“Yes, if you wish.” She studies us for a moment. “I can pick instead, if you like.”
Cynthia and I exchange a look. She's smiling. I've never before seen such a smile from her. All remaining tiredness and sickness flee.
“The tour would be perfect.”
“Very well. If you'll come with me please.”
As we follow her into the house, we pass the Envadi. I clench my shaking hands and risk a peek back. His gaze meets mine, though he's still speaking to a servant. I trip and hurry to right myself, this time sure to watch where I'm going. Though I don't look again, I feel his gaze still on me. What is he planning to do to me?
***
By the time I plop down on the window bench in the turret, I don't think I will ever stand, and certainly never walk, again. It's the last room of the tour. We haven't even seen the grounds yet, but I could care less. Cynthia slumps beside me.
“I didn't think this day could get any more exhausting,” she says. “Two days now, I guess.”
“Can I do anything to help?” the servant asks.
I look around the room for the first time. The walls are curved all around as they were in the other turrets, except for a little flat portion hiding a water closet. Next to which is a privacy screen and I assume there is a bathing basin behind it like others we've seen. This room is a full circle, the only access is a door at the top of stairs, leading back where we came from. I can't possibly climb them right now. It's a wonder I even made it up here. Though the floors seem to be holding our weight just fine, which eases some of my worries.
There's plenty more furniture than I need, chairs and sofas and tables, but I only have eyes for the bed. Not as massive as the one at Thomas's, but just big enough for me. My choice is the only choice I'm really allowed given my current state. Did the Envadi plan it this way?
“I think this will be my room. If it's acceptable.”
She nods. “I'll let you know if there's a problem.”
“Perhaps I'll take the one at the bottom of the stairs,” Cynthia says. “That way we'll be close.”
“Would you rather have this room? You can if you would like.”
“Oh, no. If it wasn't for you we wouldn't be here anyway. Besides, you'll enjoy all these windows more than I will.”
Things like this remind me how wonderful she can be. “That's true.”
“Can I bring some breakfast?” the servant asks. “Or would you prefer I draw a bath?”
I'm sticky from traveling, but also have an empty stomach. I don't remember the last time I ate. “Breakfast, I think.”
“Yes, food would be most welcome,” Cynthia says.
The servant nods. “I'll get two trays and your things sent up.” She leaves.
I try to pay more attention to my new room. My very own. Not just for a week, but for good. Or at least until I marry. I don't suppose he'll let me stay here. Mother's room was always close to Father's. I shiver and chase the thought away, replacing it with ones of furniture.
The bed has its headboard curving along the wall. Night tables on each side are also curving. By the window where we're seated are a small table and three chairs. There's also a vanity curving like the others. A small mirror rests on it. More like the one at home than at Thomas's, but easy to see in to. Above it is another window. A third window lies between the stairs and the bed.
“It's rather large,” I say. “Less cramped than our house full of girls.”
“Yes,” Cynthia replies, but with a wistful note. “Certainly quieter.”
She always did spend more time with our sisters than I did. I suppose I spent too much time trying to hide from Father or taking their places for punishments. I still miss them. Perhaps not the same way that brings longing to Cynthia's eyes.
A short while later the servant returns with two trays. She stands off to the side as we settle at the table. Biscuits and chocolate. I devour them, not even taking the time to dunk the thin, sweet wafer in my thick drink. Once my appetite settles, I slow and eat some fruit as well.
I peek at the servant often throughout the meal. As it comes to a close, I work up enough courage to ask, “Do you know in what room Chancellor Zade is staying?”
“I believe he's chosen the back turret on the west side of the house.”
Can I really be that fortunate? All the way on the other side of the house?
“You should easily be able to hide from him if that's the case,” Cynthia whispers.
The servant's face remains impassive.
I respond, “At least until the wedding.”
Chapter Nine