Page 107 of Golden Queen (Idrigard #1)

Thirty-Five

The following day had us hosting Fyr and Eyildr for dinner in the mountain palace.

Io’s sisters had stayed away, on his orders, to give me time to settle in to my new home. But their patience had apparently run out. Fyr had begged, nearly to the point of tears, to be allowed to get to know me.

I dressed carefully, the ring on my finger like some endearing echo of his words; Will you marry me, Sera? Every time I saw it, my heart did a little flutter in my chest as his words filtered through my mind.

I had plenty of clothes to choose from among the literal pile of garments that had been delivered that day.

It was a little bit of everything; gowns, coats, shirts, breeches, leggings, thin, comfortable loungewear, and of course, impossibly lacy, positively scandalous night clothes and undergarments.

The underthings had a lot in common with the skimpy Athelen attire I had worn on that first, ill-fated attempt at seducing him.

A seamstress called Alicenne and her young apprentice had made the delivery early that morning after working tirelessly for days to ready the clothes for me.

We left them in my chamber, piled onto the unused bed, until we could make space in our wardrobe among what turned out to be a literal ton of Io's own attire.

"You have a lot of clothes for someone who always wears the same thing," I told him when he offered to throw his clothes into the corner to make room for mine.

"As you can see, they are mostly disused. But the ever-busy Lord Azmial's mind is always working, trying to make us all as beautiful as we possibly can be so he doesn't have to suffer to look upon anything that isn't pleasing to the eye."

Jhol turned out to be responsible for my entire wardrobe as well, since he had somehow provided the seamstress with my exact measurements and taken the time to draw up plans for what he wanted her to make for me.

Alicenne refused to show me the plans, however, telling me that Lord Azmial was insistent I be surprised. She promised they would be ready in a week, and I would be very happy with what they had put together for me.

I chose a gown for the dinner with Io's sisters—a simple one of deep blue with long, fitted sleeves and a square neckline.

Fyr wore a gown as well, but hers had a utilitarian fierceness to it that made it look like she would be just as well-placed on a battlefield as the sitting room of the mountain palace.

It had structured shoulders, and she wore a heavy silver chain with conical spikes that might have come from the end of a tiny mace. She looked ravishingly dangerous, and I wanted very badly for some of that edginess to be incorporated into my own wardrobe.

Fyr might have looked deadly, but she was just as sweet as she had been when I first met her. Her muted blue-gray hair swung loose in a sleek, straight fall around her shoulders as she continually engaged me in conversation.

The same could not be said for Eyildr, who came to the palace looking like she had just hopped down from a dragon's back. Her trousers and plain white tunic were rumpled. Her short, dark hair was wild, though somehow still artful.

Io’s oldest sister was tall and slim with long, leanly muscled limbs. She was especially pretty with hair and features very similar to Io’s. Somehow on Eyildr, though, his handsome face had been softened into something doll-like with her delicately pointed chin and large Alduran eyes.

The innocence of Princess Eyildr’s lovely, childish face was completely at odds with her sour attitude and generally distasteful tone. Her expression stayed severe all through dinner, her suspicious eyes boring into me angrily any time Io turned away.

I ignored her. Io seemed so happy to facilitate this gathering between us. I refused to allow her to provoke me into any kind of discord. For his peace of mind, I could suffer any insult she sent my way.

Those insults never came outright, but they were clearly implied nonetheless after the four of us had consumed a bit more alcohol than we probably should have after dinner.

We sat on the long settee in his great room beneath that swirling painting of the Darkwatch sky as Io poured us a smooth, minty-flavored dark liquor I had never tasted before.

“When will you hold the wedding and the oath-taking?” Fyr asked excitedly. “I hope it’s while I’m still in Darkwatch.”

“I would not have you miss it, Fyr,” Io said, smiling as he tipped up another glass of liquor. “But Sera and I will need to discuss it—”

“Will you invite Behr?” Eyildr cut in, coldly.

“I hope so,” he replied. “I would have you all there, Eyildr.”

She scoffed and slid her eyes to me again. I had a sudden, sneaking suspicion that she had been forbidden from insulting me. I could see what it cost her as her jaw twitched in precisely the same way her brother’s did when he was holding back some strong emotion.

Io and Fyr eventually retreated to the dining room in search of the dessert that had been left in covered dishes on the table, and Eyildr moved to sit beside me on the couch.

I held no pretense about why she made the move. It was not to share in the companionable moment alone.

She spoke low. "Are you not in the least bit ashamed of yourself for what you're doing to my brothers?"

"Absolutely, incredibly so, Eyildr," I admitted.

She narrowed her eyes in surprise, lips thinning to a harsh line. "Then why are you here? If you know that war is coming, and people will suffer, then why are you still here?"

"Well, first of all, I don't know that war is coming. We are trying to prevent that, and despite how it might look, your brother has a plan."

"A plan?" she said mockingly. And then some realization crossed her features. She huffed self-righteously. "He didn't tell you."

Dread coiled inside me. "Tell me what?" I asked, not even bothering to keep my voice low.

"Eyildr," Io warned from the doorway.

"Tell me what, Io?" I demanded, standing, my fists balled at my sides.

He shook his head, attempting a nonchalant smile. "It's nothing. My brother is being dramatic."

"Show me," I said, understanding then that he must have had a bird from Orin.

Io gave his sister a dark look, and then turned to stride down the hallway to the stairs that led to his study.

I followed as Fyr re-entered the sitting room behind us. "You are such a bitch," I heard the younger sister say.

"I’m the bitch here?" Eyildr said, astonished.

I didn't hear the rest of what they said over the sound of my own angry heart beating in my ears as I followed Io up the stairs.

He perched on the edge of his desk while I read the parchment. It was short and simple, written in an elegant sweeping hand that looked precisely as a king's handwriting should.

Brother, I am finding it difficult to resolve the news I’m receiving with what I know to be the content of your character.

Return my bride or I will send the army that is now marching back from Windemere to retrieve her.

You will not like what they leave behind them in Darkwatch if you force my hand. Behr.

When I finished reading, I ripped the parchment angrily into pieces and threw it onto the desk.

"It arrived just before dinner, Sera. I would have told you right after. I didn't want you going up against my sister knowing this. I knew you would feel guilty."

"I already feel guilty," I told him in a small voice. The fear the message caused in me almost entirely obliterated the anger I felt that he didn't tell me about it right away.

It was a new kind of fear, one born of the knowledge that I could not leave him. If the letter had come a day earlier, I could have relieved some of that fear with the firm assurance that following through with the king's demands would alleviate the threat.

But knowing there was no part of me that could ever leave him sent the fear for him, the fear for our people, rocketing skyward. "How long until Atlas gets here?" I asked.

"Most likely tomorrow," he said. He pulled me toward him, settling me between his legs where he was still perched on the desk. "We have time, Sera. He won't make any move yet. Don't worry."

It was impossible not to worry, especially about my people, who it was now confirmed were being left helpless in Windemere. "Have you sent him a reply?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Not yet."

"Well then you have to tell him. Tell him that we are mates—that it will be confirmed soon."

He took a deep breath. "I considered it. But ultimately, I fear it would only make him move more quickly, in hopes of preventing that confirmation. He would know there is nothing he can do after it’s made official, but...I don't trust him not to want you bad enough to find a way around it."

I shook my head. "I don't understand why he even wants me at all!"

"I think Behr knows about your blood. I fear he has some misguided notion that your blood in his line will...I don't know, make him more powerful—make his dynasty more powerful."

He looked thoughtful and then added. "Orin is absolutely crawling with seers, though. It could all hinge on whatever interpretation of this prophecy they all believe—and what advantages they think he would gain by possessing the Golden Queen, the angel, the savior."

He said the last almost ruefully. I knew it was no slight against me. He was as sick of that fucking prophecy as I was.

"Well, will you at least tell your sisters?" I asked, remembering Eyildr's words. I was ashamed of myself, horribly so.

"I told Fyr," he said, surprising me. "But I don't trust Eyildr to keep it to herself and not run to get word to Behr."

At my look of surprise, he added. "Eyildr is not cruel. She wouldn't do it to harm me. But she might do it in a misguided attempt to calm the storm."

I took a deep breath, trying to instill some hope in my fractured chest. "Well then, Atlas...tomorrow."