“Get to the plan, Prince,” Luce said testily.
A muscle in Vesper’s jaw twitched as he looked away. “Right. Both kingdoms have rallied behind your cousin, and both are so desperate for the sky’s unification they’ll force my marriage to Lustacia and imprison anyone who stands in the way. And since everyone thinks I’m haunted by delusions from my death sleep, none give credence to my claims. We’ve no proof of your identity.” He gestured to her hands. “I thought, if we could have you raise more flowers for everyone to witness . . .”
Lyra held up her fingers. The soft glow, along with the dull sting that accompanied it, was gone. Frowning, she retrieved a trampled clematis at her feet. Her touch couldn’t revive its withered petals. Another part of herself now lost . . .
She shook her head.
Vesper’s hopeful expression fell. “You used it all up saving me.” His eyes softened and he took her hand. “For which I’m eternally grateful.” His fingers squeezed hers. “But Luce says even your childhood portraits were altered. Our lack of any proof puts you in danger. Our best chance is to devise a dramatic arrival like the one Lustacia had. Since we no longer have the magical edge she commandeered, perhaps we can make people stop and wonder with a procession of unexpected creatures. You could ride with me on Lanthe. Dregs has gone to gather some goblins from the badlands. And we’ll take some stags for effect.” He tipped his chin to his sister. “Selena, that crag should provide cover for Lyra to assume the proper guise.” He gestured to the same overhanging rock Dregs had used earlier to escape the stags.
His sister picked up Lyra’s saddlebag along with one she’d carried on her mount, then took Lyra’s hand. Lyra aimed a questioning glance to Vesper.
“I’m not trying to change you,” he assured. “I merely want to lull the cynicism of our two kingdoms by making you what they expect on the outside. Then we’ll shock them awake upon revealing your insides, which are exceptional—a strength any kingdom would want in a queen. A strength I see each time I look at you.”
She smiled, for she shared the same respect for him.
Luce took up the explanation. “Some things are already in motion. If you appear looking like a royal, it will add to the confusion . . . convince everyone there are two princesses.”
Vesper nodded. “I’ve a suspicion how they attained your cousin’s moonlit skin and hair—so perfectly mirroring yours as they once were.” He looked at the stags resting peacefully, and that flaming fury burned behind his eyes again. “First, I have questions for Dyadia, and Dregs is seeking his cousin for a witness. But whatever we learn, that simpering fabrication is not worthy of your crown.” His brows furrowed as he rubbed his chin. “And I’m going to use that overblown prophecy to prove it. We’ll discuss details after you’re dressed.”
Once hidden behind the craggy rock, Selena offered Lyra some leathery smoked fish and grainy bread wrapped in cloth. “Vesper worried you would be hungry.”
Lyra shook her head, too nervous to eat.
Selena put the food away then helped Lyra out of her torn gown and scruffy boots. Lyra shivered in the chill. The Nerezethite’s eyes glinted amber in the dimness as she assessed Lyra’s goose-bumped, half-dressed form; each scar and stain lit up beneath her scrutiny. Lyra’s gaze fell to her bare feet.
Selena offered a cloth she’d wet with water from her flask and Lyra scrubbed herself, though couldn’t erase the stains from Crony’s enchanted sun solvent. She braved a glance at her companion’s flawless moonlit complexion, wishing she could explain why no amount of water would rinse her skin.
Selena placed the cloth on a rock beside them, then signed the words: I know the ancient language.
Surprised and relieved, Lyra signed back: Does everyone in your kingdom speak it?
Selena smiled. “Just those who belong in court. The council, the prime minister, and the military. Vesper insisted we learn, so when you became our queen, you could be understood and never have anyone question your authority.”
Lyra shook her head. Such a kind gesture.
“Yes, he has turned out to be a generous and wise sovereign. Our lord father would’ve been proud. But he still has a stubborn side that drives our lady mother to madness at times.”
Lyra grinned. I’m well acquainted with it.
Selena laughed. “I should say better than anyone, since you didn’t even have his gentler side to temper it.”
Lyra bit back a laugh of her own. She was liking Selena more by the minute. Lifting the wet cloth, Lyra demonstrated that she was as clean as she could get by scrubbing at the grayish smudges on her face and shrugging.
“I see.” Selena answered. “Well, on to dressing then.” She lifted a corset from her bag—an ice-blue confection with wire boning and satin ties.
Lyra arched her spine as Selena laced the back and drew it tight until the sagging bustline at last conformed to Lyra’s modest curves. I’m sorry you haven’t a more pristine canvas—she paused signing to indicate her body from head to toe—upon which to depict a princess.
Selena stopped Lyra’s hands in midair by dragging velvety-peach sleeves up her arms. “I disagree. The best canvas has flaws and furrows . . . and tells a story of its own before the paint is even added.”
Lyra pondered the lovely wisdom of the words as a feminine floral-citrus scent wafted from the fabric.
Selena secured the gown’s bodice with a buttonhook. “My appraisal earlier wasn’t to disparage your scars. I was admiring them. Admiring you. My brother told me of all the times you saved him. Of how you never shirked from discomfort or danger. I’m not sure you realize, but you kept that part of him alive beyond his heartbeat and his breath. You challenged his spirit and nurtured his soul. You helped him view the world through your eyes, and he’s grown from it.” Crouching, Selena adjusted the skirt—the same velvety peach as the bodice—over its attached petticoat, then arranged the top layer of ice-blue lace to cascade down to the ankle-length hem, providing glimpses of the underskirt through the lacework. “It’s why he wants you to do this together . . . to get your kingdom back. It’s his way of thanking you, of living up to his end of your partnership.”
Lyra’s fingers were swift to correct the Nerezethite princess: He’s already lived up to his end. He saved me, too. Many times, in many ways.
Coaxing Lyra to lift her bare feet, Selena slipped silver satiny boots lined with white fur into place up to her knees, having tucked wool into the toes to make them fit. “Ah, but this is different. Kingdom politics and domestic squabbles, that is Vesper’s expertise. He was born and bred into it. Trust him.”
I do. Lyra’s answer rustled the layers of fabric draping her arms.
Smiling, Selena pulled out a handheld mirror and arranged it so Lyra could see the final result.
The rippling blue light from the tunnel revealed details she couldn’t see while Selena dressed her: blue crystal beads with a pearl center glittering all across the neckline and overskirt, the wrist-long sleeves overlaid with matching beaded lace and cinched at the elbows with peach ribbons. She had no words; it was the most dazzling ensemble she’d ever worn . . . at least that she could remember.
She nodded at Selena in gratitude.
“I’m glad you approve. It suits you.” Selena handed Lyra the mirror so she could produce a peach velvet caul embellished with braided silver ribbons and pearls from her bag. A scarf of creamy white silk billowed from the back like a tail of mist and sky. “Vesper brought you a fur cape to protect from the snowfall. And this will offer warmth in lieu of hair.”
Lyra stopped her from setting the hat atop her scalp . . . the mention of hair tangling in her thoughts. Mistress Umbra’s prediction resurfaced: “You will need to have hair of steel and tears of stone.” Alone it made little sense, but when paired with that overheard conversation between Selena and Vesper about the wedding gifts, it began to adopt a hazy meaning. Selena said enchantments had captured Eldoria’s princess’s teardrops in gemstones on the pin, and had hardened strands of her hair to bristles of steel in the brush.
Gemstones and steel. Tears of stone, and hair of steel.
Lyra dug through the saddlebag at her feet, finding the brush and pin. She held them up to Selena. Mine, she mimed.
Smiling gently, Selena set the caul aside and took them. “Yes, they are yours. Gifts for Vesper’s betrothed.” She flicked a glance to Lyra’s fuzzy head, sympathy tugging at her silver eyebrows. “Would you like to fasten the pin to the cap?”