Finally the servants stop in front of a door. Its polished surface lets me watch my scared expression swing inward as it opens, and behind the door is, I hate to say it, exactly the bedchamber I’d design if I had endless resources and nothing more to worry about than room furnishings.
It’s simple and pretty. Where I had expected it to be as over-the-top as Noam’s gate, it’s nothing but a canopy bed (a really nice canopy bed), an armoire (a really nice armoire), and an intricate lavender rug stretched over a wood floor. Balcony doors stand open opposite me, heavy white curtains rippling in the wind as I walk into the center of the room.
Both servants are only a few years older than me, dressed in plain but simple dresses made of cloth in Cordell’s hunter green. Brown-blond hair hangs in smooth strands down their backs and one of them, her wide brown eyes giving the illusion that she sees everything, steps up to me. “Is this to your liking, Lady Meira?”
“Meira.”
“Yes, that’s what I said. Lady Meira.”
I frown. “No, just Meira. No lady.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Lady Meira.”
I grind my teeth and turn back to the servants. “Fine. What are your names?”
“Mona.”
“Rose.”
“Well, Mona and Rose, what can you tell me about what Noam’s planning?”
Mona keeps her head bowed meekly and Rose simply shrugs.
“We know nothing except that we are to have you dressed and ready by eight.”
I squint at them. “And if I refuse?”
Mona’s eyes widen. Rose, clearly the one in charge, puts a hand on Mona’s. “I hope you don’t. King Noam made it clear that our future in his service depends on you being at the ball.”
One of my eyebrows shoots up. “And you always do exactly what your king demands?”
Rose bobs her head slowly like she isn’t sure why I’d even ask such a question. I expect the same from Mona, but when I notice her hesitating, wringing her hands, I can’t stop a curious grin. Rose sees my sudden change in expression and faces Mona, who throws up her hands and nods so violently that I fear her hair will shake right off her head.
“Of course I obey him!” Mona declares. “I just—it would be nice, wouldn’t it? If we, I don’t know, had our own magic?”
Rose’s face turns as red as her namesake flower. “No Cordellan wants for anything, and you stand here, in front of a guest, and say such things?” She whips to me. “I apologize, Lady Meira—Mona is new to her position.”
Mona relents, dropping her hands and bowing her chin against her chest. But she doesn’t respond to Rose—she turns to me, her eyes on the floor. “Forgive me, Lady Meira.”
I almost forget to bristle at being called “Lady” when I see her small flicker of fire snuffed out. I can’t get the surprise off my face—the only time she spoke up was at the thought of having her own magic? Of not being indebted and linked to Noam?
I hold on to the thought, trying to figure out how to place it in my mind. I’m reminded of the lapis lazuli ball in my pocket, the small circular stone pressing into my thigh. Mather wanted to believe that it was magic, that anyone could just pick it up off the ground. It would make the world much simpler—no one would have to depend on their king or queen to help them. No one would have to stay within the boundaries of their kingdoms to partake in their bloodline’s magic. We’d be much less . . . trapped? That doesn’t feel like the right word, at least as someone who’s been fighting her entire life to get this kind of magic. But maybe in other kingdoms, kingdoms that have had magic for centuries, they ask these questions. They wonder what it would be like to be free of our world’s strict lines.
I shake my head at Mona. “Don’t apologize. It’s fine to ask questions.” Even if I’m not sure what my answers to those questions are. All I know is Winter needs magic to be free. That’s all I can see right now.
Rose snaps to me. “It most certainly is not fine when such questions contradict our king’s clear orders.” She lifts an eyebrow and a finger simultaneously, ready to turn her threats to me.
I back up to the canopy bed and flop out onto it, arms splayed. “No need to get riled up. I’ll go to the ball.”
When Rose starts talking again, I can hear the smile in her voice. “Excellent. There’s a bath prepared for you through there, Lady Meira.”
My head pops up in time to see Mona point to a door on my left.
“We’ll be back after you’ve rested,” Rose says, and ushers Mona out.
As they close the door, I sit up. The lapis lazuli ball pushes against my hip, making me think of Mather, of Sir, not of magic and who should or shouldn’t have it. I wiggle the stone out of my pocket and roll the small blue ball around on my palm, the repetition soothing my nerves.
Noam wants me for some reason. Stranger still is the fact that a Rhythm king sees something in a Season refugee worth using at all. And Mather and Sir both know what it is, but they’re in a meeting right now with Noam, so my current options are to either sneak around the palace in hope of finding answers in one of these many rooms or take a bath and a nap.
As if my body has already made its decision, I let loose a yawn, my eyes blurring as tears rush in.
I rip off my travel clothes and pile the whole mess of things in the corner with my chakram guarding it on top. The lapis lazuli ball rolls off the pile, thumping against the wood floor and coming to rest on the thick carpet. I pick it up and set it on the bedside table, staring at its blue surface. I know it’s ridiculous, but a small part of me relaxes, knowing a piece of Winter is there if I need it.
Scented soaps and bubbly water quickly erase any lingering worries, filling my senses with lavender and steam. Oh my. I could get used to this.
After spending much too long turning wrinkly, I emerge from the bathroom and frown as the fog of relaxation lifts. Something is wrong. I scan the room twice, mind fuzzy, before my eyes drop to the floor and see—
Nothing.
My things are gone. My chakram, my boots, everything. Only the lapiz lazuli ball is still on the table. A nightgown is now spread out on the bed, a gleaming ivory garment that was probably meant to be a fair trade for my clothes. I should be perturbed, except the nightgown is softer than rabbit fur. I ease it over my head and the fog of relaxation drops back on me. And when I slide between the silky sheets and the warm feather quilt, I forget why I should have been perturbed. Or why I should have gone back to Noam’s study and demanded answers. Or where Noam’s study even was because all these halls look the same, and his trees are ridiculous, and, sweet snow, this bed is comfortable . . .