The cold water burns like litches. It scalds and sears the smoke from my head—enough to register the fact that not only am I supposed to be at the banquet, but Draewulf left me functioning enough to attend it. I steady my trembling arms. Bite my lip. Whatever he’s planning, he kept me alive to watch.
“Miss.” The man’s voice comes again with a more insistent knock. “Please. We need to hurry.”
Narrowing my eyes, I shove my blasted feelings so deep that the numb rises and spreads over them in a thin, fragile layer. Just go see what he’s got planned.
I grab the drying cloth and stride to the door. I yank it open to find one of the captain’s guards. Tannin, if I recall, with his brown eyes, brown skin, and hair that sticks up like a thatched roof.
His expression is full of admiration as he tips his head politely. “The celebration—” He stalls, and I watch the discreet slide of his eyes down my white waist-length Elemental hair to my blood-smeared dress. He makes a shocked noise in the back of his throat.
“I’ll be a few minutes.”
I shut the door and, turning back to the water-basin table, pull one of my knives from its sheath. Shakily, I use it to shred the drying cloth into strips and tie the material around my bleeding palms, pressing them hard until the oozing subsides, then walk to the wardrobe King Sedric had someone fill with the lavish-type dresses we both despise. Not because they’re not gorgeous—they are—but because they’re a disgusting waste of money when the peasant population has spent the last forty years starving.
I pull out a sleeveless black gown with no layers or buttons, which makes it easy to slip into despite my sliced palms and my left hand’s fingers that are permanently curled inward almost to a fist. The fingers that never healed right after Brea, owner fourteen, took a mallet to them when my lightning strike took her husband’s sight because he couldn’t keep his anger to himself.
Once on, the dress shimmers and flows around my frame. A look in the mirror while I carefully drag a brush down my hair shows the dress does more than flow and cling. The color sets off the black trellis of owner-and memorial-tattooed markings circling my bare arms. It darkens them, making them look eerie. Uncomfortable.
Huh. Good.
I pick up my sheath of knives and strap the blades to my calf, then tug my dress over them. I firm my jaw. Hold it together, Nym. At least until you figure out what the kracken to do.
Except everything within me whispers that I already know what I need to do.
“Miss?” The man taps on the door again.
I lift my chin and straighten my unsteady shoulders. And harden my blue eyes before forcing the falsest grin I’ve ever smiled and walking over to open the blood-smeared, glass-impaled door.
Tannin’s still standing there. He doesn’t offer an arm. The veneration in his gaze is shadowed by a flash of fear. He’s afraid to touch me.
I almost give a caustic laugh. Up until twenty minutes ago he should’ve been terrified.
Now? “I’m as impotent as you are,” I nearly tell him.
“Glad you could join us.” His expression edges back toward that ridiculous awe that the guards and knights and so many in Faelen are newly inclined to place on me. I frown. He looks about to say something further but seems to think better of it and waits until I shut the door before falling in beside me. “King Sedric sent me to persuade you.”
I nod stiffly.
“He’s requested to see you,” he prods. “And I must say what an impression your style will make this evening.” His eyes dip to my wrapped palms. “Very . . . stunning.”
My attempt at politeness falters. I can’t do it. I clench my teeth and let my glare smolder down the corridor in front of us, and after a moment he, smartly, seals his mouth like a tomb.
One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes eke by until we reach the Great Hall. Before he leads me in, Tannin turns to face me. His cheeks are blushing like berries and suddenly he’s fumbling a crisp, folded kerchief from beneath his guard doublet and holding it out to me. “Miss, I was wondering if you’d mind giving a token, a kiss perhaps, for me to take home.”
I stare at him.
He smiles as if he’s serious.
Is he insane? Up until a week ago my kiss would’ve been considered a curse. “I’m not a lady for knights to request tokens from,” I mutter, and go to push past him.
“It’s for my daughter.”
I stall.
“Please.”
I peer at him. Loosen my jaw. “How old is she?”
“Eight. And she’s real proud of what you’ve done for us—for Faelen.”
A moment longer and I hold out my hand for the cloth and place it against my lips in what is the most awkward thing I’ve ever done in my life. “Tell her it’s the innocent who died in battle who deserve her respect, not the warriors who lived,” I say, returning it to him. “Especially not one who was only there because of accidental powers.”
He blushes even darker. “Yes, miss. Thank you, miss.”