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Chapter thirty-five

Nerys

T he morning after Nerys was presented to the R?ll was bright, much like her chances of completing her mission before she acquired her first gray hair. Unfortunately, like every sunny day, there was a cloud. In this case, Qiana.

“Stop grinning,” Qiana hissed as they worked their way through the palace halls, milling through the over-perfumed masses.

“You were given a little attention—not an estate.” Courtiers and servants alike streamed back and forth, attending to a plethora of events and tasks.

Many stared at Nerys, their expressions ranging from blank indifference to rank condescension.

Did they hear about her audience last night?

That both the R?ll and Kor’yitz had received her—in private ?

“You told me,” Nerys muttered, “that getting attention was half the battle. I did that.”

“Half. You haven’t won yet.”

Qiana had a point—and then again, some points were meant to be ignored.

Besides, if she managed to attract the pasty R?ll’s attention last night, surely she’d do the same today, in her decadent silver gown that threatened to expose her bosom.

However, there was something to be said about diplomatically changing a topic. “What is this event, exactly?”

A frown crossed Qiana’s face, an expression eerily reminiscent of a cow being stung by a bee. “We’re going to the Grand Hall—to watch the R?ll leave his public audience.”

“So, when you said we are going to watch the R?ll walk, you meant that to be literally. We don’t want to attend the actual audience, I take it?

” Nerys’s eyes wandered to a group of young men who stopped speaking as she passed—all of them preening, pretentious, and pasty.

Nothing like Idris—golden, striking Idris—but the attention was flattering, nonetheless.

Every time she caught a glimpse of young men, she instinctively checked if they were Idris, though such a thing was impossible.

“No one wants to be in those audiences—unless they need something.” Qiana adjusted her sapphire necklace. “Do you want to watch the R?ll handle land disputes for hours? Grain taxes? Sanitation appointments? ”

“Um, no?”

“Exactly. He’ll be passing through the corridor, where we’ll be waiting with others. If he stops to acknowledge us, that’s a sure sign you caught his attention last night. Not some flattering words given after you saved his heir.”

“…And if he doesn’t?”

“That’s what patience is for.”

“Great. I’m known for my patience.”

Qiana gave Nerys a sideways glance but kept any comments to herself.

They soon came upon a gilded hall, which was long enough that it could have served as a goat racing track in Raven’s Crest. Though, the hundreds of mirrors lining the walls and ceiling wouldn’t have been goat friendly.

Qiana and Nerys burst their way to the front of the crowd, jockeying to hold their spots with all the aggression of a thistle refusing to be pulled.

An older man, wigged and bedecked in yellow satin—he was at least a Wealth Holder, 184 stepped next to Nerys, assaulting her nose with a stale flowery scent.

Nerys grimaced and moved closer to Qiana—too close—as the man’s three female companions emerged to stand in front of him.

Daughters new to court, most like. Nerys huffed and turned her attention back to where the R?ll would emerge.

The doors opened. The hall fell silent as heads rotated to focus on the R?ll, who strutted through the crowd.

Ignoring most, the R?ll made his way towards where Nerys waited, while she subtly tried to relieve an inconvenient itch.

Along the way, he stopped to exchange pleasantries and a smile, leaving more than a few disappointed faces in his wake.

Then, he reached her. With the weight of the room on her, it was her turn to curtsey.

Upon rising, Nerys coaxed a smile to her face and met the R?ll’s beady eyes.

He returned her welcome with a grin—her heart swelled in self-satisfaction—and then his gaze went right past her. To the three tittering women.

“And who are these lovelies?” The R?ll asked the yellow-clad man, moving past Nerys like a cat pursuing a better lap and leaving Nerys with an increasingly fake smile on her face. The man, however, swelled under the R?ll’s attention like an engorged mosquito.

Bastard.

“May I present my daughters, Highest. Corlintha, Corbellia, and Cortina.” The man dramatically swept a jeweled hand towards the three women.

“All come to court to find husbands, no doubt.”

“It is past time, Lord.”

Past time? The eldest was younger than Nerys, shorter, and giddy with ill-concealed excitement. Past time ? They were women, not curdled milk.

“Well, I shall do what I can to help them in this pursuit.” The R?ll gave them one last lingering look. At that, the three women giggled and bowed, sending the R?ll on his way with all the excitements of twitterpated sparrows.

Nerys, completely ignored, stood there. How could… Did that just…

An arm wrapped its way into hers, and suddenly Qiana hissed in her ear. “ Callidora . You aren’t a peasant. Focus.” Qiana tugged her along the hall, towards another exit. “Come, no point in gawking.”

Nerys’s mouth silently moved for a moment.

“How did that happen? What happened?” She had found her voice at the same moment she registered courtiers staring at her, even a Dahlk priestess, clad in their signature black and gold.

Were they surprised at the R?ll’s change of attentions? Were they happy to see her fail?

“What happens more often than not—he found a different distraction.” Qiana’s expression softened as she took in Nerys’s. “Don’t blame yourself—there’s nothing you could have done in light of that .”

“Except make three of me.”

“Thank the Living Gods that’s impossible,” Qiana said under her breath.

They made their way out of the hall. Once they were clear of most of the glittering crowd, Nerys asked, “What now? Is it over?”

“Over?” Qiana let out a curt laugh. “Not in the slightest. It will take more time, but you still have the Kor’yitz.”

“And?”

“And that means if you make the right decisions now, once he’s tired of our dear strumpets—and he will —you’ll still be here. Smiling and waiting.”

Nerys paused for a moment, searching for any sign of sarcasm in Qiana’s expression. There was none. “I really still have a chance?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t have brought you here otherwise. It wouldn’t have been worth my time.”