello that had come out more as a squeak. The man was looking at her again now, though. And while before Perchaya had found that flattering, this time she couldn’t help but wonder if he remembered her as that unfortunate girl with the voice like a strangled bird.
Perchaya hoisted her sack of cabbage up onto her hip. Surely this time she could talk to him. She could say something about the arrival of the princess—almost certainly the reason for his being on this street—and show him that she did, in fact, have a perfectly normal voice for a twenty-five-year-old woman, even if it did tend to quiver a bit with her nerves.