by Cait Spivey
“I say we stay until they come for us,” Eva murmured against Guerline’s ear. The other girl shivered, and Eva grinned. She rested her head against Guerline’s forehead and slipped a hand below the coverlet, under the chemise that had ridden up and exposed Guerline’s hips. She trailed her fingers along the soft rolls of Guerline’s stomach, listening with satisfaction to Guerline’s breath get shorter and shorter the closer her hand got to the source of that incredibly inviting heat. When she reached it, she paused, her hand hovering over its target, and she kissed Guerline, who groaned impatiently against her mouth.
“Eva, please,” Lina said.
And Eva would have obliged immediately, if there had not been a knock on the door. She cursed under her breath and looked at Guerline, who stared at her, eyes wide with indecision even as her hips rocked toward Eva’s hand. Then Guerline closed her eyes, whimpered and tilted her chin up, hips arching. Ignoring the knock, hardly able to think of anything but Guerline’s need, Eva kissed her and pressed her hand to Guerline’s warmth. Guerline cried out and bucked against Eva’s hand, and Eva’s whole body filled with a powerful heat. She felt transcendent, physically strong and yet somehow also stretched beyond her body, connected to Guerline and even farther, like the universe itself flowed into her and into her fingers, guiding the movements that made Lina moan. Eva kissed her harder, muffling the moans, swallowing them like they were the only food she would ever need again.
“Your Highness, are you all—oh!”
The voice came from within the room with them, and this forced Eva and Guerline reluctantly apart as they turned to face the intruder. It was a young girl with black skin and curly hair wound into a tall up-do. Her overdress was fine embroidered linen and she wore a comb with a dangling charm over the center of her forehead, which marked her as a nobleman’s daughter. Her eyes were wide with shock—she couldn’t have been more than fifteen. Eva tried and failed to feel ashamed.
“What do you want?” Guerline asked, her voice surprisingly steady, given how her chest still heaved. Eva fought to contain her smirk as she slid out of the bed and into a light dressing gown.
The girl curtsied, stepping her right foot back and bending that knee. “Please, Your Highness, I am Undine, granddaughter of your councilor Lord Historian Wellsly. I’m to be your lady-in-waiting?”
“Oh yes, I remember now,” Guerline said. She sighed, and with that exhale went the last of their exertion. Eva held up a second dressing gown and smiled at Guerline as the princess stood from the bed, adjusted her chemise, and turned while Eva guided her arms into the sleeves of the gown and settled it onto her shoulders. “You know Lady Malise, of course?” Guerline added.
“Call me Eva,” she said. Normally, Eva stood on more ceremony; but it was only fair, since Undine had caught such an intimate impression of her. The smirk won, pulling up one corner of her mouth.
Undine nodded, her eyes still wide. “Of course, Lady—Eva.” She looked back to Guerline. “Your Highness, you are to have your hair done today.”
Guerline groaned, but nodded. Undine went to the bedroom door, and Guerline started to follow; then she looked back to Eva.
“I’ll be along in a moment,” Eva said. “I just need to wash up.”
The reaction was instant—Guerline grinned, Undine blushed, and Eva could not help but laugh. Guerline nodded, and she and Undine left, shutting the door behind them. Eva giggled as she went into the small washroom attached to the bedroom. There was a larger room in Guerline’s suite for bathing, so this room had only a counter, upon which sat a basin, a towel, a dish of soap flakes, and a tall ewer of water. The ewer rested on a small stone circle which was enchanted to keep it cool, so that the water was refreshing at all times.
Eva poured water into the basin and washed her hands with her eyes closed, reliving the most beautiful morning she had ever experienced. She was not sure what she’d expected when she kissed Guerline, but what had followed had certainly exceeded any fleeting thing she could have envisioned.
Guerline loved her. Guerline wanted her. It was a dream come true.
But even as Guerline’s presence had chased away Eva’s worries, her absence allowed them to return. There was every chance their dream come true would stay dreamlike: brief and rare. Evadine was not a good marriage prospect, and that was assuming Guerline stayed on the throne long enough to marry. There had been no official session of council since the death of Guerline’s parents—since they must legally wait for her coronation—but Eva knew that Lord Engineer Theodor Warren had been speaking already to Guerline of the anti-witch movement. Guerline had of course known about it before, and she and Eva had debated the issue casually on more than one boring night; but now Lina must actually deal with it and the powerful figures on either side.
Yet another new impediment to their relationship. Lina always argued in favor of the witches. Eva, however, was more committed to the opposition than she had previously revealed to her dear friend. Eva dried her hands on the towel and swallowed her anxiety, then went back into the bedroom.
“Don’t you see, Eva?”
She staggered backward, looking for the source of the voice. Suddenly he was standing in front of her—Alcander. This time, he came to her as if out of a memory, whole and fully clothed, his brown skin flush and healthy. But this was no comfort to her, because the fear she’d felt in that memory came back to her as well, flooding her and paralyzing her with silence as it had on the night not long before he’d died, when he’d worn that tunic and waved that enchantment at her.
It was a magical dagger of defense developed by the witches of Adenen—a small blade that could be kept on one’s person, a final protection should other measures fail. It required no skill to use; the blade recognized a target and, when slashed, sent a pulse of magic that was as painful as any true cut.
Eva knew this from personal experience.
“Don’t you see, Eva?” Alcander said again, as he had that night. He slashed the blade. This time, no magic pierced her, but Eva cried out instinctively. “Magic is a thing of pain, and it must be ours to control! Ours alone!”
Eva clenched her jaw, shut her eyes, and ran across the bedroom to the exit. Nothing stopped her, and when her hand closed around the door handle, she looked over her shoulder at the empty room. She took deep breaths to steady herself again. Memories were preferable to the other visions, the ones where Alcander was dead, blood dripping from his torn left shoulder, his skin bruised and bloated. At least she knew she could escape the memories. Every time she saw the wraith, she expected it to drag her, body and soul, to the underworld.
She opened the door and strode down the hall to Guerline’s dressing chamber, and managed to return Guerline’s smile when she crossed the threshold. Guerline’s brows pinched inward, and Eva longed for a moment alone with her, to reassure her that the somberness monopolizing her face had nothing to do with their glorious morning together. But Guerline was trapped, seated on a tall stool and surrounded by more ladies-in-waiting. Young Undine was directing them, shouting orders and circling them like some hairdresser hawk, watching as they sectioned Guerline’s natural hair and began to install false hair in twists.
Undine noticed Eva’s entrance and smiled at her. “Would you like to assist, Eva?”
Eva laughed. “It looks like you have all the hands you need. I’m happy to observe.”
The young lady-in-waiting nodded and returned to her minions. Eva and Guerline shared bemused looks as, over the next several hours, Guerline’s short curly hair was converted into long twists the orange-red color of a setting sun. This was a slightly brighter version of Guerline’s natural hair color, and when Eva did finally get up to closely observe the process, she thought the colors very well matched. She knew little of how the magic behind cosmetics functioned, only that it served as practice for the young witches of Gwanen clan and provided Aridans with many colorful and rejuvenating creams with which to paint their faces, as well as hair modifications such as t
he kind now being inflicted upon Guerline.
“Remind me why we thought this would be a good idea?” Guerline muttered.
“You’ve had the same hairstyle for ten years,” Eva said. “You remember? Ever since I ruined your hair.”
Guerline smirked. “How could I forget? You were so distraught.”
Eva sighed and rolled her eyes at the memory. Maribel Hevya had told Eva that, as the princess’s companion, it would be her responsibility to maintain the princess’s hair. Eva had not the slightest idea, however, how to work with hair like Guerline’s. Her own hair was smooth and straight, could not hold a curl if it was threatened. Though she’d tried to do as she was told, knowing that she’d be sent away if she failed, it had been a disaster. Guerline had never seen her own hair being done, only felt it, and could only direct Eva so much. Eva’s aggressive child-pride precluded her from asking for help from the maids—who, anyway, averted their eyes whenever Eva glanced toward them. Undoubtedly Maribel had told them not to help.
Guerline’s hair—and Eva’s position—was saved only when Guerline begged the help of none other than Undine’s mother, Yaella, who had done Guerline’s hair in the style she herself wore and taught them how to do it. Ever since then, Guerline’s only hair routine had been for Eva to shave the sides of her head while Guerline herself conditioned and twisted the tight curls on top.
Watching Undine transform Guerline now, Eva was grateful for the new addition to their royal entourage . . . even if she had barged into the bedroom rather rudely.
Guerline’s scalp ached. Undine assured her that over the next few hours, she would get used to the new weight of the twists that fell to the middle of her back when pulled away from her face. When swept to one side of her head or the other, they went quite down to her hip.
She had to admit, though, when Undine helped her at last off the stool and led her to the full mirror, that they very much altered her look, and for the better. Perhaps it was simply, as Eva said, because she’d had the same hairstyle for so long—since childhood—but seeing herself with these twists that could fall across her face in a way that reminded her of Eva’s silky hair did make her look older. More like a woman. More like an empress.
Especially when Undine demonstrated the braids and knots into which she could arrange the twists, which gave her added height and presence. She would need every inch, that much was certain.
The dressing room seemed to blur as Guerline’s thoughts flung themselves between memories of all the meetings and luncheons and dinners she’d had, invitations from the nobility—ostensibly to comfort and congratulate her. Yet each one felt like a test. With few exceptions, the nobility struck her as calculating and self-centered. She supposed they had a right to be so, but she could not help disliking that they now turned their calculations upon her. Aridan history was riddled with usurpations.
Thus far, her simmering panic had been mostly contained, or channeled into flashes of aristocratic anger that Eva later praised; but she could not see that attitude lending itself to a long and stable reign.
She hadn’t yet determined what would facilitate such a reign, but her coronation was still taking place tomorrow.
Someone put their hands on Guerline’s shoulders and drew her attention back to the present. She looked into the mirror and saw Eva standing behind her, smiling, her eyes dancing over Guerline’s reflection. Undine thanked the other ladies and ushered them out; Guerline boldly took Eva’s hands and clutched them in the center of her chest. Eva smiled wider in response and kissed Guerline’s cheek. Even that small gesture sent a tingle down Guerline’s spine.
She wanted to go back to that morning and never leave it. Could a witch do that for her, seal her in one perfect moment in time?
“You like the hairstyle, Your Highness?” Undine asked hesitantly.
Eva started to pull away, but Guerline held her hands in place as she looked over at the young lady. “I do, thank you, Undine. And please. No titles, not from you.”
Undine gave them a small smile and a brief nod. “Shall I bring up your lunch? I’m sure you’re both very hungry.”
“Yes, thank you,” Guerline said.
The girl curtsied fully and hurried out. Eva watched her go, but Guerline looked back at the mirror, observing the fine line of Eva’s long neck. Forget the coronation, forget this empire, she thought. I’d rather kiss her until the end of time.
“I hope we didn’t corrupt the girl too much. She’s so young,” Eva said.
“She was just surprised,” Guerline replied. “You can’t blame her. I was a little surprised myself.”
Eva slid away from her and took just one hand, intertwining their fingers. She led Guerline out of the dressing room and into her parlor.
“Were you really that surprised?” Eva said quietly. She laughed. “I’m quite the master of myself, then.”
“In truth, I was probably too distracted by my own feelings to notice yours,” Guerline said. “Isn’t that funny?”
“But understandable.” They stopped and faced each other, and Eva kissed her. Guerline melted into her closeness. They let go their hands and wrapped their arms around each other. As much as she had enjoyed the frenetic contact earlier, this, she thought, was wonderful in its own way: solid, warm, patient, as if they had all the time in the world to be together, to love each other.
Eva pulled back and said, “What will we do, Lina?”
Guerline knew, from the tightness of Eva’s brow, that she was speaking of things Guerline would rather put off considering—but as ever, Eva was right. Undine had seen them together, and though the girl didn’t seem like a gossip, Guerline was the empress. Even the most casual of her relationships must be handled with care until her first marriage could be settled. Aridan monarchs were allowed up to three spouses, since marriage was such a useful diplomacy tool, but the order in which those spouses were acquired was one of the delicate political matters Guerline was now faced with.
“I will marry you, Eva,” she said.
“Shall I be your first wife, though?” Eva asked. Her expression was wry, but Guerline knew there was no challenge in what she said. Evadine had a talent for asking the necessary questions without arguing, which was one of the reasons Guerline had made her Chief Adviser.
Guerline sighed. “I want you to be.” If Eva was her first, possibly only, wife, then their children—born of their joined blood by the grace of magic—would be the heirs. Many would be angered by that, given Eva’s undistinguished family line, but Guerline struggled to be bothered. She felt, more strongly than she expected, that she didn’t care what her noble subjects and sovereign neighbors might think about her preference for Eva, common though her blood might be. If she had come to realize anything over the past two months, though, it was that what she wanted was now only one small part of how she must make decisions.
Eva squeezed her hand, and Guerline nodded to the unspoken words. Eva understood the landscape before them, better even than Guerline did. She had always cared more about the people and the politics Guerline now had charge over.
“Smile now, Lina. Your marriage is a bridge soon to be crossed, but not yet,” Eva said. She kissed Guerline’s cheek. “Whatever happens, I’m here, I will always be here, and I will always be yours.”
“And I will always be yours,” Guerline echoed, bringing up their joined hands and kissing Eva’s fingers.
Eva smiled, and they separated, seating themselves at Guerline’s parlor table just as Undine entered with two servants, one carrying a covered plate in each hand, the other goblets and a pitcher. Undine herself carried a short, wide vase stuffed full with blooming rose heads, which she set down on the table once the servants had deposited their burdens and departed. Guerline smiled at Eva across the flowers, and Undine blushed.
“No one told me that the ladies were—but I thought there ought to be—I thought it would be sweet if—”
“Thank you, Undine, they’re lovely,” Guerline said.
> “They’re perfect, Undine,” Eva agreed.
Undine nodded, beaming, and poured sweet cider into their goblets with a satisfied smile on her face. When she had finished, she curtsied first to Guerline and then to Eva. Then, she sat herself in a chair by the door and pulled a small book from her pocket.
Eva and Guerline grinned at each other and turned their attention to their food. There was no hurry. Guerline saw to it that there was nothing scheduled on the eve of her coronation, anticipating that, as the hour of the event drew nearer, she would find it more and more difficult to maintain her composure. Eva had assured her they would have the most relaxing day, taking their ease and doing only things that made Guerline happy.
As Eva asked how she would like to spend her afternoon, Guerline could not help smirking.
Chapter Five
Eva paced just inside the doors of the ballroom. Even through the heavy wood, she could hear the murmuring of hundreds of people beyond, waiting. For many of them, it would be their first true glimpse of their new empress; and according to Josen, Captain of the Palace Guard, they were, to put it simply, eager.
Why shouldn’t they be? Guerline was young, mysterious—ignored and sheltered by her family only to be thrust into authority by their gruesome and sudden deaths. Eva’s new favorite guard, a young man named Hamish, had told her there were stories going around the Fourth Neighborhood that this was some sort of rags-to-riches tale, that the beautiful princess had been kept shut away and given only the meanest scraps from the wicked emperor and empress, peace for their souls. This narrative had infiltrated the Third and even, Hamish said, the Second Neighborhoods, some citizens of which were now outside the ballroom doors.
How ridiculous could people truly be, and how could they say such things? What did they expect to see? And how could Eva possibly welcome any of them when she knew Guerline was ashen with fear in her chambers?
Or had been, hours ago, when Eva last saw her. Her duty as Chief Adviser, the voice of the empress in her absence, was to give direction to the servants and the councilors and the priest who would oversee the coronation, Piron. Undine had dragged her out of Guerline’s dressing room with a strength she would not have expected from the petite teenager. Eva had bristled at being forced to leave Guerline’s side, but by the gods of the forest, she would put such a fear into the assembled with her introduction that none would look at Lina as anything other than the strong, dear soul she was.