“Thank you,” I smiled at him.
“Good.” Tove dropped his arm and stared straight ahead. “Now that that’s out of the way, I suppose we should get ready. We have the Chancellor’s funeral at eleven.”
“I haven’t prepared my speech yet,” I sighed and Tove stood up. “What should I say about him?”
“Well, if you plan to say anything nice, you’re going to have to lie,” Tove muttered as he walked over to his closet.
“You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”
“You didn’t hear what he wanted to do to you,” Tove said, talking loudly to be heard from the closet. “That man was a menace to our society.”
I sat on the bed, listening to my husband gather his clothes before he went to shower, and despite everything that was still going on, I felt as if this immense weight had been lifted from my shoulders.
I still had no idea how to stop the Vittra and save everyone I cared about, and I had to write a eulogy for the Chancellor. But for the first time in a long time, I felt like there might be a life after this. If I could defeat the King, if I could save us, there might really be something to live for.
20. Orm
Willa wore all black, but the hem of her skirt only came to the middle of her thigh. At least she had classed it up a little for the funeral. My eulogy had gone over well, or about as well as a eulogy could go over. Nobody had cried for the Chancellor, and that seemed sad to me, but I couldn’t bring myself to cry for him either.
His funeral had been held in one of the larger meeting rooms in the palace. Black flowers and black candles decorated the room. I’m not sure who had planned the funeral, but it looked like a Goth kid at a Cure concert had thrown up here.
After they took the Chancellor away to bury him in the palace cemetery, most of us stayed behind. He didn’t have any family or friends, and I’m not entirely sure how he got elected in the first place.
The mood was decidedly somber, but I don’t think that actually had much to do with the funeral. All the guests in attendance were muttering, whispering, huddled in corners talking quietly, and they kept glancing at me. I heard the word “painting” floating through the air like a breeze.
I stood off to the side of the room, talking mostly with Willa and Tove. Ordinarily, any of the royals would be eager to make some kind of small talk with me, but today, they all avoided me. Which was just as well. I didn’t have much I wanted to say to any of them.
“When is it polite for us to leave?” Willa asked, swirling her champagne around in her glass. I think she’d already had a couple glasses more than she should have, and she hiccupped daintily before covering her mouth with her hand. “Excuse me.”
“I think we’ve been here long enough.” Tove scanned the room, and some people had already left. His mother and father hadn’t been able to make it at all, and my mother could barely move, so she was still on bed rest.
“Whenever is fine with me,” I said.
“Good.” Willa set her glass on a nearby table, some of the bubbly pink liquid sloshing over the top. She looped her arm through mine, more to steady herself, and we left the room.
“Well, that went well,” I sighed, plucking a black flower from my hair as we went down the hall.
“Really?” Tove asked. “Because I thought that went horribly.”
“I was being sarcastic.”
“Oh.” He shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked beside me. “It could’ve been worse, I guess.”
“You should’ve drunk more,” Willa said. “That’s how I made it through that thing. And you’re lucky you’re my best friend, or I wouldn’t have gone at all.”
“You need to start doing more stuff like that, Willa,” I told her. “You’re so good at handling people, and someday you might need to do it.”
“Nope, that’s your job,” she smiled. “I lucked out. I’m free to be the naughty drunk friend.”
I tried to argue with Willa about the merits of being a good Trylle citizen. She schmoozed much better than I ever could, and she was a great ally, when she put her mind to it. But right now, she was too tipsy to see reason in anything.
She was giggling at something I’d said when we reached the rotunda. Garrett was coming down the stairs, but he stopped halfway when he saw us. His hair was a mess, his shirt was untucked, and his eyes were red-rimmed.
As soon as his eyes met mine, I knew.
“Elora,” I breathed.
“Wendy, I’m sorry,” Garrett said, his voice thick with tears, and he shook his head.