by Lyra Selene
“In private!” Lullaby hissed at me, eyes narrow. “Are your manners really so vulgar?”
My hands stilled. My cheeks flamed.
“No promissory note?” Lullaby whispered to the châtelaine, a note of desperation straining her voice. “How on earth am I supposed to prepare her without money? Her failure falls on my head. I can’t possibly afford one new dress for the girl, let alone a wardrobe!”
“Her Majesty has approved a line of credit in the meantime,” murmured Madame. “Worry yourself with regard to the girl’s wardrobe and comportment. I will handle the financials.”
Lullaby inhaled, then stalked away across the shaded courtyard, her silky mane whispering around her shoulders. I hurried to catch up.
Tucked behind a screen of blooming vines, my new chambers were lovely. Coiling pillars braced carved stone archways. Gauzy drapes billowed in a fragrant breeze. Plush carpets caressed my tired feet. But that wasn’t what made the chambers so wonderful.
On every surface in the room—from the walls, to the low tables set around the room, to the decorative finials above the door—flowers were painted in a deft, clever hand. Sun-tinged jessamin amid leaves of green. Shy violettes, hiding beneath sills. Gaudy columbine, stained with port. Not even the panes of the windows had escaped the artist’s brush; muted sunlight splashed brilliant petals across the polished floor.
“Who did this?” I murmured, spinning in place to soak in the imaginary jardin. “Are all the rooms in Lys like this?”
“No,” replied Lullaby. Her voice was choked and quiet, and I spun on my heel to look at her. To my surprise, tears prickled in her stricken eyes.
“Lullaby?” I asked, reaching a tentative hand toward her. “Are you all right?”
“Sorry,” she whispered, dabbing moisture from her cheeks. “This was a friend’s room. She painted these. The châtelaine must not have had time to remove them before you arrived.”
“Why would I want them removed?” Shock made my voice shrill. “Please let Madame know I want them to stay. They’re beautiful.”
“They are, aren’t they?” Lullaby took one more look around the room before setting her jaw. “I’ll need to put in a rush order for gowns. Blues, I think, to match your eyes. Be prepared to rise with first Matin. We must transform you into a lady before we can present you at court again.”
She half turned. Her gaze narrowed on my chest, where my ambric amulet swayed. She curled her fingers around its time-polished curves. “What is this?”
“Oh.” Apprehension coiled a hand around my spine. I remembered the heavy twist of Dowser’s expression when I showed him the amulet. What if the pendant meant something to Lullaby as well? “It’s just something I wear for luck.”
“It looks old.” Lullaby released the necklace to thud against my rib cage like an extra heartbeat. Her lip twisted. “And ugly. The empress would hate it. Never wear it again.”
Relief tinged with outrage stained my cheeks. Lullaby turned on her heel.
“Lullaby!” I pushed away thoughts of Dowser and the amulet I’d worn since birth. I thought of the vow I’d made myself: my personal pledge to earn my place at Coeur d’Or, at whatever cost. If I wanted this mentorship to work—if I wanted Lullaby to support me, to fight for me to succeed as hard as I intended to fight—then I would need her friendship. I wanted her friendship. “Your friend. What’s her name?”
Lullaby paused with one hand on the door. Her inky hair floated around her shoulders as she bowed her head.
“Her name was Blossom.” Her voice was so quiet I could barely hear her.
“You said these were her rooms. Where is she now?”
Silence hung taut between us, and for a moment I thought Lullaby wasn’t going to answer me. Then her hands tightened on the doorknob, and she fixed me with eyes as forbidding as the shadows cloaking the Midnight Dominion.
“She’s gone,” Lullaby whispered. “And unless we’re both careful, we can expect the great pleasure of following right behind her.”
She swept from the room with a whisper of silky skirts and resentment, leaving me alone in a fanciful jardin of made-up flowers, the only memorial to a girl who no longer existed.
A finger of trepidation trailed down my spine. Gone.
Whether that meant banishment, death, or worse, I dared not guess. I just knew I would do everything in my power to escape that fate.
My hands shook as I dragged the brittle chain of my amulet over my head. I stared at it, memorizing its soft edges and burnished patina. Then I crossed to my bed and shoved the pendant beneath the soft mattress, ignoring the needle of regret piercing my heart. I already missed the comfort of its warm weight between my breasts.
I would do what needed to be done. If this world required Mirage, then I would forget Sylvie. I would abandon her in the Dusklands with the indifferent Sisters and the cruel, ignorant children. I would say goodbye to her in the bustling courtyard of an ambric warehouse. I would sponge her off and scour her clean, until she was exactly who she needed to be.
I’d gone from nowhere to being here. The last thing I wanted was to be gone.
I woke to the disorienting splash of colored light across my face. For a long moment, I thought I was back in Madame Rina’s transport, with the livid light of a dying sun peering between colored curtains. But then the bright, clear chime of first Matin pealed through the chamber, and I remembered.
Coeur d’Or. I was in the palais of the Amber Empress.
Excitement tainted with anxiety surged through my veins, and my eyes snapped open. A young woman in a servant’s uniform smoothed open another set of drapes, letting a necklace of bright jewels spill across the marble floor.
“Time to rise, my lady,” said the girl, bobbing a quick curtsy toward the bed. I glimpsed dark hair pulled away from a soft-featured face. “Apologies, but the châtelaine made it clear you must awaken early this Matin.”
“I’m up,” I murmured, watching the girl move through the room with practiced efficiency. “Who are you?”
“I’m head of your personal staff, my lady,” she replied. “I’ll coordinate your wardrobe, activities, and appointments, as well as any other errands you require. Your staff includes two other handmaidens to dress you, plus access to the entire staff of Lys Wing, as necessity demands.”
“My—my staff?” The words felt strange in my mouth. Staff meant servants. Entitlement waged war with mute horror. What would Luca think? I shoved the thought away. “Why do I need so many handmaidens?”
The girl ducked her head to hide the smile stretching the corner of her mouth. “I assure you, my lady, three servants is fewer than customary.”
My lady. Those two words wakened a foreign thrill in a chilly corner of my heart. I’d spent more than a few dim, lonely Nocturnes dreaming of servants and soft pillows, hot meals and heeled slippers. I twisted my fingers in the fine sheets and waited to feel guilty.
“Do you have to call me that? It sounds so—so formal.”
“And what would my lady prefer instead?”
“My name is—” Sylvie. No, it wasn’t. I snagged my lip between my teeth. “Mirage. Call me Mirage.”
“Of course,” she replied, impassive. I studied her face, bleached pale by the faded sunlight streaming through the window. Did she know I was different from the other courtiers? I searched for some sign that she saw me as just another girl—a commoner, like her, from the edge of the daylight world.
But you’re not just another girl, whispered the voice deep inside me. The voice that made me run away from the Sisters and stow away on a convoy. The voice that made me leave Luca behind in the Mews. The voice that longed for kembric fancies and dristic smiles; a million ambric dreams honed on sheer impossibility. You belong here.
“And what’s your name?” I asked, mostly to smother the mess of uncertainty roiling within me.
I saw surprise behind the girl’s deferent brown eyes. But then she returned to her task, arranging a bouquet of lilies in a
crystal vase.
“My mother calls me Louise, my lady,” she said, at last. “But here in the palais they mostly call me ‘You, Girl.’ ”
Horror flickered through me, followed by a flash of amusement. My servant made a joke.
“Louise,” I said, choking on a laugh. “I think we’re going to get on just fine.”
“You say that now,” said Louise, and a smile transformed her face. “Let’s see how you feel after I have a go at your hair.”
Two other handmaidens bustled into my chambers, laden with fabric and jewels and enough cosmetics to make my head spin. I jumped out of bed, itching to feel the fabrics beneath my fingers, the sheer breadth of color against my skin. But I was summarily deflected. The girls maneuvered me into layers of garments, pulling and prodding and cinching until I felt like livestock trussed for slaughter. I might be seventeen tides old, but I was apparently not expected to dress myself.
“What do I call you?” I gasped between brutal tightenings of the torture device they’d strapped around my waist. “Louise says I shouldn’t ask, but it seems odd that you’ve seen me undressed and I don’t even know your names.”
The girls darted glances at each other. One was tall, with dark circles beneath her pale eyes. The other was plump and pretty, but her fine mouth wore a pout.
“I’m Matilde, m’lady,” said the tall girl, her voice timid. “And this is Elodie.”
Elodie gave me a tight smile before returning to her task of making my waist as small as possible. Fortunately for her, I’d barely eaten in the past few spans, so I was thinner than I ought to be. The thought conjured up a sudden image of Luca, grinning like a fool as he snuck me tidbits from his and Vesh’s dinner. Barely more than crumbs, but more than the nothing I had to eat. A sour hand squeezed at my throat. I clenched my eyes shut and pushed the memory away.
I certainly wouldn’t go hungry here.
After I was dressed and cinched to the girls’ satisfaction, they began my cosmetics while Louise tore my hair out by the roots.
At least, that’s what it felt like.
Louise’s touch was even less gentle than she promised. My scalp screamed as she twisted and yanked, grumbling the whole time. My strands were nowhere near her standards, which I imagined were the glossy, thick, impeccable strands of the wealthy and well fed.
“At least it’s long,” she muttered, and I knew that was as close to a compliment as I was going to get.
Elodie smeared creams across my face, staining my cheeks and lining my lashes until tears prickled at my eyes and threatened to spill down my newly painted face.
“Don’t you dare cry,” Elodie hissed, her eyes dangerously insolent. And in that moment I realized she must know what I was and where I came from, and that she hated me for striving, hated me for climbing, and most of all, hated me for achieving what she never could.
I pasted a look of cool serenity on my painted face and ignored the roiling sea of pride and shame and ambition carving out my insides.
Finally, the girls moved back, their work finished. Three sets of eyes examined me as I swiveled my head, unused to the heavy weight of my hair. I took a tentative step in my heeled slippers. Dense layers of fabric rustled against the tile. I craned my neck, looking for a mirror.
Instead, I found the face of a stranger in a pane of polished glass. A lady, with blue-grey eyes framed by long black lashes. Lush-dark curls piled high above a flaming splash of vermilion feathers. Lips as red as the rubies strung around her neck. Cream lace frothing above the collar of a carmine gown.
I pressed my palms together, but there was no buzzing in my ears, no restless itch. This was no illusion.
At least, not one made by me. Pleasure swaddled me in warmth.
“You’ll do,” said Louise, and I thought I heard a note of satisfaction in her dry tone. “Now the lady Lullaby requires you in her chambers for breakfast.”
At the mention of breakfast, my stomach growled, hungry as a wild animal. I realized with sudden horror that Elodie had left no room for anything resembling food to pass between the stalwart stays of my corset. She smirked, as though reading my thoughts, then dropped a mocking curtsy before disappearing into an alcove with the other girls.
I sucked in as much air as the corset would allow, and took a tentative step toward the door. Every step was strange in this costume; my body felt as though it had been dissolved and reconstituted in some new configuration. My feet felt small, pointed and delicate. The corset and the tight sleeves of the gown forced my shoulders up and back. The tower of hair balanced on my head required me to hold my neck long and straight. Even my center of balance had changed, tightening my hips and lengthening my spine.
I was newly made.
Sudden melancholy swept over me, prickling my skin with hot little fingers. I spun, searching for something—anything—in these chambers to remind me of my old life. Of the old me. But everything I saw was beautiful and spectacularly expensive, crafted with skill and purchased with unimaginable wealth. Even the press of painted flowers was a constant reminder that this was not mine.
Why not? I railed against the traitorous thoughts diffusing doubt through my mind. Why should I lament a change I myself had fostered? Why should I apologize for seeking, for striving, for transforming? I was evolving. Every step I took was a step away from a life I hadn’t chosen, toward a life I had. A life bursting with wealth and wonder and a thousand unimaginable possibilities.
The bell chimed for third Matin as I moved out into the shaded jardins of Lys Wing. Half-masked by crimson-streaked clouds, the brassy sun sent spears of muted light to stripe the pebbled pathways. Gentian and cerise slapped against my full skirts, raining petals behind me. The sight of the broken flowers conjured thoughts of Blossom, Lullaby’s erstwhile friend.
Gone.
I shoved the thought away as a servant in what I was beginning to recognize as the uniform of Lys Wing bowed me into Lullaby’s room.
Lullaby’s chambers were laid out like mine, but instead of being decorated in a thousand imaginary flowers, hers were drenched in shades of blue. Cerulean glass paned the windows, striping the walls in aqua. Gossamer drapes undulated in the breeze, casting shadows across the floor. My palms itched with fluid fancies.
“It reminds me of the sea,” Lullaby said. “It’s soothing.”
The rumpled mess of Lullaby’s inky hair and her gaping yawn told me she’d just risen. One of her servants draped a dressing gown over her outstretched arms. She meandered toward a low table set with platters of fragrant buns and carafes of steaming liquid, then plopped into a plush chair and shoved a cake into her mouth.
My stomach growled again, louder than before. Lullaby glanced toward me. Her sleepy eyes widened and her mouth popped open, revealing her half-chewed breakfast.
“What?” I snapped, hunger quickly transforming into resentment. When would these people stop staring at me like I was a curiosity?
“Nothing,” muttered Lullaby, but her eyes didn’t leave my face as she devoured another bun. “Your girls didn’t disappoint. You look—well, beautiful.”
“Oh.” Her words cooled the indignation boiling inside me, but only barely. Her loose hair and breezy dressing gown reminded me of the satin prison compressing my ribs. “Why did I have to get primped and prodded at first Matin, when you got to sleep in?”
“Sleep in?” Lullaby snorted. “This is the earliest I’ve been awake since arriving at Coeur d’Or. Even the early risers don’t get up until at least Prime.”
“Why not?”
“Because most of us have been feasting and drinking and dancing until the last hours of Nocturne,” explained Lullaby drily. “You’ll see.”
I mulled over this new information as I reached for a bun that smelled as delicious as it looked sticky. But Lullaby slapped my hand away, hard.
“Scion’s teeth! What was that for?” I demanded, cradling my stinging wrist.
“You’re not here for breakfast,” said Lullaby, and I
saw a wicked light ignite in her liquid eyes. “And I didn’t crawl out of bed at third Matin to watch you stuff your face. You’re here to learn court manners, and that’s your first lesson.”
“I’ll be damned—”
“Ladies never curse. Second lesson.”
Fire burned my cheeks, and I dug newly buffed nails into my calloused palm. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
“Then you should have asked your staff to feed you. That’s why they’re there.” Lullaby’s eyes softened when she saw the expression on my face. “Oh, fine. I’ll tell you what—we’ll make a game out of it. Yet another court lesson for you—when there’s an opportunity to make a game or wager out of something, take it.”
“A game?”
“A game.” Lullaby’s mouth quirked. “Today we’re covering comportment and address. For every question you answer correctly, or task you perform well, I will reward you with an item of food or a sip of tea. Will that do?”
Humiliation battled with hunger. Hunger won.
“I’ll play your game,” I huffed. Both sides of the wager were in my best interest. I was desperate to master Lullaby’s refined graces, and I was starving to boot. Still, pride flared hot in my belly, souring whatever pleasure I’d anticipated in learning how to play courtly games. “But I won’t like it.”
“Fourth lesson,” crooned Lullaby. “Never, ever let anyone know you’re not enjoying something. That will only make them enjoy it more.”
And so began the first of many lessons on manners and courtly conduct. Curtsies, depth of curtsies, angle of the head, and inflection of the wrist. Unending lists of the types of nobility, and the customary address for said nobles. Duc de Beltoire: Your Grace. Comptesse L’Aumont: Your Ladyship.
“But why?” I asked, around a mouthful of berries Lullaby had grudgingly doled out as the reward for a curtsy she deemed not the worst. “If everyone at court uses their dynasty names, why do I need to know how to address them by their official names?”
“It’s hard to explain.” Lullaby pursed her lips. “Sometimes the most important reason for understanding a courtly convention is knowing when and how the rule may be broken. Does that make sense?”