But she wasn’t better. His touch, even through his mask of coolness, had been like a comforting whisper, telling her all hope wasn’t lost. Maybe it wasn’t. But whatever his feelings for her became, she’d heard him clearly last night: she hadn’t examined too closely the things and people she hadn’t wanted to see.
She would today.
And for their sakes, she wouldn’t disrupt the peace in any way, even if Veron hated her for the length of their marriage. There had to be another way to realize her dream, one that didn’t involve abandoning the marriage—and she’d find it.
“Well, what do you think?” Gabriella asked, smiling in the mirror as she evaluated the elaborate hairstyle, with warm hazel eyes.
The princess in the mirror didn’t look like a cold-hearted liar or betrayer. She had shining hair, half of it up in soft twists with pearl pins, with the rest flowing voluminously in gentle brown waves. A delicate pink stained her lips, and the daintiest blush enlivened her cheeks.
Gabriella had suggested a yellow taffeta dress with gold-threaded embroidery, and it was bright and happy, with long, flowing sleeves that softened the look even more. The color of the sun, of the Goddess’s bounty each harvest. Fitting.
“You’ve outdone yourself,” Aless whispered as Gabriella laughed and fastened a strand of pearls.
“Today is important, so you have to look the part.” Gabriella adjusted the pearls, keeping the closure at the nape of Aless’s neck.
So much effort. “I thought you didn’t like the dark-elves?”
Gabriella’s hand rose to her chest. “I don’t think anything of them—I—”
“Just with the talk of the Brotherhood, it seemed—”
“I only thought you wanted out of the marriage. That day we left the palazzo, you looked so… so…” Gabriella’s round face sank in the mirror. “I just want you to be happy.”
In the years she’d known Gabriella, there hadn’t been a hateful bone in her body. Maybe there still wasn’t. “Well, today I look it, thanks to you.”
With an uneasy smile, Gabriella took a step back, clasped her hands, and gave a pleased nod in the mirror. Gabriella’s dress was a plain but well-tailored mauve satin overgown with a white cambric kirtle beneath, feminine and cut fashionably. Always taking great care in her appearance.
“Have I ever asked you where you’re from?” Aless whispered, meeting Gabriella’s eyes in the mirror.
Those beautifully shaped eyebrows shot up. “Vistadelfino. Our fathers grew up together, and His Majesty made him the conte there. My mother was one of Her Majesty’s ladies before…” Gabriella lowered her gaze and breathed deeply.
One of Mamma’s ladies… before she was murdered.
“I became your lady shortly after…” Gabriella swallowed. “And you never asked me, but… you hardly spoke then.”
After Mamma’s death, all she’d done was read. About ancient wars, myths, and world-spanning romances. About women who fought, women who ruled, women who married for love. About mothers and daughters being strong together, and idealistic heroes bettering people’s lives. About anything and everything that could take her from the misery of her own life then. Gabriella had been there with her, side by side, and had never pried or pushed. Just accompanied her when she’d most needed someone.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and Gabriella raised a hand, shaking her head. “No, really. Mamma’s been gone a long time, and I should have gotten to know you better—”
Arms closed around her, and she gasped, blinking, wrapping her own arm around Gabriella.
“Your Highness, it is my duty to take care of you, not the other way around.”
“I’d like for us to take care of each other. You’ve been my friend for as long as I can remember, and I… I want to be your friend, too.” She breathed in the gentle lilac of Gabriella’s long, sable hair. “I want to know what’s important to you.”
Gabriella pulled back, beaming. “We’re more alike in that than you think, Your Highness.” She half-laughed under her breath. “My mother loved books and teaching with Her Majesty, helping the poor in Bellanzole. And when His Majesty forbade it… it broke her heart. She wants to see us doing that again. And so do I.”
All this time, Gabriella had quietly supported her. As she’d helped distribute books and discuss plans, it hadn’t merely been as a lady-in-waiting, but as a dreamer herself.
“I promise you that I will realize it. Even if it’s with my dying breath.”
“I know you will. And I’ll be there to help,” Gabriella whispered, just as the hall door creaked open.
“His Highness awaits you downstairs,” a low, feminine voice called.
“We’ll be right out,” she replied. When the door shut, she stood and stepped into her matching yellow taffeta shoes.
She bit her lip. “Gabriella, do you know who that was?”
“Her name is Gavri, I think. She had a falling out with His Highness a few days ago.”
* * *
After saying their goodbyes to the duchessa, Aless let Veron help her into the carriage, where he sat across from her and Gabriella, who held the offerings of lilies, peacock feathers, honey, and pomegranates in a myrtle-wood basket.
He wore another of Lorenzo’s gifts, a gold-embroidered black brocade overcoat, fitted from the shoulders to the waist, and then split and flowing from the hips to the ankles. It had an elegance to it, a drama that Lorenzo no doubt had loved, and a cut suited to strong shoulders and a fit physique.
Veron, and the other dark-elves, remained unmasked, unhooded. None of the duchessa’s household seemed fazed, and hopefully their luck would continue with the paesani.
The carriage set out, and the castle’s verdant, manicured grounds moved past the window, the standard of the Sileni nobiltà. Everything ordered and uniform, nothing like the sprawling wild roses in her daydreams. Not the variegated, messy, beautiful chaos of vines and blooms and ruins.
Leaning back against the seat, Veron rested an ankle on his opposite knee. He looked her over, and when his eyes met hers, he nodded toward the offerings. “What do they symbolize?”
She cleared her throat, trying not to seem too excited by the notion of him merely speaking to her. But it was progress. “They are Terra’s offerings. The lilies are for loyalty. The peacock feathers for longevity. The honey is for abundance, and the pomegranates for fertility.”
He raised a pale eyebrow and tilted his head.
Swallowing, she lowered her gaze to her yellow-taffeta skirts and clasped her hands. This was their one chance to leave a peaceful and positive impression in Stroppiata, instead of the harpy bloodbath of their arrival. But it was also her sincere prayer, for blessings she very much wished the Holy Mother would someday bestow upon her.
By the time they stopped at the shrine, a crowd of paesani had already gathered, watching as Veron helped her and Gabriella out of the carriage with an escort of dark-elf royal guards—kuvari—and cheering as dark-elves distributed food. More and more people moved closer, and the crowd grew and grew, voices shouting, hands reaching, bodies pressing closer, tighter.
“We have to move. Now,” the dark-elf guard with the braid—Gavri—hissed to her. “On foot, we can’t control this crowd. The situation could deteriorate quickly.”
She’d trust Gavri’s expertise—they would only stay long enough to fulfill their purpose. With a nod, she headed toward the shrine with Veron and his kuvari.
Along the way to the monumental bronze doors, Gabriella handed her the basket of offerings, and holding it with one arm, she clasped hands with an old woman, then two young women, and little girls. They’d all come to give their thanks at Terra’s shrine, and in this, they were the same.
“Terra’s blessings upon you!” an elderly woman offered.
“And upon you,” she responded, the same response every Terran always gave to the blessing.
For his part, Veron smiled kindly at her side, offering cordial greetings and thanking the people
for their blessings. His nearness was warm, comforting, and without even looking, she could feel his big form beside her, his watchful eyes glancing at her every so often.
As a pair of guards opened the bronze doors, Veron’s gloved hand took hers, and they entered.
Some of the crowd filtered inside—as expected, to view this moment, to spread the word. Gavri and the other guards kept the crowd at a distance, while she and Veron faced the marble altar and the enormous golden statue of Terra beneath the saucer dome. She’d seen it before, hand in hand with Mamma, craning her neck to see to the very top and following Mamma through the prayer and ritual.
Maiden, Mother, Crone; She of the Heights; Protector of All. The Goddess towered before them in shining gold, a crown upon her head, a peplos draped about her, bearing a spear in one hand and a phiale in the other.
With one hand offering, and with the other fighting.
Her hand in Veron’s, Aless approached the altar, knelt, then placed her offerings upon it. “O blessed Mother, worshipped and adored, called by women in tearful need and in rites at ancient shrines, please accept these humble offerings. Revered among the Eternan pantheon for the realms you protect, for the bounty you offer, for the life you bloom, we ask You to watch over us as we journey this path together toward Your guiding light.”
A hush had settled over the shrine.
Holy Mother, please let us succeed in sowing this peace, in stopping a war no one needs to fight. She kept her head bowed, as did Veron at her side. Please guide me and let me be stronger, braver, more compassionate. Grant me the strength to follow your teachings.
At long last, she made to rise, and Veron helped her to her feet. He’d been by her side, supporting her as she’d prayed.
“What do you pray for?” he asked, looking her over, his eyebrows drawn.
“Peace. Strength,” she whispered back. And when it came to the peace, they could use all the help they could get. Especially the Holy Mother’s. “But mostly just giving thanks.”
When she grinned out at the crowd, some faces beamed back, but others faced away, murmurs spreading.
They hadn’t been here long, but clearly long enough to allow doubt to enter, and questions.
“Monsters,” someone whispered.
“Dangerous,” said another.
No. She had to save this—now. The only way she knew.
She cleared her throat. “People of Stroppiata,” she called out, “we thank you for opening your city and your hearts to us, and allowing us to share in our worship of the Holy Mother.” She looked out over the people gathered as they quieted. “I have offered prayers for as long as I can remember, and today, I stand here blessed—with a husband both kind and strong enough to defend our people, and a new family, as both Sileni and dark-elves join together against the Immortali that would threaten us, and for the righteous cause of a lasting peace.” Both for survival, and our own betterment. “We follow the Holy Mother’s guidance—sharing our bounty with one hand, but with the other, defending one another against any dangers that would seek to destroy us, or to divide us. And together, we are strong. Terra’s blessings upon you all, my brothers and sisters.”
“And upon you,” came the harmony of replies, the response every Terran instinctively gave, ingrained from early childhood.
She inclined her head, as did Veron next to her, but his golden gaze rested on her, intense, but softening as his mouth curved. That look remained as they exited the shrine, boarded the carriage, and headed for the city’s western gates toward the dark-elf queendom of Dunmarrow.
Arms crossed, Veron leaned against the carriage’s window, a smile on his face and a gleam in his eyes. “You were amazing in there, Aless.”
So she was back to being Aless and not Alessandra. A step toward earning back his trust, maybe?
Don’t put the cart before the horse.
Next to her, Gabriella grinned, but covered it and looked away. Nice of her.
“It was just some words,” she answered, tapping his boot with her shoe. “Nothing like battling harpies.”
“No,” he said, with a slow shake of his head. “You know your people. You see them.”
It was nice of him to say, but their argument had inspired her to look closer. And she would continue doing so. But… “I won’t argue with that.”
And so she didn’t.
Chapter 14
Sitting on a blanket, Aless steeped passionflower tea before the campfire while watching the chestnuts roast. The late-afternoon sun peeked through the canopy of turkey oaks, sparse but a vivid green. Some of the dark-elves picked through the undergrowth and climbed a massive sweet chestnut tree, gathering more that Gabriella helped collect.
“Are they any good?” Gavri asked, nodding toward the tree.
Over the past couple of days, they’d spoken from time to time, as Gavri seemed to guard her when Veron wasn’t around. She wanted to befriend Gavri if she could, but hadn’t caught her for more than a few minutes at a time.
“I’ve had chestnut creme in desserts before. Very sweet. Tasty.” Crème de marrons, as the Emaurrians called it. “I’ve read about soldiers in ancient Silen eating chestnut porridge the morning of battle.”
Gavri grunted. “I’ll take that creme thing over the porridge. But considering we’re going to Dun Mozg, maybe preparing for war isn’t such a bad idea.”
She frowned. “Why is that?”
Gavri leaned in, her braid falling over her shoulder. “Veron didn’t tell you?”
She wiggled aside on the blanket until there was enough room to sit, and then she motioned to Gavri, who looked about warily before lowering.
“He told me about Queen Nendra, who’s the most famous warrior among the dark-elves,” she said, preparing another cup of passionflower tea.
“She is,” Gavri replied, but with an exhaustion that could be a decade old. “And her queendom sits on the largest arcanir mine we’ve ever known. A really important one, worth almost any sacrifice to gain access. Dun Mozg prides itself on its weapons, and its soldiery.”
Arcanir? That certainly was useful against the Immortali beasts. She handed the ready cup to Gavri, who accepted it with a raised eyebrow. “He also said his brother Zoran was chosen as her consort because of his prowess among your people in Nightbloom.”
Gavri inhaled deeply, turned the cup in her hands, and nodded slowly. “Oh, yes,” she said. “Zoran’s… prowess… is well known to me.”
It didn’t seem like Gavri meant battle prowess.
She swallowed, pouring the boiling water.
It overflowed, and Gavri caught the kettle’s handle.
“Y-you and—” she stammered.
Gavri set the kettle down. “Once upon a time.” She sighed. “I was a very ambitious kuvari recruit. And he was one of Nozva Rozkveta’s most accomplished warriors. The math told me I needed to best him to prove myself. I did, and…” She shrugged a shoulder.
Frozen, Aless stared and stared. Never had a sentence needed finishing more than Gavri’s. “And what?”
“And for eight years, we tired each other out in the training yard and in the bedchamber,” Gavri said with a grin, then took a sip of tea.
“Eight years?” How had they been together for eight years, eight long years, and yet he’d ended up Queen Nendra’s consort?
Gavri nodded and took another sip. “What’s in this?”
“Passionflower,” Aless blurted, then motioned for her to continue.
“Passionflower? Like the aphrodisiac?” A skewed stare. “Are you—”
“No! Holy Mother, no!” Aless cleared her throat, gathering her composure as some glances turned her way. She was not drinking it for that. “While it is a mild aphrodisiac, it also soothes the nerves.”
Grinning broadly, Gavri shrugged again. “Whatever you say.”
“So what happened?”
“Nendra bested the previous queen of Dun Mozg, and she needed a consort. Queen Zara offered her the best.” She sipp
ed her tea. “You know, this stuff is really starting to grow on me.”
“Just like that, and he was gone?”
Gavri nodded. “He was. As a prince, he would never be able to make the Offering to anyone but royalty.” She sighed. “But then Prince Veron found me in the training cavern and asked me to spar. And then the next day, and the next. We became friends, and then Queen Zara assigned me to his guard.”
So Veron had seen Gavri after losing someone she loved, and he’d befriended her. That sounded like him. She smiled warmly.
A gentle shiver stroked up her back, and when she looked across the camp, Veron was looking at her while he brushed Noc. She’d been earning Noc’s trust lately, at least, with a couple apples here and there, and fables Mamma had read to her about unicorns and fey horses. If only Veron’s trust could be recovered so easily.
Gavri followed her line of sight and started. “I… I should go.”
She rested a hand on Gavri’s knee. “No, stay, please.”
Across the camp, a long, silky black tail smacked Veron in the face. He eyed Noc sheepishly and mumbled something to him.
As she smiled, a soft laugh bubbled next to her. Gavri’s. But it soon faded.
“What happened between you and Veron? You don’t speak to each other anymore.”
Gavri set the cup down, tucked the braid over her shoulder, and fidgeted with its tip, her gaze downcast. “I… violated his trust.” She took a deep breath. “I lost Zoran in an instant. And when Veron was betrothed to you, I expected… a lot. After the wedding, after your… dress… the reaction from your people wasn’t invisible.”
She lowered her own gaze. “I know. I regret that.”
“It was between the two of you. I know that. But… I just wanted him to rebel against the marriage, too. I didn’t want him to be understanding and reasonable and diplomatic as he always is. I wanted him to fight back,” she said, clapping a hand on her thigh. “He wouldn’t, so I… intervened. I badmouthed you and told him I’d given you a tent when I hadn’t, just so you could seem spoiled. Well, more spoiled.”
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