Someone like Gisa probably made this dress. A Red servant with keen hands and an artist’s eye, perfectly sewing something so beautiful and terrible that only a Silver could wear it. The thought should make me sad, but only anger bleeds through me. I have no more tears. Not after yesterday.
When the next outfit is delivered by silent, stone-faced Clover and Kitten, I pull it on without hesitation or complaint. The blouse is flecked with a treasure trove of ruby, garnet, and onyx, with long, trailing sleeves striped in black silk. The pants are a gift too, loose enough to pass for comfortable.
The Skonos healer comes next. She focuses her efforts on my eyes, healing both the puffiness and my throbbing headache from last night’s frustrated tears. Like Sara, she is quiet and skilled, her blue-black fingers fluttering along my aches. She works quickly. So do I.
“Can you speak, or did Queen Elara cut your tongue out too?”
She knows what I’m talking about. Her gaze wavers, lashes fluttering in quick blinks of surprise. Still, she doesn’t speak. She has been trained well.
“Good decision. Last time I saw Sara, I was rescuing her from a prison. Seems even losing her tongue wasn’t enough punishment.” I glance past her, to Clover and Kitten looking on. Like the healer, they concentrate on me. I feel the cold ripple of their ability, pulsing in time with the constant silence of my manacles. “There were hundreds of Silvers in there. Many from the High Houses. Have any friends go missing lately?”
I don’t have many weapons in this place. But I have to try.
“Keep your mouth shut, Barrow,” Clover growls.
Just getting her to speak is victory enough for me. I push on.
“I find it odd that no one seems to mind that the little king is a bloodthirsty tyrant. But then I’m Red. I don’t understand you people at all.”
I laugh as Clover shoves me away from the healer, fuming now. “That’s enough healing for her,” she hisses, pulling me from the room. Her green eyes spark with anger, but also confusion. Self-doubt. Little cracks I intend to wheedle my way through.
No one else should risk rescuing me. I have to do it myself.
“Ignore her,” Kitten mutters back at her comrade, her voice high and breathy and dripping venom.
“What an honor it must be for you two.” I keep talking as they lead me down long, familiar corridors. “Babysitting some Red brat. Cleaning up after her meals, tidying her room. All so Maven can have his doll around when he wants.”
It only makes them angrier and rougher with me. They quicken their pace, forcing me to keep up. Suddenly we turn left instead of right, into another part of the palace I dimly remember. Residence halls, where the royals live. I lived here once too, if only for a little while.
My heartbeat quickens as we pass a statue in an alcove. I recognize it. My room—my old bedchamber—is a few doors away. Cal’s room too, and Maven’s.
“Not so talkative now,” Clover says, her voice sounding faraway.
Light streams in through the windows, doubly bright from the sun on fresh snow. It does nothing to comfort me. I can handle Maven in the throne room, in his study, when I am on display. But alone—truly alone? Beneath my clothes, his brand smarts and burns.
When we stop at a door and push through to the salon inside, I realize my mistake. Relief washes over me. Maven is king now. His living chambers aren’t here anymore.
But Evangeline’s are.
She sits in the center of the oddly bare salon, surrounded by twisted pieces of metal. They vary in color and material—iron, bronze, copper. Her hands work diligently, shaping flowers from chrome, curling them into a braided silver and gold band. Another crown for her collection. Another crown she can’t wear yet.
Two attendants wait on her. A man and a woman, plainly dressed, their clothes striped with the colors of House Samos. With a jolt, I realize they are Red.
“Make her presentable, please,” Evangeline says, not bothering to look up.
The Reds descend, waving me to the single mirror in the room. As I stare into it, I realize Elane is here as well, lazing on a long couch in a beam of sunlight like a satisfied cat. She meets my gaze without question or fear, only disinterest.
“You may wait outside,” Elane says when she breaks eye contact, turning back to my Arven guards. Her red hair catches the light, rippling like liquid fire. Even though I have an excuse for looking horrible, I still feel self-conscious in her presence.
Evangeline nods, agreeing, and the Arvens file out. Both cast disgruntled glances in my direction. I greedily drink them in to treasure later.
“Anyone care to explain?” I ask the quiet room, expecting no answer.
The other two laugh together, exchanging pointed glances. I take the opportunity to assess the room and the situation. There’s another door, probably leading to Evangeline’s bedroom, while the windows are locked tight against the cold. Her room looks out on a familiar courtyard, and I realize my cell of a bedroom must face hers. The revelation shivers me.
To my surprise, Evangeline drops her work with a clatter. The crown shatters, unable to hold its shape without her ability. “It is the queen’s duty to receive guests.”
“Well, I’m not a guest and you’re not a queen, so . . .”
“If only your brain were as quick as your mouth,” she snaps back.
The Red woman blinks rapidly, flinching like our words might hurt her. Actually, they might, and I resolve to be less stupid. I bite my lip to keep more foolish thoughts from spilling out, letting the two Red servants work. The man attends to my hair, brushing it through and coiling it into a spiral, while she does up my face. No Silver paint, but she uses blush, a bit of black to line my eyes, and striking red for my lips. A garish sight.
“That will do,” Elane says from her back. The Reds are quick to pull away, dropping their hands to their sides and bowing their heads. “We can’t have her looking too well treated. The princes won’t understand it.”
My eyes widen. Princes. Guests. Who am I being paraded in front of now?
Evangeline notices. She huffs aloud, flicking a bronze flower at Elane. It embeds in the wall above her head, but Elane doesn’t seem to mind. She only sighs dreamily.