Eloisa shook her head. “No. Given the situation, we will keep the betrothal private. Your parents. Cameron’s brothers, if he wishes. The Domina will perform the ceremony, and I will witness.”
Sophie nodded. “Whatever you wish.” She was happy not to put on a show. She had seen betrothal ceremonies, though never one for a royal witch. She hadn’t been at court for the last witch’s wedding. She probably should study up on it. If there were actual magical elements to the ceremony, then she wanted to know what to expect. Then maybe she could prevent anything going wrong. Another thing to add to her list.
Eloisa tilted her head, which made the black pearls studded through her hair glint dark shades of green and purple. “We have much to do. But we have not forgotten your father’s request for an audience. We will find the time. Perhaps tomorrow, after the services. I will speak to him in the temple. I assume your parents will be attending?”
“Yes, milady. My family goes to the temple every week.” Her mother had only a very little power, but she didn’t waver in her devotion to the goddess. And she insisted that all her family attend with her.
“Good. Then I will wait after the rituals. In the private chapel. You can bring him to me there.”
The thought of venturing back into the depths of the temple didn’t appeal, but it wasn’t like she could avoid it. If she stopped going to services, she was just going to appear guilty of something. No point giving the Domina more ammunition against her. She bobbed a curtsy, acquiescing. “Yes, milady. Was there anything else?” A wedding date, perhaps? Eloisa and the Domina had spoken of the need for haste. Or maybe even a thank-you for helping the Domina to heal her.
But Eloisa just shook her head and waved a hand toward the door. “No. You can go back to whatever it is you were doing. I will see you tomorrow at the temple.”
After escorting Sophie back to the palace, Cameron tried once again to sleep. To avoid his brother, he had gone back to the barracks, but it was just as chaotic as it had been earlier. The noise and bustle, usually familiar enough for him to drown out, kept jolting him awake.
After an hour or two of fitful dozing, he gave up and went down to the barracks to see where he could be useful. To his surprise, he was sent back to the palace, to the work going on at the Salt Hall. Not to help move any remaining rubble or assist the Illusioners in their work, but to stand witness. The Red Guard, as personal guard to the king, were considered to be honest to a fault and were sometimes used to observe events or proceedings in order to be able to give evidence about what had occurred, should it be required.
The Salt Hall lay open to the sky, half its outer wall and roof crumbled. The stone that remained was charred black in many places, the paint and wood and metal that had covered them burned away, testament to how fierce the fire had been.
How quickly it would have killed those who’d been trapped here.
He hadn’t stopped to think about it when they’d given him the duty, but the thought slowed his step as he walked across to the group of Illusioners examining a section of wall.
This was where his father had died.
The erl had been at home here, in the spectacle of the court in full assembly. Wheeling and dealing and trying to find the advantage in any situation. Cameron had heard him arguing his point in this very room, presenting a claim to the court or trying to convince the king about the wisdom of a course of action too many times for the Salt Hall not to be inextricably linked with his father in his mind.
For the briefest of moments, he thought he heard it again. That and the buzz of the court filling the room, the noise echoing around the hall as it always had. But then the sensation vanished, and he shook himself and pushed the fancy away. Maybe it was a remnant of Illusioners’ art. Catching a wisp of conversation and playing it back. He didn’t want to know. His father was gone, and there was nothing to be done about it.
He reached the group of Illusioners and saw, to his surprise, that Lord Sylvain stood amongst them. Perhaps he was the member of the king’s council who’d been sent to observe. Lord Sylvain, short, stout, and white-haired, was gesturing at the wall with the blackwood stick he carried and saying something to Master Egan, who shook his head in response.
As Cameron approached, both men turned.
“Young Mackenzie,” Lord Sylvain said, his wrinkled face rearranging itself into a pleased smile. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been assigned to relieve Gregson here,” he said, nodding at the Red Guard standing a few feet away from the group.
“But you’re part of the queen-to-be’s guard, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you be with her? It seems she’s made a remarkable recovery.”
“I’m on duty later,” Cameron said, sidestepping the issue of Eloisa’s recovery. That was a subject he definitely couldn’t discuss. “And wanted to make myself useful until then.”
“Good man,” Sylvain said. “How about you come over here and we can talk whilst you watch? There isn’t much to observe, to tell the truth.”
Master Egan grunted something protesting at this, and Sylvain flicked his stick impatiently. “Not a criticism. It’s astounding that there’s anything left with the fire so hot. You Illusioners are doing what you can. If anything is here, I’m certain you’ll find it.”
That eased the look of annoyance on the Illusioner’s face. He turned back to the wall, and Lord Sylvain led Cameron over to a group of large stone blocks sitting in the middle of the room. “They’ve already inspected these. So we can’t hurt anything. Stand if you want, lad, but these old bones will sit.” He eased himself down carefully and then sighed. “Sad to see the palace so. Seems wrong, somehow.”