For her part, though, she was grateful that Evret hadn’t been there. That some other guards had been killed instead.
“Thank you,” she breathed. “Your kindness makes this day easier to bear, Sir Hayle.”
They were the same words she had said to countless other guests that day. Wishing she were clever enough to come up with something truly meaningful, she added, “I trust you know that you were a great favorite of my father’s.”
She had no idea whether it was true, but seeing Evret’s eyes soften made it as true as she cared for it to be.
“I will continue to faithfully serve your family as long as I am able.”
The proper words exchanged, he released her hand. Her skin tingled as she let it fall back to her side.
But rather than move on to offer condolences to Channary, Evret turned back and gestured to a woman beside him. “Your Highness, I do not believe you have ever met my wife. Her Royal Highness, Princess Levana Blackburn, this is Solstice Hayle. Sol, this is Her most charming Highness, Princess Levana.”
Something shriveled up inside Levana, turning hard and sharp in her gut, but she forced herself to smile and offer her hand as Solstice curtsied and kissed her fingers and said something that Levana didn’t hear. She knew that Evret had taken a wife some years ago, but she had given this fact little consideration. After all, her parents were married, but that had seemed to create no great affection between them, and what was a wife in a world in which mistresses were as common as servants, and monogamy as rare as an Earthen eclipse?
But now, meeting Evret’s wife for the first time, she noticed three things in quick succession that made her reconsider every thought she’d had about this woman’s existence.
First, that she was profoundly beautiful, but not in a glamoured sort of way. She had a cheerful, heart-shaped face, elegantly arched eyebrows, and honey-toned skin. She wore her hair loose for the occasion and it fell nearly to her waist in thick, dark strands that held just a bit of a curl.
Second, that Evret looked at her with a gentleness that Levana had never before seen in a man’s eyes, and that look sparked a yearning in her so strong it felt like agony.
Third, that Evret’s wife was very, very pregnant.
This, Levana had not known.
“It is lovely to meet you,” Levana heard herself saying, though she didn’t catch Solstice’s response.
“Sol is a seamstress in AR-4,” Evret said with pride in his voice. “She was commissioned to embroider some of the gowns worn today, even.”
“Oh. Yes, I … I seem to recall my sister mentioning a seamstress in town who was becoming quite popular…” Levana trailed off as Solstice’s entire face brightened, and the look only further solidified her own hatred.
Levana remembered nothing more from their brief conversation, until Evret placed his hand on his wife’s back. The gesture seemed protective, and only as they continued on did Levana notice a fragility to Solstice that had at first been hidden by her beauty. She seemed a delicate creature, exhausted from the funeral or her pregnancy or both. Evret looked concerned as he whispered something to his wife, but Levana couldn’t hear him, and Solstice was batting his attention away by the time they’d reached Channary.
Levana turned back to the receiving line. Another mourner, another well-wisher, another liar. Lies, all lies. Levana became a recording—nod, hold out your hand, mumble thank you—as the line stretched on and on. As her sister became less and less interested in pretending sadness and her giggles and flirtations tinkled shrilly above the low-voiced mutterings of the crowd, as the holograph of her parents accepted their wedding vows.
Monogamy. Faithfulness. True love. She did not think she had ever witnessed it, not beside the fairy tales she’d been told as a child and the fanciful dramas sometimes acted out for the court’s entertainment. But to be so cherished—what a dream that must be. To have a man look upon you with such adoration. To feel the press of fingers on your back, a silent message to all who saw that you are his and he—he must be yours …
When a woman with gray antlers on her head saw the tears beginning to glisten in Levana’s eyes, she nodded understandingly and handed her a crisp gray handkerchief.
*
Levana convinced herself that it was boredom that drove her out of the palace three days after the funeral, still dressed in gray for the third and final day of mourning. She told herself that she wanted something bright and beautiful to wear when the mourning period was ended and all the kingdom rejoiced as their new queen took the throne for the first time. She told herself she needed a new pair of embroidered slippers for the coronation, or perhaps a finely spun scarf for her waist. Nothing in her wardrobe would suffice for such a historic occasion.
If she’d made up a story to tell to the guards at the maglev platforms, it was in vain. No one stopped her or asked where she was going.
AR-4, the most popular shopping district in Artemisia, was bustling with court families and nobles and their servants, all dressed in shades of gray, all making their arrangements for tomorrow’s festivities, but no one recognized Levana, who was wearing the glamour of a dark-skinned goddess, tall and lithe, with a gracefully elongated neck and edged cheekbones. She did not bother with hair, not wanting to distract from the glamour’s perfectly sculpted head and figure. Only the silent palace guards that followed in her wake would have given away her identity, but the street was too crowded for anyone to notice them or the girl they were tracking.
She paid no attention to the cobblers or the dressmakers, the milliners or the jewelers, the art galleries or the candy shoppes. She knew precisely where she was going. She counted the streets that she had seen on the holographic map that morning. Her eye caught briefly on the crescent Earth that could be seen in the black sky beyond the dome’s protective sphere, but lost sight of it as she turned the corner into a lovely little side alley. The scent of roasting coffee from a small café followed her as she trotted around the flowering window boxes and stone-carved benches that lined the alley. Though it wasn’t fully deserted, it was serene compared with the bustle of the main street.
There was the shop, just where the map and directory had indicated. A simple sign hung over the doorway, showing a needle and thread, and the paned window displayed an assortment of different yarns and fabrics.
As soon as she saw it, Levana realized that her stomach had knotted itself since turning into the alley. She was nervous.
And over what? The wife of a palace guard? A mere seamstress? Ridiculous.
She gestured for her guards to stay outside, braced herself, and pushed open the door.
She found herself in a well-lit showroom. A quick scan confirmed that no shopkeeper was present, but a second door was cracked open, leading to a back room where she could hear the whir of mechanical looms.
Two holographic mannequins in the corners were modeling a variety of garments—everything from lingerie to ball gowns, three-piece suits to crocheted stockings. Every piece was magnificent. It was easy to see how even this insignificant shop in a tiny alleyway in AR-4 was building such a quick reputation for itself among the families.