Page 23

Chapter Twenty-three

“Welcome, Rhya.” Carys extends a hand of welcome. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

I clasp her palm against mine, smiling tentatively back at her. “I wish I could say the same, but truthfully I had no idea this was your shop.”

“Small world, isn’t it?” Keda steps forward to greet her childhood companion with a light embrace. “You’re a bit rounder than the last time we met, old friend.”

“And you’re cheeky as ever!” Carys grins. “Seeing as it takes having a baby to get you to pay a visit.”

“I had no idea you were expecting! You should’ve written.”

“When I next find a spare minute that my fingers are not hemming a bodice or threading a needle, you’ll get a lengthy letter.”

“Forgive me if I don’t hold my breath. I know how busy you are.” Keda heaves a guilty sigh. “I hate to pile on your workload, but we’re not here for a social call. This is official business with the best dressmaker in town. Lady Rhya is in dire need of a gown for Fyremas. It seems the royal dressmakers are hard at work on a ruffled yellow monstrosity—no doubt following Her Majesty’s orders to make her look as ridiculous as possible during the procession.”

“That does indeed sound like a scheme our magnanimous queen would concoct.” Carys glances at me. “Don’t worry. We’ll find something better suited for you. There’s no time to make something from scratch, but I have several gowns in my inventory that can be altered before the festival.”

“Truly, I don’t want to cause—”

“You’re an angel, Carys!” Keda cuts me off, beaming. “I knew we were right to come to you.”

“Do make sure to tell the incensed royal dressmakers of my angelic character when they discover I’ve subverted their efforts.” Her hand sweeps the air, beckoning us forward. “By all means, come inside.”

Keda’s lips flatten in remorse. “I wish we could stay, but Teagan and I have errands to run at the market. It’s chaos at the palace, pure chaos. We’ve a list of orders a league long. We’ll head off now, then circle back in an hour or so to collect Lady Rhya.”

“Only if you’re up for company, Carys,” I interject. “If you’re too tired—”

The dressmaker waves away my words. “I’m delighted to have some company.”

After we bid Keda and Teagan farewell, Carys ushers me into the shop, sage eyes twinkling with happiness, gait shuffling from the heavy burden she carries. It is a bright, clean space stocked with fabric—bolts and bolts of it lean against the wall, along with dozens of bundles of satin ribbons and lace trimmings. There are spools of thread in every conceivable color, racks of needles of every length and thickness. Several completed gowns are displayed on the hanging racks, their designs just as elegant and eccentric as the ones in the window. Others are pinned in various stages of development against fabric mannequin forms near the back.

“Your shop is lovely, Carys.”

She shoots me a warm glance as she leads me to a cozy sitting area by an array of floor-to-ceiling mirrors, furnished with two upholstered chaises and a matching set of armchairs.

Carys promptly collapses into one of the chairs. “You’ll have to pardon my lack of hospitality. I’m usually a much better hostess, but in this condition…” She grimaces down at her protruding stomach. “I feel ready to pop, and there are still weeks to go.”

“When are you due?” I ask as I settle across from her.

“A fortnight. Just in time for Fyremas.”

“You must be very excited.”

“To be able to see my feet again? Tie my laces? Go for more than an hour without using the toilet?” She snorts. “Surely.”

I laugh. “Uther is bursting with pride. I’ve never seen him smile so much as when he spoke of you and your child.”

“ Och! If he had his way, I’d be confined to my bed under lock and key for the next two weeks, the scoundrel. I told him: I’m carrying a child, not a cargo of explosives. A bit of movement is healthy.”

“He worries.”

“He hovers .” She scowls, but I can see the love blazing in her eyes. “Though I suppose I can’t complain about that at the moment. He’s off on a mission with the Ember Guild. Don’t tell him—I’ll never admit it if you do—but I’m actually bored to tears without him here to monitor my every sneeze and hiccup.”

“Will they be back soon?”

“A few days, I should think.” Her eyes glitter knowingly. “Eager to see Prince Pendefyre again, are you? I’ve heard you two are quite inseparable.”

“I—” My cheeks flame. “No, I—”

“Are you truly staying in his chambers?”

“Well, yes, but it’s not—”

“Oh, look how red you are! I’m sorry! I’m only teasing. Terrible of me, when you’re the first diversion I’ve had all day.” She heaves a sigh. “Truth be told, I have no real notion of when the men will be back. All I know is that there was another earthquake a few days ago near the border, not far from the range.”

“I didn’t know the quakes had moved so far north,” I murmur, brow furrowing at the news. Land tremors were far from uncommon in the Midlands. Eli had told me they were even worse in the far south—strong enough to flatten whole towns. But that was not the case in the Northlands.

At least, not until now.

“I’ve lived in Dyved all my life, and never have there been so many tremors as in the past few years.” Carys shakes her head slowly back and forth. “Many are saying it is a bad omen of things to come. A warning that the blight is spreading more quickly, creeping past the mountains that have protected us for so long.”

“This quake, was it a very strong one?”

“Apparently strong enough to trigger an avalanche. An entire trading post at the base of the mountains was buried in snow and ice.”

“That’s terrible.” I expel a short breath. “Were there any survivors?”

“I expect the Ember Guild went to find out just that. That’s what they do when they aren’t off fighting some campaign or other against the Reavers and Frostlanders. They go where they’re most needed, often at a moment’s notice, whenever the prince asks.”

“Asks?” My brows arch. “ Commands would be more accurate, would it not?”

“Perhaps you’re right. His men would follow him out of sovereign duty. But I suspect even without a royal title, they would follow Pendefyre to the ends of the earth. He has long since earned their fealty. He is a good man.” She pauses. “Surely, you know that better than anyone.”

I keep silent, at a loss for words.

Her green eyes are sharp as blades, belying the softness of her voice. “Did you know, before the avalanche took him south, he spent two full days going door to door through the city, visiting the widows and widowers of Uther’s slain unit? Every man and woman who lost a husband against the Reavers; every child who lost a father. More than thirty households.”

“No,” I breathe. “No, I didn’t know.”

“The bodies were retrieved from the Cimmerians and delivered for exequies the same day you arrived here. Uther told me the prince personally arranged and attended each funeral.”

My throat feels oddly thick. I swallow hard to clear it.

“Many of those widowed are my friends. So I feel confident sharing with you how much it meant to them to have their prince there as the pyres burned and the ashes scattered. To have their men put to rest properly. To give such senseless loss a purpose.” She studies me carefully. “Prince Pendefyre is a good leader and an even better friend. He may not be a perfect gentleman, he may come across as gruff and arrogant and short-tempered…but there is a heart that beats behind the thick defensive walls he shields himself with.” Her lips twist wryly. “One must merely be clever at climbing.”

“His heart does not beat,” I mutter under my breath. “It bleeds like an open wound.”

“What was that?”

My gaze moves back to hers, and I raise my voice to an audible level. “He does not want me scaling his walls any more than I want him burrowing under mine.”

“Are you sure about that?”

I hesitate for a long beat—long enough for Carys to clap her hands together and change the subject.

“In any case, they’ve gone to aid however they can. I expect they’ll be gone at least a week. But so long as Uther returns before the little one makes his or her grand debut, I’ll be glad enough.”

“If he is not back in time, do you have anyone to be with you?”

“I have a girl—an apprentice of sorts—who comes each morning to tidy the shop and check in on me. Though she has precious little to do these days. I’m not taking on any new commissions until after I’ve delivered.”

I nod. “And your family? Are they close by?”

“My parents passed on several years ago, as did Uther’s.”

“I’m sorry.”

She looks down at her stomach. “It will be nice to be more than just the two of us around here. Gods willing, the delivery will be an easy one.”

Gods willing.

The few births I attended in the past had been many things— easy least among them. I try to keep the worry from my voice as I inquire about the city’s midwives.

“There are several who live within a half day’s ride,” she assures me. “All quite skilled. And then there’s the Life Guild—the city’s healers—if things go truly awry. I’ll be in good hands when the time comes. I just…I don’t want Uther to miss the birth. We tried for so many years to conceive, but the gods did not see fit to bless us until this year.” Her eyes grow a bit misty as her hands stroke her stomach. “In many ways, this child is our miracle. And should he or she be our only miracle, my husband should be here to witness it.”

“I’m sure he’ll be back in time.”

She forces a smile through her gathering emotions. “Och! Look at me, sappy as a maple tree. You’ll have to trust me when I say I’m usually made of sterner stuff. These days, I cry at the drop of a hat.”

“There’s no need to apologize, Carys. It’s quite common for expectant mothers to grow emotional as the delivery approaches.”

“Of course, you’d know of such things. Uther said you are an accomplished healer.”

“I have some skill.”

“Just some ? I saw Farley’s splint when he hobbled over for a visit the other day. You did a fine job. Thanks to you, he’ll walk without a limp. Even ride again someday. He didn’t stop singing your praises until Pendefyre threatened to rebreak his legs.” She giggles. “It made for much more interesting conversation than their usual talk of weaponry and war tactics.”

My brows arch. “Do they often meet in your shop?”

“Not in the shop, but above it. Uther and I live in the apartments upstairs. The prince’s closest advisers often wind up sitting round my table through the wee hours, discussing the ins and outs of soldiering. Though, in recent days, you’ve been a more frequent topic of conversation.”

“Me?”

“Oh, yes. You have a burgeoning fan club among the Ember Guild. They’re all exceedingly fond of you.” She pauses. “Well, not Gower, but I wouldn’t take that personally. He’s not fond of anyone. And you’re likely to get the worst of it, seeing as he’s been ordered to stay behind and watch over you.”

This is news. “He has?”

“On direct orders from the prince himself.”

“I’ve seen no sign of him.”

“Mmm. Keeps to the shadows, that one. Always skulking about like a vampyre.” Pausing, Carys arches one slender black brow at me. “Surely you did not think the prince would leave you here completely unattended?”

I had, in fact. “A girl can hope.”

“Don’t look so sour. He cares about you.” Her lips curl in a playful smile. “Though I can’t say how much, since it’s Gower he left behind to watch over your welfare. Miserable fellow. I’ve known him for years, never seen him crack so much as a smile.”

“I’m glad it’s not just me who makes his eyes shoot daggers.”

“Not at all. He rarely fraternizes with the other guild members, so it shouldn’t be difficult to avoid him. Next time they all crowd into my kitchen, you’ll come along. You can keep me company while they prattle on.”

“I doubt Penn will allow that. If he had his way, I’d spend the rest of my life locked in the palace.” My eyes narrow. “Which is totally hypocritical, seeing as he himself spends as little time there as physically possible.”

“He’s never been one for court. He and his sister do not get on well. They are very different in temperament—and in their priorities for the kingdom. The prince, for instance, has always taken a special interest in his subjects, whether they are here in the capital or on the farthest reaches of the plateau. Whereas the queen, throughout the course of her exceedingly long reign, usually cannot be bothered to peel her eyes away from her vanity mirror long enough to help anyone. There are few who will miss her when she finally vacates the throne.” She grins suddenly. “ King Pendefyre has a lovely ring to it, don’t you think?”

I start. I have not allowed myself to properly consider the fact that Penn will one day rule the entire kingdom. Another weight on his shoulders, another responsibility to bear. It is a wonder his knees do not buckle beneath the strain of it all.

“What is it?” Carys asks softly. “You look distressed.”

“I’m fine. I just…” I shake my head to clear it. “Keda told me the Fyremas Festival is essentially his personal holiday. I’m beginning to understand why he is so beloved here.”

“It’s true, Fyremas has become something of a tribute to him. I’m sure it will pale in comparison to his wedding day.”

My eyes drop to the elegant rug by my feet. My pulse is suddenly pounding quite fast. “Is he to be married soon, then?”

When Carys doesn’t answer after a few excruciating seconds, I glance up to find her grinning at me again. “Why?” she probes, eyes twinkling. “Would you be bothered?”

“Of course not! It’s no business of mine.” My cheeks are aflame. “I’m not even sure why I asked.”

“I know precisely why you asked.” Peals of laughter spill from her lips. “Oh, you’ve gone bright red again. That was the last of my teasing, I promise. Besides, we should move on to more important business—finding you something exquisite to wear for Fyremas.” She thrusts out a hand and waggles her fingers. “Help me up, would you?”

Rising from the chaise, I eye her speculatively. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“Of course I know. I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. Just ask my husband.”

I snort. Poor Uther.

“I want to do this,” Carys declares adamantly. “Firstly, because I’m bored out of my skull. Secondly, because I heard all about Queen Vanora’s attempts to humble you at her banquet by dressing you like a servant. And thirdly, because nothing would give me greater pleasure than to undermine the royal dressmakers and their precious Stitch Guild, who traipse through this city as though their needles are made of solid gold and their patterns are drawn by the gods themselves.”

I snort again.

“Now, are you going to help me up? Or must I struggle to my feet like a fish on dry land?”

Grinning, I grasp her hand and help her up.

Carys and I are fast friends.

After that first afternoon, visiting her shop becomes a daily ritual. Everyone at the palace is far too busy with Fyremas preparations to keep close watch over me. Even Teagan and Keda have been pulled into the fray, appearing only in the early morning to deliver my breakfast tray and at the very end of the night to drop off my dinner. I may be fully recovered, but not so much that I will brave the Great Hall on my own. I plan to keep taking meals in the tower for as long as I can get away with it.

If anyone questions me about my activities beyond the palace walls, I have the perfect excuse to return to the shop on High Street: Carys is gradually altering the dress we’ve chosen. Originally designed for a much taller woman, it needs all manner of hemming and tucking to fit my petite frame.

In truth, I would happily visit even without the alibi of alterations. I have never before had a proper friend. Carys is a decade older than me, but we get along like we shared a womb. She has a quick wit and sharp eyes, laughs often, and teases me mercilessly when the occasion suits her.

It suits her frequently.

At Uther’s insistence, she’s stopped taking on new couture commissions as her due date approaches. Without work to busy her hands or a constant stream of customers to keep her entertained, Carys is nearly as bored as I’ve been locked alone in my tower.

We pass our time chatting and sipping cups of herbal tea, either in the shop’s cozy sitting area or upstairs in the elegantly decorated living quarters. The apartments are small but homey, warm in all the ways the palace is cold. Carys’s taste is flawless, from the tapestries on the walls to the meticulously arranged antique furnishings to the lovingly decorated nursery she’s prepared for her child. I feel at ease there—more at ease than I have in many months.

In her calm, quick-to-smile presence, it is easy to share stories of my childhood in Seahaven. I tell her of Eli’s cottage with its lopsided shutters and sprawling gardens. Of my favorite beach, where the sand was so white it looked at times like Cimmerian snow. Of the Starlight Wood, a hallowed place of ancient power where the tree bark glowed even in darkness and the leaves were veined with silver. I even tell her of Tomas, my ill-fated summer romance, destined to end whether or not he survived the burning of my village.

In return, she tells me stories of her own formative years in Caeldera, growing up the daughter of a foot soldier and a seamstress, elevated to her current social standing through her marriage to Uther—who is, I learn, a distant relation to the royal family. Vanora’s cousin—albeit several times removed. Sometimes, she tells me stories about the Ember Guild’s many campaigns and conquests. She is careful not to harp overmuch on anything related to Penn. I think she can tell speaking of him only serves to upset, anger, or embarrass me.

I quickly become accustomed to our effortless camaraderie. Which is perhaps why on my fifth visit to High Street, when Carys leads me into the sitting area, I am stunned to see she has another guest already there sipping tea. Even before I see the crutches leaned against the chaise or the copper hair shining in the midday sun, I hear the warm boom of his voice shouting my nickname.

“ Ace! ”

Farley—left behind by all his friends in the Ember Guild while he recovers, and openly seething about it—is as desperate for company as me and Carys. Perhaps more so. Thus, we fold him into our daily ritual, our party of two becoming three. Soon to be four, given the dressmaker’s ever-expanding girth.

I eye her with a healer’s concern when she is not looking and cast silent prayers to the gods above that Uther is already homebound. She is carrying low. The babe will not come in weeks but mere days, if I have to wager.

“You look exhausted,” I tell her bluntly when she pulls open the door a week after our first meeting. I duck inside without preamble—it is raining hard, and the parcel I clutch beneath my cloak is in danger of getting drenched.

“Probably because I am.” Her face contorts in a mask of discomfort. There are deep circles beneath her eyes. “The babe has been kicking nonstop since yesterday afternoon. I didn’t get a lick of sleep.”

“You should rest. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“Don’t you dare! I’ve not seen another living soul all day. Besides, I’m quite used to being tired. I doubt I’ve had a decent night’s sleep since Uther was promoted into the upper ranks.”

“You worry about him.”

“I do, though there’s no need for it. He’s so skilled, so capable.” She sighs as she leads me to the narrow staircase at the back of the shop. “Gods, but I love that man. I can’t blame the prince for promoting him. He recognizes talent. Rewards it, too.”

I help her climb the stairs to the apartments, keeping one hand on her back for support. Through the fabric of her gown, I can feel the rapid flutter of her breathing. This short climb will soon be too strenuous for her to manage. By the time we reach the upper landing, she has to lean against the wall to catch her breath.

“Sorry,” she rasps, panting hard. “The stairs—”

“You shouldn’t be going up and down, Carys. It’s not good for you to exert yourself like this. You’d be better off resting in bed.”

She waves away my words, pushes off the wall, and waddles into the parlor room. Leaving her to recover on the sofa, I walk straight into the kitchen and put on the kettle, as has become our custom. I retrieve two mugs from the cupboard above the sink and spoon a lump of sugar into each one while the water boils. I do not use the tea leaves Carys typically favors, instead pulling out the tin of herbs from the parcel I brought along with me.

The stop I’d made at the apothecary down the block cost me all the coin I won wagering on my archery skills, plus the handful I found rattling around the bottom of Penn’s desk drawer. I figure he will not notice it missing. Even if he does, I have no qualms about my thievery. It is for a good cause. And if eight crowns are enough to break the royal bank, he has bigger problems to contend with.

Carys is still breathing heavily when I return to her, color high on her cheeks. Her face screws up in disgust when she takes a sip of tea.

“ Och! That’s not chamomile!”

I sip my own steaming cup—plain peppermint—and smile. “No, it isn’t.”

“What is this dreadful concoction?”

“Goldenrod and gingerroot. It will help with the swelling in your feet.”

“It tastes like dirt.”

I shrug, unbothered. “No Farley today?”

“The rain must have kept him at the barracks. I’m surprised you made the trek down from the palace. It’s pouring buckets out there.”

I squish my toes inside my sodden boots. “I don’t mind the rain. It matches my mood of late.”

She takes another sip of her tea and grimaces. “Mmm. And would this unhappy attitude have anything to do with the continued absence of a certain man with a penchant for fire?”

“ No. ” I grit my teeth. “It’s not about Penn. It’s my utter lack of purpose here.”

“Perhaps purposelessness can be your purpose.”

“Clever.”

“Have you been back to the cavern behind the falls?”

I press my lips closed, knowing my answer will displease her. The past few mornings when I set off to walk to her shop, my feet have turned me in a different direction—leading me not across the bridge, away from the keep, but behind it, into the thick mist of the thundering falls. Up a flight of slick stone steps. Into an ancient cavern with glyph-gouged walls.

When I’d been there with Penn, the glyphs were aglow, red as the tips of a blacksmith’s tongs left too long in the forge. Now they are quiet and still, the same gray-black shade of petrified ash that characterizes the rest of Caeldera’s foundations. And yet, as I lift my hand to trace the indecipherable patterns, I feel a deep thrum of maegic beneath the tip of my finger.

I spend hours meditating in the cavern, seeking out the inner point of stillness inside my head as the water cascades all around me. It is growing easier to locate the eye of the hurricane; to immerse myself in the calm waters at the center of the cyclone. But even as I bob there undisturbed, I never lose awareness of the danger surrounding me, not so far in the distance. Pressing in with the dark promise of infinite power—and unimaginable pain.

Penn wants me to learn to tame that storm. To draw it close and somehow hold it, like a breath pulled deep into one’s lungs but never released. It seems impossible to contemplate, let alone achieve. Regardless, I have to try. After hearing his story of Enid, the stakes are too high not to attempt.

I will learn to keep the gate shut , I tell myself over and over, jaw clenched with determination. I will learn to contain this brewing storm inside.

There is no other choice.

Carys frowns at me, gleaning the truth from the stretching silence. “I don’t think going there on your own is a good idea, Rhya.”

“You’ve made your thoughts on the matter quite clear, Carys.”

“After what happened the last time, I can’t believe you’re even thinking about testing your powers again. What if you slip up? What if you get hurt?”

“I’m not going to lose control again.”

“You seem quite confident for a girl who recently spent a full day unconscious.” She narrows her green eyes at me. “I’m going to be exceedingly annoyed if all my hard work altering your Fyremas gown goes to waste because you wind up offing yourself accidentally.”

I laugh.

She does not. Her tone is deadly serious. “You should wait for Pendefyre.”

I purse my lips in lieu of a response.

“Why is it so important you do this alone?” Carys persists.

“I don’t want to depend on anyone. All right? Especially not on… him .”

“He seems like the only person you truly can depend on. The only one who understands what you are going through. Are you not cut from the same cloth?”

My scoff is indignant. “We could not be more different! He is the most headstrong, high-handed, hot-tempered male I have ever crossed paths with!”

“I have not known you long, so I cannot claim to be an expert on your disposition. But if the stories my husband brought back from your time in the Cimmerians are anything to judge by, you do display your own fair share of temper, Rhya.” Her lips twist in a wry smile. “Perhaps if you’d stop being so intent on hating Pendefyre, you might find you actually have much in common.”

“Humph.”

“Why do you continue to deny the attraction between you two?”

“ Attraction? Your pregnancy hormones have gone straight to your head, Carys. We are not attracted to each other.”

Except maybe for a few fraught moments on the road when I’d catch his eye across the fire…Or during our fight in the clearing, when I thought he might kiss me…Or when I’d first seen him shirtless in that sparring pit…Or when I’d awoken in his bed and felt his lips on my forehead…

I shake my head to banish the unwelcome memories.

“We can’t stand to be in the same room most of the time,” I insist, trying to convince myself as much as her. “We’ve never shared a single conversation that did not end in yelling or bloodshed.”

“So?”

“ So? You’ve twisted reality to suit your own delusional romantic narrative.”

“Explain it to me, then. How it really is between you two.”

I hesitate. “We are…uniquely connected. There is a bond between us that cannot be severed.”

“The Remnant bond. Yes, Uther told me about it. Is it true you can read each other’s thoughts?”

“No, it’s not like that.” I shudder, aghast at the thought of having Penn inside my head. “It’s more like…knowing someone is standing directly behind you when they haven’t announced themselves. You can sense their presence in your bones, can pinpoint where they are if they’re close by.” I gnaw my bottom lip. “I haven’t been able to feel his presence since he left the city.”

“Mmm.”

My eyes narrow at the knowing smile that curves her mouth behind her teacup. “Mmm… what ?”

“I just find it interesting that you claim not to care about him at all, yet just admitted you continually try to sense his presence. It’s a bit of a contradiction.”

“It’s always wise to be aware of the location of one’s enemies.”

Her eyes roll heavenward at my haughty declaration. “Tell me more about the bond. I find it all rather fascinating.”

“There’s not much to tell. We are tethered. Linked. Our bodies, our maegic, our emotions.”

“Your emotions?”

“Sometimes, strong feelings can…spill over.” I take my final sip of tea and set my empty cup back on the table. “I’m working on controlling mine.”

“Why? I should think it would be nice to have my man know exactly how he’s making me feel at any given point of the day without having to so much as open my lips.”

“Penn is not my—” I scowl at the grin that splits her face. “You’re teasing me again.”

“Couldn’t resist. Carry on.”

“That’s it, for the most part. Penn did say it was possible for the Remnants to channel each other somehow. But seeing as I can’t control my own power with any kind of success, I highly doubt I’ll be able to handle something like that.” My scoff is scornful. “Perhaps the gods chose the wrong girl to fulfill their damned prophecy. This mark at my chest seems wasted on me.”

“You’re being rather hard on yourself.”

“I’m being realistic,” I correct. “Now, can we please talk about something else? Anything else. I’m not above begging.”

Carys studies me for a long time across the polished wood tea table between us. Her green eyes see far too much, all the inner facets I would rather hide away. With a familiar knowing smile still curving her mouth, she shifts the conversation into blessedly safer waters.

“If the baby comes a few days early, maybe I won’t miss the whole festival. I love fireworks more than anything. I would hate to be bedridden for the entire show…”