by Vela Roth
The seamstress smoothed an embroidered belt. “You’re to wear a queen’s finery today, my lady. All this belonged to Prince Caelum’s late mother.”
“Before that, this belonged to our future queen,” said Cassia.
“Aye. It was I who made them for Her Highness, then unmade them and worked them into new gowns for Her Majesty,” the seamstress replied. “It was I too who filled your sister’s orders for all your childhood gowns. She saw to it you had everything a young lady ought. Just think how happy she’d be to see you finally getting to enjoy such luxury again.”
“She would have given me the gown off her back,” Cassia said.
The seamstress nodded in approval. “Just so, my lady.”
Cassia walked from one garment to the next, putting the pieces back together in her mind until she could once more envision her sister in each of the gowns. Her belly was in her throat. She wasn’t sure if she was going to vomit or faint. But she kept looking, until she found the one she sought.
It was hiding beneath a blue surcoat, but when she pulled that outer layer aside, she found it remarkably unchanged, aside from a new trim of satin piping. The velvet and embroidery in every shade of sunlight had not lost their sheen. Cassia lifted the fabric to her nose. She could no longer smell the oils her sister had worn that day, except in her memory.
Cassia had spent the last fifteen years trying not to relive the day her sister had donned this gown to dance with Lord Bellator at the Autumn Greeting. It was in this dress that Solia had taken the hand of the man who would murder her, while the king who would allow that murder looked on. The king who claimed he had tried to save their beloved princess and made a show of mourning for her every year.
Cassia could now stand before the king without being crippled by her fear. She could do this too. She could find the strength to dance in this dress.
She wore Solia’s flametongue garments as armor in her war against the king, carrying on the cause for which her sister had sacrificed her life, making that cause her own.
Today, to the Autumn Greeting, she would wear her sister’s funerary gown.
One might think the king only wished to spare his coffers by tossing Cassia a handout of old gowns. Cassia knew better. Like her, the king wasted nothing. He made no move without purpose.
He was reminding her. Perhaps warning her. Or meting out his verdict.
Let this be her reply: she knew the truth. She would never forget.
Like everything else the king dealt her, Cassia would take this dress and turn it against him.
“This one.” Cassia held up the golden gown for the seamstress. “It must be this one.”
In the Footsteps of the Goddess
The scent oils were the most difficult for Cassia to endure.
She held her breath as Perita did the honors, the same ritual of anointing that Cassia had once watched Solia’s handmaiden Lady Iris perform for their princess. Cassia could see their golden heads and ivory faces in her mind’s eye. She tried to focus on the present instead, but seeing her own brown hair and freckled olive skin gleam with those oils horrified her more than her memories.
It was just like last winter, Cassia told herself. When she’d had to, she had covered her skin in the scent oils she hated in order to slide through a murder hole and get to Lio inside the impregnable walls of Solorum Fortress. Just as she had then, she was preparing for a siege.
The greatest siege she would ever undertake in her life to breach a much more monumental goal. But just like last time, her reward would be to save the Hesperines.
To see Lio.
Anything was worth that. Even enduring the ordeal that loomed ahead of her. Somehow she would find a way to get through it.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, my lord.”
The sound of Callen’s voice made Cassia jump. She, Perita and the seamstress looked toward the open door.
They couldn’t see Callen, but they had no trouble hearing him. His tone was as friendly as a bucket of waste water. “If you ask again, I’ll have to come down and request that you leave.”
Perita frowned. “It sounds like he’s shouting out our window. I’ll go see what’s amiss, my lady.”
The seamstress wove the last blue ribbon into Cassia’s hair while the two of them waited. Cassia resisted the urge to check the security of her golden velvet gloves. Perita had deftly switched them with the woolen ones while the seamstress was busy making a quick alteration to the gown’s hem.
“My lord!” Perita exclaimed from somewhere near Cassia’s bedroom window. “Anthros isn’t supposed to meet Kyria until it’s time for summer to turn into fall! It ruins the harvest and brings bad weather.”
A pleasant tenor voice called from below. “Indeed, separation before the promise dance is a treasured Tenebran tradition. Almost as treasured as men sneaking off to see their ladies in spite of it. My, but that glower is worthy of the occasion, Perita. Now tell your lady I have come to see her.”
“I’ll do no such thing, my lord.”
“I can see you are ready for the festival,” came the reply. “I’d tell you how fair you look, but then Callen would certainly come down here and ask me not-so-nicely to leave. I can only conclude your lady is already dressed as well. I shall leave a broken-hearted man if I do not get a glimpse of her.”
Flavian was here. It was time for Cassia to brave the murder hole.
Cassia went to stand behind her companion, just out of sight of the window. “Thank you, Perita. I’ll take care of this. Why don’t you go call Callen off?”
Perita made a show of tossing up her hands at the interloper below. As she turned from the window and moved to make way for Cassia, she grinned and winked.
Cassia took a deep breath and stepped up to the windowsill.
In the small courtyard below stood Flavian, idling at the base of the ivy that covered the walls as if he might scale the vines and storm her keep. He wore his riding leathers and a russet half-cape slung over his broad shoulders. Tall boots invited everyone to admire his long legs. Close-fitting breeches flaunted the muscles he developed in the saddle. An armored jerkin and vambraces announced his fitness for battle.
He must have just returned from one of his frequent errands for the king. His chestnut hair was windblown, and yesterday’s growth of beard adorned his strong jaw. The glint of sunlight on his spurs and sword marked him for an aristocrat. The smear of dirt across one chiseled cheekbone made him look like a rogue. Tenebra’s favorite charmer of damsels was in top form today.
“At last the goddess bestows her generosity on her poor supplicant.” Flavian stared at Cassia. “Kyria’s wreath, but you do look divine.”
“Nonsense. Yellow is my worst color.”
“You make any color lovely.” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “But I am disappointed. I cannot smell you from here. Everyone says the sacred scents of autumn that Kyria wears for Anthros have a magical affect no man can resist. I cannot wait to discover if that is true.”
“You must make do with whatever whiff reaches you, for you may not come up, and I shall not come down.”
“Far be it from me to gainsay the goddess. I shall have to wait to discover what spell she shall work upon me.”
“She is unlikely to work any magic on you at all in that attire, my lord. Do you intend to appear before her dressed for the road?”
He gave her his famous grin, which made dimples appear beneath his stubble. “I shall appear before her in whatever attire she wishes.”
“Well, we ladies have devoted the entire morning to our wardrobe in the hopes of catching Anthros’s eye. On behalf of womankind, I am sure the goddess would have me insist you exert equal effort.”
“Only one lady catches Anthros’s eye on this day, and that is Kyria herself.” Flavian propped his boot on a planter and braced an arm on his knee, leaning closer. “Am I to take your command as a sign you speak for the goddess today, Lady Cassia?”
“Am I to take your q
uestion to mean you act for Anthros?”
He reached under his cape and pulled out a floral wreath of red-gold Anthros’s fire. With a single dexterous motion, he tossed it up to her. Cassia fumbled with her stiff hands and caught the ring of blossoms.
“My Lady of Ice,” said Flavian, using his favorite nickname for her. “Will you be my Queen of Fire this day?”
The most eligible lord in the king’s court, the most coveted lover in all of Tenebra, was at Cassia’s feet.
She stood holding his wreath of Anthros’s fire and tried not to moan at the pain in her hands, which she had worked and bled to nurture roses.
She saw Lio’s earnest face before her and heard his sorcerous voice. Hespera was once known to all as the goddess of Sanctuary and Mercy. People saw darkness as her gift of protection and blood rituals as a reminder that we must all make sacrifices for the good of others.
Cassia donned the mask she had labored to create for the last six months. Each time she crafted it in flawless detail on her face to make it as convincing as a solemn vow and as unwavering as the stone beneath her feet.
At first she had endeavored only to make it pleasant and believable. Over time, however, she had seen that it had far-reaching and unintended impact on Flavian and indeed other men who beheld it. Never one to waste a tool, Cassia had learned to wield the unexpected power of that expression.
But it was harder to put it on each time. Today she paid in blood.
She put on the Smile and crowned herself in Anthros’s fire.
Capable Hands
Flavian’s cheer faded, and he gazed up at Cassia with an expression all too earnest. He swept a deep bow.
When he had imagined the lady who would one day accept him on Autumn Equinox, Cassia had not been whom he had envisioned, of that she was certain. How much did it cost him to look at her with such sincerity?
“This will be a day you shall not forget,” he promised.
“It already is.”
“But it’s only just begun.” His tone lightened again, and his grin returned. Did he have so many of them to give that they cost him nothing? “I shall surround you with good friends to celebrate. They’re riding in from everywhere to enjoy this day with us.”
Cassia bolstered the Smile. “How lovely.”
“My cousin has come all the way from Segetia.”
“Lady Eugenia?”
“Indeed, you shall meet Genie at last, and Lady Valentia too. I made Tyran promise to bring her. I have even persuaded Benedict to smile.”
Cassia knew her mask faltered, but she let it. “Free Lord Tyran has returned to court?”
She had thought the occupation she had arranged for Tyran would keep him well away from Solorum. It should have taken him much longer to escort his disgraced sister Irene to their home estate. The scandal surrounding her expulsion from the Temple of Kyria should have kept her brother embroiled in family matters.
Flavian hesitated, his brow furrowing. “Tyran arrived this morning with his betrothed. You and I have talked so often of Lady Valentia. I thought it would please you to finally be introduced to her.”
“Of course I look forward to her company.” Cassia cast a quick glance behind her, relieved to discover Perita was not to be seen. She must still be with Callen in their chambers. “Just a moment. I’m coming down.”
“My goddess descends at last?”
Cassia left the seamstress putting away the gowns and hurried out into the corridor, then to the nearby stair that led down to the courtyard. As soon as she stepped outside, Flavian loped forward to greet her. He swept one of her hands into his, and it took all her effort not to grimace in pain.
He brought her fingers to his mouth. “There. The tradition is complete. I have taken your forbidden hand and bestowed a premature kiss.” He did not release her. “But I will not believe any touch of this little hand will cause the crops to wither in the fields. Quite the opposite.”
“This hand must apply itself to work of greater import than superstition. I must speak with you about a matter that concerns me deeply.”
“Ah. You drive right to the point, as usual. I must say, your directness is always a breath of fresh air.” He surrendered her hand and gave her his full attention. “What is the matter, my dear?”
“We have spoken of Lord Tyran in passing, although never precisely of your regard for him. Your remarks have given me the impression he is not a very particular friend of yours.”
“His betrothed is an old family friend and a lady worthy of the fond regard she receives from everyone around her. As for Tyran himself…” Flavian quirked a brow. “I will pay him the best compliment I can: he is loyal to Segetia.”
“He is fond of filling everyone’s ears with tales of your recognitions upon him.”
“People tell all sorts of stories about me. I hope you don’t believe every one of them.” He lowered his voice with a half-smile. “If you did, you would surely think me quite the scoundrel.”
“On the contrary, my lord. Your honor is well known and certain to attract followers.”
“There was once one of our Segetian hunting dogs, the runt of the litter, which followed me everywhere I went, regardless of how many times I bade it stay in the kennels.”
Good. This would be easier since Flavian acknowledged Lord Tyran’s position as a sycophant rather than a comrade-in-arms. “My lord, has Lord Tyran spoken of the business that transpired between him and myself while you were away from court last winter?”
“He said you owe him a dance. I think he intends to claim it at Lady Valentia’s party. I’m not sure I shall let him.”
“He has the gall to think I owe him a favor. The truth of the matter is, I had to do everything in my power to keep him from having Callen executed.”
Flavian stood back, his gaze sharpening. “I beg your pardon?”
“Verruc, a guard in Lord Tyran’s service, led two of his comrades in an ambush after dark with no witnesses. Callen defended himself and, although outnumbered and gravely injured, defeated all three of them with skill and courage.” Cassia told Flavian as much as she and Perita had allowed to become public knowledge. For Perita’s sake, no one must ever know that Verruc had in fact ambushed her, and that Callen’s sword had been the only way to stop Verruc’s constant, abusive advances. “Lord Tyran, instead of taking responsibility for his men’s dishonorable conduct, accused Callen of murder. Callen almost died in prison from his untended wounds while I worked to persuade Lord Tyran to let me pay Verruc’s life-price so Callen would not have to pay with his life. At last, Lord Tyran’s baser nature got the better of him, and he accepted a great deal of gold and jewels from me. By then, Callen had lost the strength of his leg and a promising career on the battlefield.”
Flavian the cheerful suitor was no longer in evidence, and in his place stood a formidable lord. “Allow me to personally apologize for Tyran’s behavior. Needless to say, had I been aware of the situation, you and your dependents would never have endured such an ordeal.”
Cassia had been right to expect Flavian to take her at her word. She had known she would one day need to rely on the trust she had built with him during his courtship of her. That time was at hand, and it would not be the last. “Now you know the truth of the matter and the man who serves you. As you can imagine, I am loath to be in Lord Tyran’s company and most of all to subject those in my service to his presence.”
“Of course. I will take care of Tyran at once.”
Some of Cassia’s tension eased. “Thank you.”
“Rest easy, my lady, for the errand I contrive for him will keep him out of your sight indefinitely. He will be gone from Solorum before the dance commences.”
Her relief gave way to disbelief. This was to be Flavian’s grand gesture of honor and justice? To send the man away on an errand? There was no estate remote enough, no road long enough and no mud deep enough to hold Lord Tyran in check. What matter if he no longer troubled Perita, Callen and Cassia, when he
might subject others to the same cruelty elsewhere?
If Cassia were Tyran’s liege lord, she would not need to make do with family scandals to detain him, and she would resort to much more effective measures than errands. She would not let men like Tyran protect criminals like Verruc, and she would not let men like Flavian respond with mere slaps on the wrist. She would not let women like Perita live in fear.
Flavian should not need to know what Perita had suffered. He should already know how Tyran and his guards treated women. He should have already made sure no man who claimed loyalty to Segetia treated women that way.
“You intend to just send Lord Tyran away?”
“I will handle the matter with the utmost discretion. It wouldn’t do for any ruffled feathers or hard feelings to tarnish this day.”
Cassia bit back her frustration and resisted the urge to protest outright. Lord Tyran wielded his seat on the Council of Free Lords as his weapon of choice and his loyalty to Segetia as a shield. Flavian carried his desire to please everyone as a crutch. This matter required delicacy.
She took one step closer to Flavian and rested a hand on his arm. He went still, then lifted his brown eyes to meet hers. Hedon’s horn, those smoldering gazes of Flavian’s lived up to their reputation. If Cassia had been anyone else, there would have been no hope for her. Unfortunately for Flavian, all such gazes were wasted on her, for his eyes were not jewel blue, nor did they reflect light so that they glowed in the dark.
“My lord,” she beseeched him. “The liberties Lord Tyran takes without your approval concern me.”
“Not to worry. He will not trouble you again.” The touch of his fingertips upon her brow took her by surprise. He brushed a strand of hair back from her forehead, tucking it under the wreath he had given her. “Put Tyran out of your mind.”
“Now that you know his real character—”
“Or lack thereof. His behavior is ill-befitting a free lord. If he wants my respect, he must show his backbone and learn to properly discipline his men. My father and I have no use for the weak-willed.”