CHAPTER 23
HOW ’BOUT THIS ONE?” BRECK SAYS IRRITABLY, and holds up the filmy blue dress Adora nearly busted her panty seams over a few parties ago. She runs her hand down the material and tries to suppress a cough in its sleeve, her chest sounding tight even though her skin’s a better color today.
I crinkle my brow. “Breck, you sure you’re all right?”
“Fine. Other than waiting for you to decide on a dress.”
I drop my hairbrush and take the garment selection from her arms. “I told you I can get myself ready. You should go rest. Or, at the least, go check out that hippo they’re roasting in the kitchen,” I add with a teasing tone.
Her hazy eyes don’t change expression, but she licks her lips and rubs a hand across them.
“Go. Adora’ll never know you weren’t here.”
She wheezes into her palm. Tucks a ragged hair strand behind her ear. “Well, in that case, you just be sure an’ curtsy at the king for me, miss.” She hustles from the room before I can reply.
Miss? I watch the door close. What the bolcrane did Adora do to her?
I press a hand to my pounding head, pathetically aware that whatever game Adora is playing, I’m losing. An hour ago, upon returning from the valley, I asked Breck flat out about Adora while we recolored my hair brown. She actually snarled at me and said we weren’t “goin’ to be talkin’ about it. Ever.” When I queried if it was because of Eogan, her expression turned confused, then angry. “I said it’s none of yer business. An’ if yer smart, you’ll stop askin’ an’ just do what Adora tells you to win this war.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her I’m not sure I can do that—not if Adora’s plan proves anywhere near as twisted as our owner. And whatever role Eogan’s playing in it . . . between the two of them, I’m beginning to feel like an asylum patient. He wants me, he wants me not. She despises me no matter what, and she’ll hurt people anyway.
I stalk over to the mirror and hold up Adora’s hand-me-down dresses one at a time. The last one in the pile is a billowy satin the color of gray stormy skies. Uneasy. Dangerous. I swag it under my chin, and whether it’s my imagination or the magic still haunting me, my eyes flash. As if the valley’s enchanted melody is still there. You’re stronger than them, it whispers.
Yes. I am stronger. Even if I doubt the than them part.
I decide to wear the poofy dress, thanking the stars that there are minimal buttons. Even so, it takes three times as long to put it on due to my gimpy fingers.
The first trumpet rattles the mirror while I’m attempting to fix my hair like Breck does. But within half a minute, I’ve conceded that the best I can do is to leave it down in its long, saggy curls and hope Colin won’t tease me too badly. I’m shutting the door and hitching up my skirt when the second trumpet blast comes. It sends me running for the stairs, and by the time I reach Adora’s ballroom door where the bald boy is waiting, I’m breathless.
“Cutting it a little close,” he whispers.
I ignore his admiring glance at my attire until my search of his face satisfies me that his health is almost back to normal. His body heat’s still high—I can feel it—but his smile says he’s good. And the fever’s put a shine in his eyes that matches his brown doublet handsomely.
Colin’s grin widens. He winks and opens the door just as the third trumpet erupts and, with his hand on my waist, shoves us into the miniature ballroom. I pull us around guests swathed in more glitter and perfume than anyone should safely inhale, interrupting the attendees’ excited murmurs with my apologies as we make our way to stand opposite Adora, who’s frozen in a curtsy with her hand aloft. She looks like some morbid version of a tree nymph in an amber-colored twig dress. Especially with the carcass of a dead squirrel attached to one shoulder.
Without turning, her eyes snap offense at our tardiness before meeting my rueful smile with loathing. I swear the room’s air drops just as King Sedric strides up, and we bow with the rest of the guests.
Then the king’s taking her hand. “Lady Adora, I’m looking forward to this evening’s party as well as the negotiations to follow.”
The squirrel head on her shoulder jiggles as she laughs. “Your Highness flatters me. The idea that anything I do could help ease the kingly weight you carry humbles me. Of course, I’m always entirely at your service. To ease . . . whatever troubles you may have.”
My brow goes up. I lift my fingers to hide my giggle as the king’s expression freezes. His gaze turns awkward a moment before he releases her hand and steps back.
“Is there really no limit to her flirting?” someone behind me mutters.
No. No, there’s not.
“Allow me to present the Lady Isobel to Your Majesty,” Adora continues, and on cue, a woman unfurls like a flower from a mound of fur cloaks beside my owner.