Entwined Paths (Swift Shadows Book 2)

by M. L. Greye

  Emry unceremoniously dropped onto the stone. “Alright, out with it.”

  Her sister tossed a quick glance around the maze and surrounding garden. “What exactly was I interrupting earlier? Were you actually fighting? Or was that part of some … fetish?”

  A startled bark of laughter slipped out of Emry. She shook her head. “No. We were training with blades. Just like we did in Acoba.”

  “Why?” Citrine sighed. Emry wasn’t sure if it was from relief or exasperation. It sounded like a bit of both.

  “Why what?”

  “Why train?” Cit waved a hand at their home. “You live in a palace surrounded by guards. You don’t need to know how to use a sword.”

  “What about the night our brother died?” Emry asked quietly. “You don’t think me having that particular skill could have changed the course of that night?”

  “You don’t know if it would have.” Citrine’s face paled and took on a look resembling pity. “Please don’t tell me you’ve been blaming yourself.”

  Emry glanced away in the direction of the greenhouse that sheltered the palace’s citrus trees. “I was helpless that night – no better than an ability-less child. Declan had to carry me to safety. I never want to need someone else to save my life again. So, I’m learning how to never be helpless again.”

  “I’m sorry, Emry.” Cit lowered herself into the space beside her on the bench. “I’m sorry you had to endure that awful night.”

  They sat in silence for a minute, gazing out into the gardens. Until Emry built up enough courage to broach the topic she’d been thinking about for weeks now. She knew her sister wouldn’t love the idea – could possibly outright refuse the notion. It was why she’d been putting it off for the right time. This conversation seemed like as good a time as any.

  She took a deep breath. “Cit, you should start training, too.”

  “What?” Cit whirled. “With swords?”

  “No,” Emry replied slowly. “You should grow your abilities. Work at being an Orange, controlling it.”

  Her sister stared at her for long enough that Emry was sure she’d say no. But then, she said, “Who would teach me?”

  “I’m sure we can find someone.” Emry smiled in relief. She’d search the entire kingdom if she had to. Although, she doubted she’d have to go far to find some Orange to tutor Cit.

  “Would it help you feel better? Me taking lessons?” Cit asked tentatively.

  “You shouldn’t do it for me.” Emry frowned.

  “Would it?” Cit pushed – her citrine eyes searing into Emry’s.

  “Yes,” she admitted. “It would make me feel better knowing you’re able to defend yourself.”

  Cit nodded and glanced out across the maze again. “Then I’ll do it. We can look for candidates during the wedding.”

  “Good idea.”

  A portion of their Court were orange-eyed. If the tutor lived in or around Breccan – as all upper level courtiers did regardless of their region – then that made taking lessons easy. Especially if the mentor was a member of Court. Courtiers were in and out of the palace daily.

  “I think you’ll make a better queen than I ever would,” Cit confessed, her voice soft.

  Emry turned, alarmed. “What makes you say that?”

  “You care about our futures.” Cit gave her a sad smile. “You prepare for the worst.”

  She let out a short, dark laugh. “That sounds so depressing. I’d much rather be hopeful for a world where you don’t have to look over your shoulder.”

  Her sister tilted her head to one side, watching Emry. “Then make it one. As queen.”

  “Queen,” Emry repeated to herself. The position she wasn’t born for. Yet, just like her father, she’d gained it from violence. It was a bleak thought.

  “So, does that mean you and Trezim…” Cit’s voice trailed off.

  “We haven’t kissed again, if that’s what you’re asking,” Emry replied dryly.

  Cit’s brows drew together. “You haven’t? But he was in your room.”

  “Yes, to train.” Emry twirled a loose strand of hair that had fallen out of her braid around her left middle finger. “Just as we always do together.”

  “Do you not want anything more?” It was a question driven purely by curiosity, but Emry couldn’t help but wince.

  “Trez fears what Silvers can do,” Emry admitted. Her sister’s face took on a look of both understanding and again, annoyingly, pity. Emry dug her nails into her palms. “I don’t think I could ever be content with someone who is afraid of my abilities.”

  She glared out toward the greenhouse again, this time without really seeing it. She knew a small part of her sister even worried that Emry would one day suddenly become like their wicked ancestors. It was a mercy that most books in Enlennd regarding Silvers had been removed. It limited the amount of people who knew what she was capable of to her family and a few well-educated foreign dignitaries.

  “Isn’t that a little hypocritical?” Cit mused.

  “What?” Emry turned in surprise. She didn’t hold anyone’s abilities against them. “I’m not being hypocritical.”

  “No, not you. Trezim.” Cit shook her head. “Aren’t Golds able to call down the rays of the sun to decimate entire cities? That’s a fairly terrifying amount of power.”

  Her sister was trying to make her feel better. Emry chuckled, recalling the same history book their mother had made them both study, back while they’d lived on her estate in Anexia. One of the few remaining books in Enlennd containing information on Silvers – passed down through their maternal line.

  “I don’t think just one Gold could destroy an entire city,” Emry drawled. “And definitely not Trez.”

  “It would take more than one Silver to call out the souls of an entire army.” Cit bumped Emry’s shoulder with her own. “And definitely not you. If Trez can’t see you’re not like those Silvers from the dreadful Silver Reign, then I don’t blame you for not wanting to kiss him.”

  “Thanks, Cit.” She smiled.

  Citrine shrugged, as if it was nothing. “So, did you hear that Nakomis thought Nathalie’s mother was her grandmother the first time he met her?”

  Emry laughed as Cit regaled her with the story.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Heerth weddings were a week long affair. The first day was a bride’s party where the women gathered and covered themselves in henna with intricate designs – patterns involving whirls and flowers and sharp angles. For the nobility of Enlennd who attended the soiree of appetizers and tables of henna artists, it was all very new. Tattoos existed mostly among the Glavs and Mids, but henna wasn’t something Enlennd did.

  The ladies of Emry’s Court were swarming the artists. They were in the garden of Lady Nathilie’s estate on Breccan’s outskirts. Large white tents had been erected with round tables and chairs scattered beneath them. Servants carried trays of finger foods and bubbling beverages in varying shades of pink. Each table was assigned two henna artists for the celebrating women. Every single one of them had acquired a line of noble women – exhilarated to have a temporary beautiful work of art over their arms, feet, shoulders, or stomachs.

  Even Cit seemed thrilled. She was dictating to one of the Heerth artists what she wanted him to put on the back of her right shoulder – a lily inside a hexagon inside of a diamond. Emry sat beside her sister at the table, translating the words the artist didn’t understand – which were most of them.

  Apparently, the artists really only knew words like flower or sun or star. Just enough to get a vague idea from the guests. From what Emry observed, the majority of the ladies were choosing designs from cards left on the tables – cards that were meant to inspire ideas. It was just as well that the women wanted the exact replicas since the artists really only spoke Heerth.

  As Cit’s artist began on her shoulder, he asked Emry in Heerth, “What would you like when I am finished with your sister, sunflower?”

  “I’d like swirls
done on my upper arms, stomach, and right leg,” Emry responded in kind. Just her right leg because that would be where her slit would show skin.

  It was the fashion of all intercultural marriages for the two sides to dress like the other during the wedding festivities. This meant that all the Enlennd nobles were to dress as if they were from Heerth, and vice versa – to show respect to each other’s culture. It was why Emry, along with the rest of her Court, were draped in brightly colored skirts and wrap tops. Whereas the visiting Heerths – not the artists – were dressed in the high-waisted floor-length, much less revealing, gowns Emry usually wore.

  She was just glad to be back in Heerth attire. It was less constricting. She would have loved to watch Sabine struggle with an Enlennd gown. It was too bad she was in Prythius, pregnant with her first child. Emry frowned to herself, missing her friend.

  “How does it look so far?” Citrine asked Emry, her eyes bright.

  Emry chuckled. The man had barely started on the outline. “You were wanting it sideways, right?”

  Her sister’s gaze narrowed. “Funny.”

  “You need to give him more than two minutes to create his masterpiece,” Emry chided.

  Cit rolled her eyes as the other artist at their table finished the lace-like gloves on a Heerth noble she’d been working on. The lady thanked the artist and stood with a smile to Emry and Cit. She wandered off and another woman took her place. It was Lady Moira Bricke, a Duchess of Enn – the mother to Cit and Emry’s first friend in Breccan, Piran. Emry used to abandon the stuffy parties at the palace with him and Cit to roam darkened halls and servant stairwells. Now, as adults, all they really did was dance together at the grand balls they all attended. Emry sometimes missed their adventures.

  “Good afternoon, dear princesses.” Moira smiled.

  “Lady Moira, welcome to our table.” Emry had always liked Moira, if just for the reason she’d never stopped Piran from escaping with her and Citrine.

  The Duchess glanced down at the cards covering the table. She picked up the one nearest to her – an extravagant sun – and handed it to the artist. “Let’s do this on my left upper arm.”

  The Heerth artist pointed down at the thick, gold bracelets covering both of Moira’s wrists. “You’ll need to take off these,” the woman said in Heerth.

  “No, she wants it up on her bicep,” Emry clarified in Heerth. “Just the left one.”

  “I see.” The artist nodded.

  Moira shot Emry a shrewd look, catching her gaze. “It appears your year in Heerth was useful.”

  The Duchess was an Orange. Emry blinked. How had she never noticed that before? A slow grin spread across her face. “Lady Moira, your eyes are such a lovely shade of orange. Wouldn’t you agree, Citrine?”

  Her sister’s head whipped around. Cit’s own orange eyes narrowed on Emry in warning. “Yes, they’re very bright.”

  Moira only raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “You both are too kind.”

  “Can you wield fire blades?” Emry asked.

  Cit broke out into a cough that had her artist swearing at her in Heerth. The movement had botched his design and now he would have to work around the mistake to fix it. Emry ignored them both, keeping her eyes on Moira. The Duchess had leaned back in her seat and was fidgeting with the thick gold bands at her wrists. She wasn’t quite frowning at Emry, but the teasing gleam in her eyes was gone.

  “A lady does not require blades to protect herself,” Moira said after a moment. “Especially not when she’s surrounded by so many guards.” She waved a hand casually toward the several palace guards who had followed Emry and her sister to the party, standing a polite distance away.

  “Of course not.” Cit’s entire face had turned pink.

  “That didn’t answer my question,” Emry replied, waiting. Cit gave her a look that suggested she might stab her later. Again, Emry ignored her.

  The corners of Moira’s mouth shifted upward. Possibly from amusement. Perhaps just to hide her irritation at the impertinence of her young princess. Yet, she answered with, “I’ve only held a fire blade once. My husband and I were betrothed as children. I was never taught the sword.”

  Emry nodded, forcing down her twinge of disappointment. Finding a mentor for Cit was going to take time. She really shouldn’t have been disappointed at all. It’d probably take a few weeks. There were plenty of other Oranges in Court.

  Just because Emry was fond of Moira and her son didn’t mean that Moira would make a good tutor for her sister.

  Moira must had noticed a change on Emry’s face because she added, “As a future Duchess, though, I was instructed in other ways to defend myself.”

  “How so?” Emry blinked.

  The Duchess’s gaze flicked between her and Cit. A knowing smile twisted her red lips as her eyes settled back on Emry. “I will teach your sister. She’s powerful like your grandfather.”

  At the mention of Topaz, Emry frowned. She wasn’t particularity proud of her grandfather. He had been a selfish ruler. No one had ever once mentioned he was powerful, nor that Citrine – who had inherited his eyes – was anything like him. “I don’t recall offering you an invitation to do any such thing, Lady Moira.”

  Citrine’s face had gone from pink to a dark shade of red. “Kind of you to offer, though.”

  “I met him once,” Moira told them. “Your grandfather had enough power flowing through him he could have burnt his palace to the ground.”

  “We know very little of our grandfather,” Cit replied softly.

  “King Topaz was trained in fire blades,” Moira went on as if she hadn’t heard Citrine. “He could create fire wherever he wished. Yet, there was so much more he could have learned. There is so much more to being an Orange.”

  The artist had finished with her arm, but Moira didn’t move to rise. She held Emry’s gaze – as if she knew it was Emry who wished Cit to train. “What is your fee?” Emry asked. She doubted it would involve money.

  “No fee.” Moira stood then and glanced down at Cit. “We should begin having tea together twice a week once your Heerth guests have departed.”

  “No fee?” Emry repeated incredulously.

  Moira gave her a sad smile. “Too many of our Jewels have been murdered in the past few decades. It would be an honor to keep that list from lengthening.” She dipped into a curtsy. “Until the next, dear princesses.”

  “Until the next,” Emry and Cit intoned automatically.

  Once Moira was gone, Cit turned to Emry. “Did she just call us Jewels to our faces?”

  “She did.” Emry grinned. “I think you’re going to have fun with her.”

  :::::

  The wedding ceremony had been long. Boring, really. Everything had had to be said twice – once in Heerth and once in Emry’s native tongue. It had left ample time for Emry to take in her surroundings.

  The ceremony was held on the Jeweled Cliffs above North Harbor, just past sunrise so that the sun cast the ocean below in sparkling shades of orange and yellow as it was suspended at the edge of the horizon. The couple stood maybe twenty feet from the cliff with the king of Heerth, who married them. The onlookers were seated on cushioned benches that had been brought up to the cliffs. Garlands of golden chrysanthemums and some sort of ivy were hung overhead, creating a false ceiling – attached to whitewashed wooden stakes just beyond the rows of benches. Every pathway was covered with the petals of various flowers, all in shades of yellow.

  Nathilie wore wedding blue – albeit a paler shade of it, bordering on white – in the Heerth style of wrap top and skirt. The geometric designs along her hem were embroidered in spring green. Nakomis wore navy colored trousers tucked into shiny black boots, a bright blue waistcoat, and a mustard yellow cravat at his neck. It was a color Emry had never seen on a cravat, but it was the national color of Heerth, so, naturally Nakomis would have picked it.

  All in all it was a nice ceremony. Still, by the time Krynto had finished marrying them, the sun had risen
to its zenith, making Emry glad she was in Heerth attire. She was even happier to climb into her family’s carriage to head back to the palace to rest before the celebration at Nathilie’s home that evening.

  For two hours, Emry lounged in her front room with her sister until Fanny and Cit’s maid, Sadie, arrived to dress them for the wedding ball.

  As was tradition in Enlennd, during the actual marriage ceremony everyone wore shades of purple for good luck, while the couple wore blue. For the celebration afterwards, however, any color could be worn. Cit had chosen a salmon skirt with eggplant embroidery in a typical Heerth design. Her top was opposite the skirt – eggplant with a salmon design. Cit looked beautiful.

  Emry, on the other hand, went with a black top and skirt. Her embroidery was shimmering silver, and the design copied her outfit at Night’s Crown. Emry’s ensemble combined with the henna up her arms and leg, made her into the shadows she could actually become. She knew the effect would not go unnoticed by Trezim. If she were being honest with herself, she wore it for his benefit.

  His fear of her or not, Emry was going to have some fun with her friend tonight.

  In Heerth fashion, Emry and her family were some of the last to arrive to the celebration, their position being higher than almost everyone in attendance. The king of Heerth and Trezim were right behind Emry. Literally. They’d all left the palace at the same time. But Trez didn’t lay eyes on her until he was helping her out of her carriage.

  His gaze ran down the length of her, and a different sort of smirk filled his eyes. A little too similar to the one he’d given her just before he’d kissed her back in Zyntar. “The sun has been kind to you,” he said in Heerth as she stepped onto the brick-paved drive in front of Nathilie’s home.

  “You don’t look too bad yourself,” she responded in kind, taking his extended arm. Trez was in a pair of brown boots, gray trousers, and a blue-green waistcoat. Closer to teal, really. Emry brushed her fingers up his arm. “I love this color.”