Zora couldn’t see the look of pity that Arianna was giving her. Even though the maidservant admired her friend for believing that such an outcome might be possible, she wasn’t going to tell her any different, at least not now.
Zora reached up and traced the outline of the hourglass pendent hanging from her neck, remembering the last thing she had to do before the evening’s festivities began. She looked at her friend.
“Leave me for now. I need a couple of moments alone.” Arianna gave her a nod and a slight bow before slipping out of the room.
When she was certain Arianna was gone, Zora went to retrieve one of the glass jars of brew she’d brought from Madame Fae’s and set it upon on her dresser. She opened the top drawer of the furniture piece and brought forth a square of coarse linen folded in thirds. Opening it reveled three stems of thorn root that were vibrantly red and ripe. Zora ran her index finger across all three of them feeling the fuzzy hairs tickle her skin. The roots suddenly became animated, slithering and curling across the fabric, looking for something to inject its poison into.
“Don’t bite me,” Zora instructed then scooped up the roots confidently in her hands.
Using a ceramic mortar and pestle, Zora ground up the thorn root aggressively till the white bowl was stained blood red from the residual juices. Using a small vial that originally held sparse amounts of fragrance, Zora funneled in Madame Fae’s brew, then added in the ground up thorn root. The red extract spun and swirled in the clear liquid till the vial turned vividly crimson then faded out till it was back to colorless; effects of the Liquid Hue. Zora put the stopper in the vial and held it up to examine it, ensuring nothing looked out of place. She smiled to herself.
Zora had gone to Madame Fae’s for more than just herbs for her sleeping potion. She was desperate to know the reasoning behind why Queen Evangeline was marrying her off and exiling her the Borderlands. Tonight she was going to experiment with a brew that brought forth the truth from even the most dishonest person. Even if she would never claim the Samarian throne, Zora was entitled to some sort of closure the truth would provide. After years of brewing and study in potion making, Zora knew the ingredients to the mind-altering brew she’d created today, but the truth telling brew needed only one additional ingredient.
“And with a little bit of thorn root, mind altering brews become truth telling ones,” Zora said aloud as she wedged the vial into the corset of her dress where it would remain hidden until she needed it.
***
Mizra’s Great Hall had been successfully transformed overnight into a festive and lively banquet hall, all in celebration of Zora’s betrothal to Prince Spencer. Even before the arrival of the hosts, Zora could hear the conglomeration of laughter and conversation flowing from the hall through the castle corridors. All of the lords and ladies of the royal courts socialized merrily in anticipation of King Andre and Queen Evangeline’s arrival and the hefty feast to follow.
Twenty long tables had been brought into the hall, each seating thirty guests. All of them were decorated with purple table linens and large blue and white floral centerpieces with burning pillar candles in the middle. The table at which the nobles dinned was smaller, which allowed for a more private experience. It was placed atop a raised platform over looking the hall. A large, hand embroidered Samarian banner hung behind the nobles’ table, and it depicted the country’s national emblem. It was an outline of the Anion Mountains and the Argent River that ran through them.
The House of Winnser entered the hall first. Queen Evangeline led the way accompanied by Brutus Bludworth, the General of the Samarian Guard. The two pages stationed at the entrance immediately announced her arrival followed by the sharp musical notations of a bugle. All the patrons of the hall silently stood up and gave a graceful bow to their Queen as she centered herself in the open square before the tables. Brutus left Queen Evangeline’s side and went to seat himself at the table behind them.
Zora was paired with Arvil Pennington who escorted her with a tight grip on her elbow, as if Zora planned to flee at any moment, and he was the only thing stopping her. Ambrose Cornwell came last, and Zora quickly looked around for Talan, hoping to have at least one friendly face among the crowd, but he was nowhere to be seen. Arvil brought Zora to stand next to her mother who failed to acknowledge she was even there.
Zora surveyed the room of people before her, which was full of wealthy landowners, and patrons of the court who were all dressed in their finest clothing and jewels. The pair of Samarian pages formally stationed at the hall’s entrance were replaced by two Carian ones that proudly introduced the arrival of the Carian Court, one by one.
King Andre DeVore led the group. His masculine stature and bearded jawline were completely discredited by the layers of ruffles lining his waistcoat and the billowing sleeves of his silk shirt underneath. His younger brother, Prince Percy DeVore, and his wife, Miranda, followed the King. Until this moment, Zora had been acting like a puppet. She was going through the movements of a royal princess without emotion or enthusiasm, but when she caught sight of Spencer DeVore parading towards her, she was unfortunately forced back into reality.
He was sporting gaudy, ostentatiously designed garments in the Carian yellow and orange colors, including a velvet hat with exaggerated peacock feathers sticking out from the top of it. A large fur coat was draped over his shoulders despite it being springtime and not the dead of winter. Ropes of gold chains circled around his neck, forming the shape of a noose. He stopped in front of her, expressionless, and examined her once over with beady eyes. Spencer clinched his jaw tight when he reached her face then took her fingers in his hand and bowed low.
“My Lady, Zora. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Zora stared at his garish ensemble, more out of surprise than rudeness. A few awkward seconds passed before she realized Spencer was waiting for a return greeting. She quickly mimicked his public gesture and mumbled, “The pleasure is mine, Prince DeVore.”
The Queen had begun speaking to the crowd. “It’s an honor, fellow Samarians, to host the noble DeVore House of Cara within our walls this evening. We are pleased to announce the betrothal of my daughter, Zora, and Prince Spencer. May an alliance be formed between our two great countries based on friendship, loyalty, and honor.”
Zora felt a warm, moist hand reaching for hers and turned to watch as Spencer lifted her hand in his grasp above her head, as if she was some sort of prize he’d won. The crowd clapped and whistled merrily. When the crowd’s reaction subsided, they were told to take their seats for dinner, and Spencer moved Zora’s hand to the crook of his elbow as he escorted her.
Already, the serving men and wenches were bringing out the courses for the feast, which included roasted turkey and quail, boiled cabbage and beets with garlic sauce, fresh grapevines, apples, pears, and several loaves of rye bread. The aromas of the freshly cooked food permeated the hall, and Zora’s mouth began to water. A quartet of string musicians had set up between the crowd and the Queen’s table and began performing a cheery, upbeat number to keep the patrons entertained. Zora had been seated next to her mother and across from Spencer, so she had no excuse but to make conversation with her future husband. Evangeline was going to make sure of that.
The King’s youngest brother was tall and lean, and the cloths he wore seemed almost two sizes too big for him, as if he was trying to feign a larger frame. His face was narrow with an angled chin and eyes that seemed to be set too close together on his face. His hair was flat brown and long and was pulled away from his face by a ribbon.
After they were seated, King Devore, Prince Spencer, and the Queen’s advisors began a heated conversation about the dire affects the rainstorms had had down south, specifically on Cara’s infrastructure and agricultural systems. Spencer hadn’t said two words to her since their initial greeting, and he seemed hesitant to even acknowledge she was there. Lady Miranda sat next to the Queen, who was also blatantly excluded from the men’s conversatio
n. Zora noticed that Percy, the middle brother, was treating his wife with the same standoffish attitude that Spencer was using on her. Lady Miranda must have been use to it, though, because she was sitting contently and commenting occasionally to Evangeline about how beautiful the feast looked.
Zora remained silent and observant as well. Spencer would speak to her when he wanted to. It didn’t bother Zora that she was being ignored at the moment; she was use to it from Evangeline. Plus, it gave her a chance to watch out for the Cup Bearer’s arrival with their wine, knowing that she would have a limited opportunity to slip the truth telling brew into her mother’s chalice unnoticed.
Ever since that night in her mother’s bedchamber, when Evangeline had sentenced Zora to a life in Montanisto, she had been determined to uncover her mother’s motives for doing so. She resorted to the potion because she knew she could rely on its results when she had no other option.
Zora tapped her heels nervously, feeling as though the Cup Bearer was intentionally taking a long time to serve their table. When he did arrive, she watched him like a hawk as he delicately poured red wine from a carafe into ten silver chalices stationed on a crystal serving tray. Zora felt her heart began to flutter and her stomach begin to knot as he made his rounds, coming closer and closer to her and the Queen.
I can’t go through with this, Zora thought. If someone sees me and finds out what I’ve done, they’ll deem me a witch and sentence me to death. Zora reached up and caressed the hourglass pendent hanging from her neck, feeling the cool glass against her skin. But if I don’t do this, then I’ll never know what my mother is plotting.
Zora pushed back her chair a bit and bent down to retrieve the vial from her corset, acting as though she was fixing the folds of her dress as a diversion. When she had it in her hand, she removed the stopper and dropped it on the floor next to her. Evangeline glared at her when she sat back up.
“Stop fidgeting, child,” she growled in Zora’s direction. “You should be trying to get Spencer’s attention! Not hanging your head down like a demented recluse.”
Zora nodded obediently. She was gripping the vial secretly in her hand, which was luckily was hidden by the excess materials of her ridiculous sleeves. The Cup Bearer made his rounds to each patron, setting each glass of wine down slowly. When it was her turn, Zora seized the chalice greedily, cupping one hand in front of the other before quickly pouring the contents of the vial into the cup before anyone would notice. The men at the end of the table were still clearly involved in their own separate discussion, and Evangeline had her body turned towards Lady Miranda who was chatting away rapidly. Zora checked herself again to ensure her mother wasn’t watching, and quickly switched her chalice for her mother’s.
When all was done, she glanced around feeling relieved. She peered through the seated crowd to the other side of the room, watching the servants scurrying between the guests with trays of meat and vegetables. The candlelight in the room, along with the alluring smells of apple and cinnamon crepes and the musical sounds of the string quartet, provided a very whimsical ambiance. At the end of the table, Zora could still hear the six men talking loudly, however Prince Spencer’s voice had taken on a slightly more intense tone.
“Cara has, by far, the largest and most efficient agricultural systems, General Bludworth. Every single country in the Realm trades with us in return for our sugarcane and molasses. There is none that can match its purity and quality.”
“I’m not disputing the quality, Prince DeVore,” Brutus replied impatiently. “It’s the manner in which the sugarcane is cultivated that I disagree with.” Spencer just gave a loud, boisterous laugh.
“But that’s what the slaves were created to do, General. The Misou people need to be ruled. They haven’t the mental capacity to advance above basic animal instincts such as our ancestors have. You must understand this is the only way Cara has lived in peace for so many years. There are some in this world who are meant to be ruled and some who are meant to rule them. Cara is a prime example of that.”
“No one should be denied from reaping what they sow, Prince Spencer,” Brutus shot back. “Even if they are a more primitive race, the Misou shouldn’t be forced to work another man’s land without receiving any profit in return. It just isn’t right!”
The conversation caught Zora’s attention, and she glanced over at them to see Spencer’s face flushed red in anger.
“I own those people, as my family has for centuries before me. How I choose to manage my land is none of your concern!”
He yelled at Brutus then brought his hand down on the table with a loud smack. The whole table vibrated, and Zora watched as Spencer’s chalice of wine toppled over, spilling its purple contents all over the dinnerware. His face turned a deeper shade of red as he apologized repeatedly to Queen Evangeline and the others around him. The Queen smiled at him with a pretend kindness while her servants began cleaning up the mess.
“It’s only wine, Prince Spencer. There’s more where that came from. Here, you can have mine in the meantime. It hasn’t been touched.” Zora watched, helpless and horrified, as her mother handed Prince Spencer the poisoned wine.
“Thank you, Queen Evangeline,” Spencer said humbly before bringing the chalice slowly to his lips. Zora gasped loudly. She pushed back her chair to stand up causing a large scrapping sound across the floor.
“No! Stop! Don’t!” she cried, reaching her hand out to grab the cup from Spencer. The conversation at the table abruptly stopped, and all faces turned towards Zora. Spencer had frozen mid-sip, his small eyes looking at her like she was crazy.
“Zora! What is wrong with you?” Evangeline demanded under her breath.
“I-I thought I saw something,” Zora stuttered. “Behind Prince DeVore.” She looked at the group of distinguished people surrounding her and felt embarrassment creep into her cheeks.
“I apologize, everyone. It’s just a mistake. I’m so sorry…I didn’t mean to interrupt. I…um…ugh.”
Zora returned to her seat noticing how the others were giving each other private looks of confusion. Evangeline looked positively livid. Spencer regarded her for a moment before gulping down the poisoned wine intended for the Queen. No one pressed the issue further.
Throughout dinner, Zora sat listening to Spencer, who decided to evade her even longer after her episode. This gave Zora an opportunity to study him, to see if the brew had any effects on him. He made reasonable arguments against the Queen’s advisors as they debated, but he was overly loud and somewhat obnoxious. As the hours passed, Zora began to feel disappointed that her potion was a failure, but was grateful at the same time. While dessert was being prepared, the string quartet began playing a traditional Samarian dance tune that lifted Zora’s mood. She looked over at her betrothed and mustered the courage to infringe on him to appease her mother.
“My Prince, would you care for a dance?” She tried to smile convincingly.
“No, I would not,” he replied harshly. “I despise dancing.” He paused, and Zora could see a strange, glazed look enter his eyes. “However, I’m here under instruction of the King to impress you, so I’ll dance. But don’t expect me to do it again.”
Spencer’s sudden blatancy surprised Zora, but she didn’t object when he came around the table to walk her to the dance floor. Once there, he turned around to stand next to her, almost hitting her in the eye with the absurd peacock feather hat. He brought his lanky arm around her waist to begin the dance.
“Blast you’re skinny!” he commented with an unmistakable look of revulsion. “How can you possibly birth healthy children with no girth to support them? I’d think you were a boy if you weren’t in a dress.”
Zora’s jaw dropped. She knew she was small, but did he have to say it like that?
“Children?” she blurted out in surprise. Spencer ignored her and began spinning her around the dance floor to the tempo of the music. Colors and faces flew by her in a blur.
“Of course, Zora. Remember, I
am of the ruling bloodline. Any sons I have will inherit my township of Montanisto and ultimately still have a claim to the Carian throne if anything should happen to Andre’s lineage. You can have children, correct.”
Zora bit her lip, unsure if she should answer such an inappropriate question.
“I, um, assume so,” she replied then shot back with, “there is no guarantee it will be a boy, you know. What if you have daughters?”
“That’s just a chance we have to take,” Spencer said. “Daughters are good for gaining land and dowry, but other than that there is no use for them in the court or as a ruler of Montanisto. You’re the perfect example. Queen Evangeline is doing everything she can to keep you from taking her throne. Who in their right mind would marry off the last heir in their bloodline unless they weren’t competent enough to handle the burden?”
Zora held firmly onto Spencer’s sweaty hand as they danced. She couldn’t believe he was saying this to her! It was too unrefined for a noble to speak like this; something was off. Maybe her brew wasn’t a failure after all.
“Well, if you feel a daughter is of such low value, then what of me, Prince Spencer? What do you expect of a good wife?”
“To be acquiescent,” he replied firmly. “A wife of mine should concern herself with managing the household and the children and refrain from doing anything that would shame me. Like interrupting one of my conversations. Do not do that again. Hence, I’ll take care of making all the important decisions.”
“Does this mean that I cannot continue my education, My Prince? Since I won’t be making any important decisions.” She hoped he noticed that sarcasm in her voice.
“A woman has limited need of an extensive education, Zora. That is what her husband is for. In fact, I think it’s an abomination your mother has weaseled her way into power of this beautiful country and refused to marry to keep a man from ruling it. It’s completely unnatural. And then there is the whole situation with you. Born out of wedlock with a no-name father. What kind of ruler does that make her if she has such obvious bad judgment.”
Azurite (Daughter of the Mountain Book 1) Page 14