The Domina turned at the movement. Her face as she studied Sophie was cool. “Interesting,” she said.
“The queen-to-be?” Sophie asked. She didn’t know what the Domina found interesting about this situation. She wanted to know if Eloisa was all right.
“She’s sleeping. She is all right. For now.”
Sophie tried to stand but had to stop when the room spun around her.
The Domina’s face was unsympathetic. “You are dismissed. I suggest you find a ley line before you sleep. The queen-to-be expects her ladies to be healthy.”
When Sophie woke in the morning in the Mackenzies’ apartments, she wasn’t entirely clear how she had gotten back there.
The journey back from the queen-to-be’s room was foggy, though she had a fleeting memory of descending down to the ground floor of the palace, glimpsing the moon shining through the warded broken wall as she sat next to a ley line and tried to draw power back into herself.
But she had no memory of actually reaching the Mackenzies’ rooms or of getting into bed. Her stomach rumbled suddenly. There was definitely no memory of eating.
The high-pitched toll of the hour bell in the Salt Spire suddenly began to ring out, and she counted the chimes off. Six. Still early. With Eloisa unwell, there were none of the usual morning rituals of dressing for breakfast with the court or preparing for the king holding audience or even the weekly dawn temple services on seventh day. She frowned at that, trying to work out what day it even was. It had been seventh day, she thought, the day of the attack.
Which meant today was . . . sixth day? The events of the week were running together in her mind, the way night had.
She would check at breakfast. Lady Mackenzie had one of the artificer’s day clocks, which showed the hour and the day. They cost a fortune, which was why they weren’t common, but in this case, she was thankful such things existed so she wouldn’t have to make a fool of herself by actually asking.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and then froze as she caught sight of her reflection in the looking glass hanging on the wall. Her hair, caught in the morning light streaming through the window, looked distinctly red.
But that couldn’t be right. It took months, sometimes years, for an earth witch’s hair to change color, from prolonged exposure to the earth magic she wielded. Peering closer at the mirror, she studied her hair. It was hardly the deep red of Eloisa’s hair, but there was definitely a reddish tinge to the boring brown that hadn’t been there before.
Goddess. How much power had the Domina pulled through her night?
Her stomach growled again. More urgent than knowing what day it was or why her hair was changing too fast was food, it seemed. She felt better than she had the previous day. Tired but not exhausted. She would take the Domina’s advice again and go to the ley line before she went back to the queen-to-be’s chambers.
The thought made her stomach twist in a different way. Worry for Eloisa and whether she had recovered from whatever had happened last night, but also worry about what the Domina had done and the expression on her face as she’d looked down at Sophie on the floor, like she was studying a cow or a pig, trying to determine if it suited her. Something to be used or discarded.
Foolish, Sophie thought. You’re just being foolish.
The Domina had been worried about Eloisa, as Sophie was. And the queen-to-be’s health was more important than anything else right now.
When she reached the breakfast table, having bathed and dressed in yet another black dress, it was still early. The silk of the dress was stiff and confining. She had no shortage of black dresses. The princess had been in full mourning for Prince Iain for the first six months Sophie had been at court, and her ladies-in-waiting had donned it with her. They’d looked like a flock of crows moving through the court. The court had followed Eloisa’s fashion lead to a degree. King Stefan had not chosen to wear black for his son-in-law, though, so the court had merely favored a more subdued palette. The whole court had felt gloomy and bleak, a sea of darker colors, broken only by the pale gleam of pearls.
Eloisa had worn only her black pearls during that period, looped around her throat, gleaming like dark-sheened rainbows against her skin. Other jewels had quite fallen out of favor, the customary ritual pearls becoming crowded on necks and hands with any other pieces of pearl jewelry the courtiers could lay their hands on.
And now, just as they were reaching the end of the mourning period for Eloisa’s husband, when colors other than gray and dark blue and green might have been acceptable, they would be donning black again for the king. Though Sophie wasn’t sure exactly how long that might be required. Kings were different. They died, but that was immediately followed by the installation of a new monarch, which was meant to be a time of celebration. No one wore black to coronations. That would be ill luck. Eloisa would set the style for the court again after her coronation. If she chose to go into mourning again, then the court would follow.
The breakfast table was already stocked with rolls and meats and cheese and platters of berries and nuts. A servant appeared and silently poured tea. Sophie sipped and squinted across the room to where the clock sat on the mantel. Sixth day.
Good.
She reached for a roll, then froze as Cameron appeared in the doorway of the dining room.
He started, too, when he saw her; then he smiled and bowed. “Good morning, milady,” he said. “You’re up early.”
Was she imagining things, or had he looked at her hair a second time? She fought the urge to smooth it down further. She’d braided and pinned it so tightly to her head that she was sure to have a headache by the end of the day. “I have to attend Eloisa. I thought you had the late duty.”