Page 64 of The Shadowed Oracle (The Bonded Worlds #1)

Chapter Thirty-Five

After socializing for far longer than Ingrid was comfortable with, a flock of lady’s maids swept her and Tyla away to the guest rooms in the back of the castle to clean up and change.

The royal ballroom had been prepared, and many of the guests from the throne room had already been transplanted, setting the desired mood and appearances for the queen’s fashionably late arrival.

Raidinn and Dean remained at Enitha’s side for the entirety of their time in the throne room, though Ingrid did catch the attention of Dean as she was spirited away. He gave her a slight nod of assurance, giving her proof that he was still himself.

The stone fortress was mostly empty as she and Tyla followed the maids to their rooms. The silent servants kept too close to discuss anything beyond what their characters would, so after they were separated into their small rooms Ingrid waited a moment, taking stock of the small chambers, the bath, the mirror and clothing rack in the corner, then peeked her head out of the door, checking if it was safe to tip toe to the neighboring room where Tyla had been placed.

In that part of the castle, the corridors were lit only by small torches spaced apart every ten feet.

An overwhelming smell of that same perfume she’d scented earlier was the only sign Viator even travelled this deep into the palace.

Meaning Ingrid would be able to go where she pleased, unseen, to search for an alternate escape route.

There would still be guards posted outside the trade gate, and finding another exit could be paramount in avoiding violence.

She briskly made her way down the hallway, stopping at the door she’d watched her friend enter. It was large with iron paneling, curved at the top, with an easily identifiable door knell. She pressed her ear to it, hearing nothing but silence coming from behind it, and knocked feather-light.

“Come in,” a voice that wasn’t Tyla’s answered.

Ingrid winced, her head on a swivel as she double-checked her surroundings. She swore she’d chosen the right room.

“Come in!” the voice repeated, louder this time.

“Apologies. I think I have?—”

The door swung open, and standing behind it was one of the maids, a short and narrow female dressed in a loose-fitted beige frock and a yellow sash around her waist.

“Oh.” The maiden’s face flushed with surprise. “I thought you were young Monia, my lady, come to deliver the setting powder I’d asked her to—oh, well, never mind that. She and I will be by in a moment with your dress for the evening. Don’t you worry.” She closed the door slowly. “Only a moment.”

Ingrid could barely utter a syllable before the door was shut in her face.

She hovered there a moment, feeling confused and looking it, before returning to her room and pacing about.

She couldn’t get a grasp on how much time had passed.

Twenty minutes, or perhaps even two hours had elapsed before the two maids finally burst in without knocking.

“Let’s get you washed,” the shorter maid said.

“Washed? You mean you’re going to bathe me?”

The two maids didn’t answer. Ingrid was too stupefied to do anything but obey as they shepherded her toward the tub.

She stripped all her clothes behind a folding partition made of red and gold cloth and stepped into the tepid water.

In the frenzy of the scrubbing, Ingrid had to clutch her father’s viseer stone necklace to keep it from being plucked away along with all her other garments.

Monia, a lively, tall young female with purple-blue eyes worked tirelessly on Ingrid’s hair, piling the black braids on top of her head.

While the shorter, obviously more experienced maid—who hadn’t offered a name yet—fussed over the primitive makeup she applied to Ingrid’s under-eyes, lips and lashes.

When they’d finished, Ingrid took stock in the six-foot-tall mirror in the corner of the room.

Her painted face was more subtle than she’d imagined, the hair perplexingly intricate and fetching.

And the gown—it was certainly more flattering than the beautiful but well-worn dress she’d come in.

Scarlet red with an asymmetrical hem, one side slit high to accentuate her leg, and a sinched waist that put so much pressure on her stomach and bosom that she begged the two lady’s maids to loosen the ties.

They obliged, despite the concern they expressed about the “fashion” of it. Then before Ingrid knew it, she was again being led down the long dark hall like a prize dog, aimlessly walking between her two guides.

Tyla was still nowhere in sight, and the path had diverted from where the maids had taken to get there.

“Umm,” Ingrid started, trying to appear casual. “You two don’t happen to know where my friend is, do you?”

Monia turned, smiling mischievously. “Which one, my lady? Lady Tyla… or your handsome—” Her jest was cut short by a swift slap in the back of the head by her superior.

“Forgive young Monia, my lady. She’s only just taken up this post. Hasn’t consorted with Viator of your ilk very often.

Lady Tyla will be along soon. The dress we provided didn’t fit, so I sent one of my girls to fetch a new one.

” She clicked her tongue, turning to Monia to whisper. “What will we do with you?”

Ingrid choked on a laugh. “Don’t bother. She was only observing. Besides, I’m no stranger to females gushing over my brother,” she added, selling it with an annoyed groan. “And that Raidinn, well, you’d have to be blind not to take notice of him. He’s nearly as tall as a Variann horse.”

Even the staunch, porcelain-skinned maid chuckled at that.

“It’s just occurred to me.” Ingrid slowed, angling her chin down. “I didn’t ask your name yet.”

“Oh, yes. It is Lucilla, my lady.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She peered down the hall, trying to make out any sign of life, and listening for any noise from the party they were supposedly heading to. “Will you two be staying for the ball?”

Unnerving silence draped over them, but Ingrid couldn’t tell if she was reading into the eeriness of it. “We are heading to the ball, yes? Or did you dress me like this for your own amusement?”

Lucilla snorted, covering her mouth. “Suppose you got that humor out on the seas, my lady. With all those sailors, no doubt.” She placed a hand on her underling’s back. “Sadly, only young Monia will be seeing to your needs. I’ll be far too busy cleaning up in the throne room.”

Ingrid looked to the young maiden named Monia, catching her at the very moment she stifled a smile. It was a girlish excitement, too human for Ingrid not to briefly forget her surroundings and circumstances.

“Pity,” Ingrid replied. “But the queen mentioned that the festivities would go on past tonight. I’m sure you’ll partake in the fun at some point?”

“Partake?” Lucilla was still a picture of professionalism. “No, no. I’m far too busy.”

At that, Monia threw a fist over her mouth and flexed her brow upward. Her excitement had quickly turned mocking, sinister almost, and Ingrid couldn’t tell who the intended target of this sudden disdain was.

“Busy, yes,” Monia whispered, her rare eye color glinting in the torchlight. “Very busy.”

“What was that, child?” Lucilla groaned. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” Monia paused in thought, rocking her head like two decisions were weighing her down on both sides. “It’s just your choice of words. Busy .”

“Well, I am.”

“Sure,” Monia scoffed. “And it has nothing to do with your feelings about Enitha’s fancy parties, or her?—”

“Hush,” Lucilla snapped.

Monia didn’t seem worried about the perceived threat. “What? There’s no shame in it, Lucilla. You don’t always have to be so obedient.”

“Now I must know,” Ingrid begged. “What is it?”

“Over here.” Monia walked off with her back turned. “Just over here, my lady. Better to show you. Weddings and gala balls aren’t the only fun we Occians have at court. See for yourself.”

She followed the trail to where the young maid now stood.

In the fixed attention she’d put into her character, it seemed Ingrid had neglected the path set before her.

What had been dark corridors were now much brighter, much taller stone halls lit by the moonlight and the tall beacons littering the outside of the castle.

They came upon a large arching balcony that opened up a view to the Jemii sea.

Tucked in the corner of the city was a stone coliseum so large that Ingrid was astonished she’d missed it.

On arrival, she and her friends had kept their heads down and hurried to the side entrance designated for merchants and visitors, so it was likely they’d blinded themselves to a few things.

But this? With its ivory pillars stretching up to the clouds, thousands and thousands of seats stacked like a staircase for the Gods and allowing for the mass of onlookers to never miss a moment of the action…

“Games are held every week now,” Monia said dryly. “Queen Enitha is in attendance at every one of them, if you can believe it.” She rolled her eyes. “Somehow, she finds the time. And she drags her head lady’s maid—” She jerked a thumb at her superior. “To every single one, too.”

Monia’s odd cadence had made it difficult to pick up on the sarcasm earlier, yet now, in the melodic low grunt she’d resorted to, her intent was obvious. At the very least, she disliked her queen. And at best, she didn’t approve of her hobbies.

“Enitha is quite fond of the games,” she continued. “Especially the…” She leaned in close, lowering her voice. “The blood. The never-ending show of it.”

Lucilla had gone suspiciously quiet during her underling’s tirade, looking out to the front columns of the stadium as if she’d only just discovered it. Ingrid took note of her quivering mouth, her forlorn eyes, and debated whether or not to pry.

Maybe, just maybe, both of the maids were disillusioned, disgusted and exhausted enough to help.