A scarlet carriage is pulling up. “Not sure. Hold on.” I watch the coachmen climb down and wait for the occupant to emerge as I tug my dress sleeve back up onto my shoulder. The pettish thing keeps slipping off because my arms aren’t as long as Adora’s.
The man’s stomach materializes ahead of his face. I crinkle my nose. “Is the king the size of a rhino-horse?”
Breck grunts and bats a hand toward the back of my head before I can dodge. “Idiot. Have you ’onestly never seen yer king?”
I shift in Adora’s dress and scoot away from Breck. I don’t like being struck, and her insults about my intelligence prick my nerves like the awful bone ribbing in this hand-me-down gown. “Have you?”
“I may not ’ave seen ’im with my eyes, but I’ve heard enough to know what the man looks like.”
“Well, where I’ve lived, no one but the magistrate sees the king. And no one has time to care. They’re too busy trying not to starve or freeze or lose their sons to war.”
She should know this. She may live in a fancy house eating rich people’s food, but she’s been a peasant. And she’s a slave. I turn to her. “Why? Where did you live before?”
“A bit here, a bit there. Colin an’ I—we made a smart way for ourselves being useful and such. Which is how we ended up here, right?”
Colin again.
“Is he a house servant like you, or does he work in the fields?”
“He’s like what you’ll be.” She rises to her feet. “If you decide you wants to stay and work with Eogan.”
My dress almost rips as I scramble up beside her. “What’s that mean? Is your brother the one being trained? Is he an Elemental?”
“You’ll find out tomorrow, won’t you?” Her tone makes it clear that’s all I’ll get from her. “An’ never mind seeing the king, right? We can look at ’im later. Let’s go get more food from the kitchen.”
I don’t want more food. I want to know more about Colin and how he’s like me. “Has he learned to control his curse?” I start to ask Breck, but she’s already halfway down the hall. I shut my mouth and stack the plates with my good hand. Balancing them against my bowed one, I follow her, paying attention to where we’re going this time.
When we reach the cookery door, Breck takes our dishes and tells me to wait in the hall. But as soon as she disappears, I turn about to investigate the wood-paneled corridor that continues on down this section. I need to know more about this house, about Adora and Colin and Eogan, if I’m going to stay here.
But all the doors I come to are locked.
I’m just about to pick my way up a thin flight of stairs I hope will lead to Adora’s quarters when voices erupt behind the door closest to me.
Footsteps. Two sets of them coming toward me.
A lock clicks and the handle turns, and I lunge for the stairwell, practically tripping over my ridiculous dress in my haste. The satin rips beneath my foot. I tug my legs and the full skirt out of sight, disappearing into the shadows just as the door opens.
I hold my breath.
The male voices drop to angry whispers. “I’m telling you, Bron will win this war. And when they do, their King Odion will take over. You and I will be slaughtered with the rest of these pompous foolsss.” The speaker draws out the ending, like a snake.
“You’re insane,” a gravelly voice says. “King Sedric won’t allow it. He’ll find a way for Faelen to win.”
“Sedric can’t stop it! He’s in over his head, and the High Council’s still stuck in the old way of acting as advisors when they should be forcing his hand. Mark my wordsss, Odion will win. And when he doesss, I intend to stand at his mercy, with a record of supportive initiatives.”
“Listen to yourself. You’re talking treason!”
“I’m talking survival. What benefit are we to Faelen if we’re dead? You’ve heard the rumors. They’re advancing weapon technology beyond imagining while we’re here fighting with horse and sword. You’ve heard of the plaguesss.”
My chest is up in my throat, clamoring, clawing, cutting off my air. I make myself smaller against the stairwell and fight the desire to look at the speakers. A real traitor? Here?
“Even if Sedric can’t stop it, the kingdom of Cashlin will step in. Their queen’s already considering their involvement. Why do you think Princess Rasha is here?”
“Princess Rasha is less experienced than our king. Have you met the girl? She’s a frothy bottle of drink, all giggles and no brainsss. Fates doom us all if that’s where we’re investing our hope.”
“Maybe Drust will help, then. The Lady Isobel’s set to arrive—”
A trumpet blast from nearby threatens to peel me from my skin. The voices halt.
I close my eyes and concentrate on breathing quietly in the echoing hall.
A floorboard creaks.