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Chapter twenty-four

Nerys

L ike a baby bird ejected from its nest, it was time for Nerys to be thrown to court.

One of Qiana’s maids helped her prepare—she’d never have gotten all those clasps fastened on her own—and coiffed Nerys’s hair into piled delicate ringlets.

Afterward, the maids applied a light dusting of cosmetics to her face, the first time Nerys had worn any in her life.

The cosmetics available in Raven’s Crest were not the type one willingly applied to flesh.

A maid explained that Nerys’s cosmetics were lighter than what most of the court women wore, but again, that was Qiana’s doing.

Qiana wanted to give off an impression of Nerys as a demure maiden, and so that was what Nerys was going to be.

Whatever Nerys thought of her new ensemble, when Qiana saw her, she gave a rare nod of approval—and a reminder to mind her posture.

Festooned in earthly adornments, Nerys stepped out of the inn and into the courtyard, where Idris and the other coachmen waited next to the open carriage door. The early morning meant the courtyard was deserted, other than the inn’s servants passing through while going about their tasks.

Idris…

He gave her one long gaze that made heat rise inside her. And then he turned away, leaving her to enter the carriage after Qiana.

She needed to talk to him. Soon. Subterfuge be damned.

Then they were on their way. Nerys picked at her sleeves as they rode along, her breakfast threatening to emerge with every bump.

All the months of work, all the sleepless nights, all of it was about to come due. Though the stakes were not that high—if Nerys failed to convince the court she was Qiana’s ward, she only faced a painful death as a traitor and doomed thousands. Nothing to worry about.

“Close the curtain,” Qiana ordered from her seat across from Nerys.

“Nobles do not let themselves be gawked at like circus performers. Not by this lot at any rate.” By “this lot,” Qiana apparently meant the people outside the carriage, the commoner residents of the capital city of Vaulpri, who were likely responsible for the ambient odor of cooking and outhouse.

Once a city where gods walked on the earth, Vaulpri had been built on its ruins, and the only testament to its origins were the occasional older stones visible in foundations.

For her part, Qiana had no issue appearing dignified. Qiana wore a daring dark blue silk gown. It was like an overstuffed sausage casing, where excess filling poked out of the top end. Unless she wanted the court to see more of her than the dress maker intended, Qiana had better not bend over.

“You let me look outside before,” Nerys said, leaning against the headrest.

“That was when we were in the countryside. People know my carriage—and they’ll know of you soon enough. Try to relax. And remember—once we get to court, follow my lead.”

“Don’t worry—I have no issue with you directing this troubadour show.”

Qiana chuckled. “Then you have nothing to worry about.”

Soon the carriage stopped, started, and stopped again, amidst yelling from various persons, including Qiana’s servants.

They must be at the palace. They had to be.

It smelled better, for one, though it was not any quieter than Vaulpri’s streets.

And they had been driving on stone for some time, for another.

Impoverished areas were rarely bestowed stone roads .

The door opened, revealing Idris—his new face doing nothing to hide the familiar way he looked at her, the way he stole a gasp from her. A corner of his lips curled up, making her heart skip, and then he reached out a formal hand to Qiana and guided her new guardian outside.

Then it was Nerys’s turn. Her limbs shook and her nipples hardened with fear. 141

And so, it began.

She took Idris’s hand and stepped outside the carriage, eyes squinting in the bright winter day.

“It’ll be alright,” Idris whispered and rubbed her hand with his thumb, a movement both hidden and laden with affection.

Her breathing quickened and she had to stifle the urge to smile—he hadn’t forgotten about her.

For a moment the court was small, minor, compared to being next to him again.

Nerys swallowed and looked forward. “Thank you.” She had to speak with him, no matter what it took.

Reluctantly, Idris let go of her hand and stepped back, leaving her alone.

It was time to face the court.

For a moment, Nerys stopped and took in her surroundings.

The hours she spent studying the Thistle Palace’s 142 layout and maps of “hidden” passages—mere outlines and cryptic designs—didn’t prepare her for the real thing.

The palace, surrounded by towering stone walls, was essentially a city in a single building.

She quickly counted ten windows and six doors and then gave up—she didn’t have time for such things.

The building was made of stone, but it was a brilliant white with muted red accents, not the drab grey that made up every stone structure Nerys had seen before.

If the elaborate stone was not enough, statues of various animals—life sized—jutted out from between each window, so that as she approached the palace she did so under the eyes of lions, eagles, and bears.

Fitting. The court may end up eating her alive, too.

“Come,” Qiana said, reaching out a hand. Nerys smiled and took it, letting Qiana guide her across the cobblestone path and up the stone stairs into the palace, ignoring the prodding stares of the footmen who had greeted them. The first stares of many, no doubt.

Once inside the palace, Nerys let go of Qiana’s hand and slowed her walk, so that she stepped slightly behind Qiana, as befitting her status as a ward. As far as the court was concerned, Qiana ruled over her life as mightily as any king.

Yet, it was all Nerys could do not to gawk at what surrounded her.

Excess. Decadent excess. White wooden paneling edged with gold made up the walls, and the floor consisted of meticulously polished interlaced wood or marble.

The walls were not unadorned—it would’ve been a poor excuse for a palace otherwise—but were laden with portraits of fine men and women 143 and busts of additional men and women.

144 Or, in some cases, the portraits were drawn directly on the walls with murals revolving around flowers, animals, and instruments. 145

So much beauty. So much . All while people in rural villages counted themselves fortunate if they had enough food to last a winter. All while the R?ll thought so little of them that he sacrificed them to a demon for his own ends.

Later. She’d be angry later. Nerys clenched her teeth and continued to follow Qiana.

If the palace’s excess ground Nerys’s gizzard, that was nothing compared to the courtiers.

So much silk on corpulent, overpainted bodies, it was a wonder there were any silk worms left in the world.

And the sheer number of gems and precious stones…

She’d be willing to bet that there wasn’t a single paste gem among the lot.

A gem-festooned noble chucked into a lake could serve as a rather colorful anchor, and arguably be more useful.

Memories of witnessing villagers’ desperate want during particularly harsh years rose—just one gem would have kept her family fed for years. Hers, and many others like hers…

But Qiana prepared her well—she couldn’t be distracted. Being angry at an opulence that everyone knew existed but never experienced would do nothing to help anyone. Instead, Nerys focused her attention on staying close to her guardian. And the task at hand.

Nerys wouldn’t be presented to the R?ll immediately—she wasn’t that important—and Qiana, having just left the court, was not expected to undergo a formal welcome ceremony.

Thus, today would consist of getting settled, and Qiana would then venture forth to find events suitable for Nerys’s first outings.

Likely nothing more than attending a gambling soiree or viewing the R?ll at his rising ceremony.

Nothing like starting one’s day by watching a pasty old man getting dressed in public.

They rounded the corner, and Qiana suddenly stilled and curtsied deeply. Nerys skidded to a stop and followed her guardian’s lead. Why were they curtseying? Who had they come across? But if Qiana had to curtsey, Nerys definitely did.

“Your Ascendance,” Qiana said, using the address reserved solely for the heir to the throne.

The Kor’yitz. Nerys’s eyes widened. The Kor’yitz was here?

Now ? Qiana slowly rose as gracefully as whipped egg whites swelling in a bowl.

Nerys counted a full three seconds then rose as well, and finally took in who had caused the commotion.

The woman who stood before them, flanked by three female attendants, was a few inches shorter than Nerys, and also in her mid-twenties.

She was attractive, in her own way, but much of her beauty came from the confidence with which she carried herself, as if the world was honored to see her.

No one would consider her a great beauty—her eyes were too far apart, her nose too prominent—but to call her unattractive would be a lie.

The woman’s hair was braided, and she wore a man’s breeches and no jewelry.

Kor’yitz Adelyna? Yes—as heir, she was one of the few allowed to flout court rules on occasion.

And—Nerys enviously inspected the Kor’yitz’s flat boots—seemed to be taking advantage of it.

The Kor’yitz was well-dressed, yet practical. That was a style worth emulating.

“Welcome back, Your Brilliance,” the Kor’yitz said, giving Qiana a smile. “I’m surprised you returned so soon. I expected you to wait until spring.” The Kor’yitz’s voice carried a tone of surprise—and pleasure.

“Are you disappointed, Lady?” Qiana asked. 146 “Do you want me to dart back to the villages? Take up basket weaving?” Qiana had mentioned she was friends with the heir, and it seemed she had undersold their relationship.

“Never. I’m happy you’ve returned.” Adelyna said.

“Good. I can’t bear another winter in the country.” The Kor’yitz smiled at that. Suddenly Qiana turned to Nerys and held out an arm, motioning her closer. “May I present my ward, Sword Man Callidora.”

“Your Ascendance,” Nerys said while giving the required shorter curtsey.

When she stood, the Kor’yitz’s deep blue eyes stared at her, and Nerys resisted squirming.

There was no way the Kor’yitz could have known she was a fraud already.

Right? Nerys refused to acknowledge the Kor’yitz’s attendants—and their stares that could have poked holes in bricks.

“Qiana, I expected a child,” the Kor’yitz said. “She’s anything but.”

“No,” Qiana said, “though her father placed her under wardship until she is thirty.” 147

“Unfortunate. Then again, most don’t have you as a guardian.”

“You flatter me, Lady.”

The Kor’yitz then steered the conversation back to Qiana, and the two of them chatted about the weather and the court, the conversation dancing eerily close to gossip in such a public forum.

The entire time Nerys couldn’t take her eyes off the Kor’yitz—was it her easy manner that was so captivating, or the way she carried herself, so sure of her place in the world?

Or was it that the princess might have been one of the most imposing women she had ever seen, who also managed to make vertically gifted Nerys feel small?

Whatever it was, Nerys almost missed the conversation turning back to her.

“Are you interested in music, My Lady Callidora?” Adelyna asked.

“Why—yes, of course, Lady.” Why why why were the forms of address for the lowest rank and the second highest rank so damn similar? Nerys was going to blunder. It was her—it was going to happen. Especially with the Kor’yitz staring at her. The attendants judging her. Qiana frozen next to her…

Qiana interrupted, “She admires music—though unfortunately she was not taught how to play.” They didn’t have time to teach her before they left, and Idris told her under no circumstances should she try whistling—her only musical ability—at court. 148

“Truly?” the Kor’yitz seemed shocked. “You’re fortunate. I never liked lessons. Then again, I’ve never been partial to curmudgeonly old men telling me what to do.”

Despite herself, Nerys smiled.

“Unfortunately,” Qiana interjected, “her father neglected much of her education in other matters.”

“Well” ?the Kor’yitz grinned? “it seems she has the perfect teacher to make up for that.” The Kor’yitz turned her attention to Nerys. “I’m hosting a small party tonight, with musicians, singers and…some other things. If you’re interested.”

Other things?

“We would be honored.” Qiana curtsied, and Nerys followed suit. A party? Was this a normal occurrence, for someone like Nerys to receive a direct invite to a royal gathering? Nerys was clearly invited—right?

The next few moments gave Nerys no clarity, for she was ignored.

The Kor’yitz and Qiana exchanged a barrage of parting words and curtsies, and soon they were on their way to their rooms once more.

“Well, that makes things much easier,” Qiana finally said once they had turned down a deserted hall and were free of most ears.

“How?” Nerys asked. “I mean, I understand it’s an honor she spoke to us, but—”

“‘But’ nothing. You get the Kor’yitz’s attention, you get the court’s. And with the court’s attention, well” ?Qiana huffed? “the R?ll’s will follow.”