He pored through them, and they discussed them over meals. They mostly kept to themselves, and he often noticed the Villa’s residents, old and new, whispering and looking in his and the Sage’s direction. Quinn did not care.
He made progress with his Deyoni, but they had no written language, so they struggled together. He asked her how she had learned. “I don’t know. My mother spoke Deyoni most of the time, so I learned it when I learned our language.”
They made a few more short trips to the capital for meetings with the Chief Inquisitor, although he had little to report. In town, Quinn made a point to see both Jack and Rafe’s mother. It hurt to see her, but she welcomed Quinn as if he were family. She always fixed him a meal, and they shared happy memories of Rafe. Jack, on the other hand, was not well. Rafe’s death had taken a much larger toll on him than Quinn had expected. He had lost weight, and his cheerful demeanor had become solemn. Quinn worried about him and wrote to him far more often than he had before.
Amarice’s birthday fell at the beginning of summer. She requested a small to-do, although nothing held at the Villa was small anymore. But the original Villa family settled in for dessert, drinks, and gifts after dinner. She opened Quinn’s gift, and a grin spread across her face.
He had bought her a brightly-colored, woven Deyoni rug in shades of purple and green. “I’m still sorry about your other rug,” he said with a sheepish grin.
“Try not to burn this one up. I love it. It’s gorgeous.”
“I spoke in Deyoni to buy it, too. Well, I tried, at least. I think I damn near bought you a sheep, but pointing is the universal language.” Everyone laughed, imagining shy Quinn using broken Deyoni to barter with the seller.
***
One return trip from Teleah, they stopped in the Deyoni camps again. They were once more treated with a show, this time including fire-eaters and acrobatics. Quinn was amazed at their talent; indeed, he found them a bit frightening. He wondered if he would have been taught to eat fire or perform elaborate leaps in the air had he been raised by his father. His father, who he had not seen again.
Quinn stumbled over his limited Deyoni, which delighted all of them. Some of the children taught him swear words, lying about their meaning. Amarice watched and laughed, making note to correct him later.
He was quiet on the rest of the carriage ride. “Were you hoping to see your father?”
“I just want to talk to him, to know his name. I feel like I’ve almost figured out this piece of myself that was missing for so long, but it’s just out of reach.” But he knew it was unlikely; there were now close to ten thousand Deyoni outside of the city. He wondered if the shaman was looking for him, too, or if her words had been an empty promise.
Amarice reached out and squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry,” she told him. He smiled. Her words were genuine; everything about Amarice was. Amarice could not make an empty promise if she wanted—it just was not in her nature.
He changed the subject. “The Deyoni love you.” She smiled. “Amarice, do you know if your mother is near Teleah with the others?”
Her smile faded. “She died a few years ago. She never returned to the tribes; she stayed in the village with my father’s mother to care for her. But she passed first.” Amarice bit her lip to suppress her tears. “I can’t help but wonder if she would have lived longer if she had returned to the tribes. They move so often they rarely fall ill.” This time, Quinn reached for her hand and squeezed it.
“I wish I could have met her.”
“I wish I could have met Rafe,” she replied. They smiled sadly at each other and continued the journey in silence.
Chapter Eighteen
Quinn could hardly believe his luck. He had been Amarice’s apprentice for nearly seven months, and he had visited the palace several times. This time, however, he was preparing to attend the King’s birthday celebrations. It was the biggest party of the year. Celebrations extended throughout the capital, and he had regularly gone out with his friends to enjoy the festivities. But now, he was on his way to celebrate with the King himself.
The Sage’s carriage pulled over the bridge to the palace, and Amarice placed her diadem on her head. He watched her posture shift as she transformed into her formal role, no less beautiful but even more staggering in her power. The carriage stopped far before the palace gates. Quinn peered out the window.
“There’s a long line of carriages,” he told Amarice.
She shrugged. “The palace will be full tonight. Roland throws quite the party.” She smoothed her dress. “Make your face known. Every minister and member of Parliament will be here. Introduce yourself as my apprentice if I am not around.” She paused, not meeting his eyes. “Your apprenticeship will be over in a few months. We will need to start thinking about your career.”
Quinn thought he heard a slight sadness in her voice, but he decided he must have imagined it. He found himself feeling much like he did last year: he had no clue what to do in the next stage of his life. He loved his research on the Deyoni, and he knew he could give an additional voice to them in politics. But he could not bear to think about leaving the Villa, about leaving Amarice. Perhaps she would let him stay as a permanent resident. Or perhaps it would be better if he just left and tried to move past her.
But he was not going to dwell on it tonight. The King’s birthday had a reputation for being not only an excellent event to meet diplomats, but also wildly entertaining. He wished he could celebrate with Jack and Rafe, and wistfully remembered the last time he had gone out with them. Rafe had been dancing and singing on tables when Quinn had gone upstairs with Sarah. He smiled to himself.
“What are you smiling about?” Amarice asked in a warm voice.
“Just thinking how much Rafe would have enjoyed a party at the palace,” he said. Amarice reached out and patted his knee.
“Have a few drinks in his honor, then.”
The carriage finally pulled in front of the gates, and a lanky butler opened the carriage door. “My lady Sage, welcome back.” He drew his hand to his brow in greeting. “Mr. Atwell, welcome to you, as well.” Amarice took the butler’s hand and stepped out of the carriage. Quinn followed, and two other servants rushed forward to collect their belongings.
Quinn squinted in the bright sun gleaming off the white palace walls. Extra banners with the royal family’s sigil—a blue bear on a gold background—had been hung, along with yards upon yards of blue and gold ribbon that hung from every tree and doorway. Thousands of blue flowers lined the courtyard and shrubbery had been carved into the shape of bears. The whole palace emanated an aura of festivity.
The butler escorted Amarice and Quinn to their normal rooms, which now felt like “home away from home” to Quinn. As he dressed, he recalled the night he had knocked on Amarice’s door. A part of him hoped he could wake beside her again in the morning. But he forced himself back into reality. They were good friends now, but no more. Besides, I’m sure Prince Raymond will find his way into her bed again. He shook off the envy and laced his leather breeches.
He pulled his new silk shirt over his head, a bright blue in honor of the King. He put on his Scholar’s pendant and combed his hair, wondering what Amarice would be wearing tonight. She did look exquisite in blue. But she looked exquisite in everything. And nothing, he smiled to himself. Get a grip, Quinn. He smacked his face in reprimand and tried to push the image of Amarice in her bed out of his head.
A knock on his door made his heart leap. He crossed the room a little too quickly and flung open the door. He gasped in shock at the wonder standing in front of him. “Oh, my lady Sage,” he murmured, because in this instant she deserved to be worshipped.
Amarice looked ethereal. A layer of thin sapphire tulle stretched over her bosom and opened over a sheath of silk in shades of lavender and violet. Her sleeves began in the middle of her arm, leaving her soft shoulders bare, and draped to the floor like purple and blue wings. An elaborate belt of thin gold decorated with sapphire teardrops accentuated he
r waist. Her beauty was nothing short of mythical.
She grinned and twirled around so he could see the back of her dress. The sapphire fabric fit loosely under the gold belt. Half of her thick, brown hair cascaded over her back, the rest lay braided around her diadem. “Do you like it?” she asked. “It’s new.”
“You look like a dream. A very good dream.”
She grinned. “Can you help me with my necklace?” She held up a gold choker lined with sapphire gems that matched her belt. Quinn swallowed and nodded. She turned her back to him again, and swept up her hair into her hands. She smelled of lavender and honey, and Quinn’s brain grew foggy.
He placed the necklace around her neck and slowly fastened it, breathing in her scent. He could not help himself and ran one hand over her bare shoulder. She shivered. He touched his lips to her shoulder softly. “Quinn,” she breathed and turned to face him. She gazed up into his big brown eyes, her breaths heavy.
“All finished,” he whispered. She said nothing, but her eyes danced with conflicted desire. Another door down the hall opened, forcing them both back to reality. Words hung unspoken in the air between them.
“Well. Let’s go.” She turned to walk toward the party, and Quinn followed her down the stairs without a word. As they approached the large ballroom, a line began to form. An attendant was calling out the name of each guest as they entered. The line moved quickly as ministers and foreign visitors and merchants were announced. “Take my arm,” she whispered as they drew close to the door.
“What?”
“Take my arm. We have to enter together since you are my apprentice.” She held out her arm, and he took it cautiously in his. They were next. The attendant looked at them and smiled. He knew their names.
“The Sage of Elandria, Amarice Teyvana, and her apprentice Quinn Atwell!” the man announced. Quinn took a deep breath. A round of applause sounded for the Sage. She led him down the marble steps into the ballroom.
Quinn had never seen such a lavish place in his life. The floors were marbled in black and white, and the walls, lined with silk banners of blue and gold, had to be at least twenty feet high. Massive gold and diamond chandeliers hung from the ornately-carved ceilings. The guests themselves added to the opulence, all dressed in their vibrant finery. Without a doubt, though, the most alluring guest was on his arm.
The Sage parted from him as they reached the bottom step and the attendant called the next name. He followed her into the crowd, where she was immediately greeted by multiple people eager to make her acquaintance. She tried at first to introduce Quinn to everyone she met, but the crowds eventually pushed them apart. Quinn tried to avoid the suffocating hordes by moving the edge of the room.
He found himself next to the grand buffet, filled with more food than he had ever seen in his life. Mounds of meat lay on silver platters next to huge bowls of heaping vegetables and fruits and trays of warm breads. At the end of the table, the pastries lay like delicious works of art. Quinn’s stomach growled at the aromas emanating from the feast.
“Quinn!” He turned to the sound of a familiar voice calling his name. A few feet away, a handsome redhead dressed in fine jade silks and brown leather breeches, pushed through the crowd to greet Quinn.
“Jack! What on earth are you doing here?” He greeted his friend with a warm hug and slap on the back.
“The old bastard is always invited,” Jack replied, referring to the apothecary with whom he apprenticed. “But he hates anything fun, so he sent me to represent him.” Jack had a glass of wine in his hand. “Let’s get you a drink.”
Quinn walked with him to the table where servants handed out wine and mead. The friends chatted, catching each other up on their lives. Jack seemed better, past much of his grief. Life was going well for him now. Many of Jack’s regular customers had told him they would use his business over the old man’s shop because of his talent and his far more pleasant demeanor. Jack had been looking for investors to help him after his apprenticeship ended and had several leads. Quinn mentioned how he was supposed to be meeting people who could give him work tonight, but many of the ministers were already several drinks deep.
Amarice made her way over after some time. Quinn gave her a longing smile, and she returned it with a demure glance. Jack gave Quinn a questioning look, but Quinn just smiled. Amarice greeted Jack as if they were old friends. Her beauty had even Quinn’s confident friend stumbling over his words, until he downed another glass of wine. She reminded Quinn to give his well-wishes to the King, then disappeared into the crowd again.
“What did that look mean, Quinn?” Jack asked curiously. “Are you and the Sage…?” He gestured obscenely.
“No. I don’t know what you are talking about.” Quinn took another glass of mead from the table, preferring it over the bitter red wine.
Jack gaped at him. “You’re in love with her. And I think she’s—”
“Drop it, please, Jack.”
“No.” He studied his empty glass. “Quinn, you need to know something. I was in love with Rafe.”
Quinn was shocked, but said nothing. It explained how much harder Jack had taken Rafe’s murder. He waited for his friend to continue.
“I never told him. He never liked men, so I figured it was a lost cause. But I loved him for years. And now, I regret not telling him. Even if we could not have been together, I wish he had known how I felt.” Jack wiped a tear from his eye. “Don’t waste an opportunity with the Sage.”
Quinn’s heart ached, for his friend and for his own love. Perhaps Jack was right. He would think on it later. Jack finally changed the subject.
They talked about how much Rafe would have enjoyed this, how much he had deserved a party at the palace. Jack updated Quinn on some of the latest gossip of their cohort, although Quinn found it far less reliable than Rafe’s updates. Quinn looked over the heads of the crowd and noticed the King was no longer surrounded by a pack of people. He stood speaking only to Amarice and the Prince.
The orchestra started playing a well-known court dance. A pretty blonde asked Jack to dance, and Quinn was once more left alone. After a moment, Amarice approached him again. “Do you know the dance?” she asked.
Quinn did, although he had not danced it since he had lived in Corthy. She pulled him on the dance floor, despite his protests. But she looked so happy, he would not let her down. He took her hands in his, and they danced in time to the upbeat song, skipping and turning with the other guests. Amarice locked eyes with him, and he could see only her.
The music changed to a waltz, and he placed a hand on her waist. She shivered, but followed his steps without a word. He spun her on the floor once, her dress twirling in blue and purple, and she met his eyes again. “Earlier, in the corridor…” Her voice trailed.
He thought back to his impulsive kiss of her shoulder. “I’m not going to apologize this time, Amarice.” He spun her again.
“I don’t want you to apologize. I want you—” She was interrupted by a tap on her shoulder. A parliament minister cut in; it would be rude for her to refuse. She gave Quinn an apologetic look as he left the dance floor. He wandered toward the back wall, watching her dance with other people. What was she going to say to him? He thought of Jack’s advice earlier; he would not let this conversation go. He would address it later, after the party.
The waltz ended, and Amarice and Jack found Quinn again. Amarice took a glass of mead from a servant Quinn had never seen before. Jack opted for wine.
Jack filled the conversation, and Amarice gave Quinn a smile that said she, too, wished to finish their dance floor conversation. After a few moments, though, she reminded Quinn he needed to give the King birthday wishes. “I’ll introduce you, Jack,” she promised. The two young men followed her to where the King and Prince stood.
They greeted the King, who seemed to be enjoying himself thoroughly. Quinn noticed Amarice stood several feet away from Raymond, and his heart took a little delight in it. She sipped her mead as the King inquir
ed of Jack and his apprenticeship. Even he recognized Teleah’s greatest apothecary was a bitter old man, and he made Jack laugh with some of his stories.
Quinn looked at Amarice. Her smile had been replaced by a look of, well, he was not sure. She did not look herself. “Are you well, my lady?” He used a formal address since there were various diplomats milling around.
She forced a smile. “I think I may have eaten something that did not agree with me. I will be fine.” She tried her best to join in the conversation. Within several minutes, she had grown pale and sweaty. She kept forgetting her train of thought midsentence.
“Amarice?” Quinn’s voice held a great deal of concern.
She gave him another weak smile. “I think I will retire for the evening. I have some tinctures in my room that are wonderful for nausea. Forgive me, King Roland. Happy Birthday.” They assured her it was no trouble, and she walked toward the door. Quinn followed her, offering to escort her to her room. “I will be fine, Quinn. I just need some tea and to go to sleep. Stay. Enjoy the party.” He nodded, but looked after her as she left, worried. He had never seen Amarice ill.
***
Amarice’s mind grew increasingly foggy. She shivered, cold, but was drenched in sweat. Her stomach churned. She felt as if she were walking through clouds. Somehow, she made her way up the stairs to the corridor where her guest room lay. The door seemed so far away.
Her legs grew heavy, and she willed herself to just get to the door. She could skip the tea and fall straight into bed. Her mind could barely focus, and her vision became blurred. Her last coherent thought was that she should have taken Quinn’s offer of help to her room.
Then a sharp pain struck her head and she fell to the hallway floor, unconscious.
***
Quinn returned to the King, the Prince, and Jack, who had been joined by several other people Quinn did not know. He was pleased to see Jack easily rubbing elbows with Teleah’s elite, but he could not enjoy himself. His thoughts kept returning to Amarice. After about fifteen minutes, he excused himself to go check on her.
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