The plate is yanked from my hands. “A drink, woman.”
No complaints or punishments for the dropped food. I release the air from my lungs. The drinks have to be on the table. Certainly there's enough food, it can't matter if a little is on the floor. I grab a goblet and inspect the jugs. Wine, ale, or water. Two of the three choices are acceptable to a man, yet I still have to deal with the Envadi tonight, so I grab the unacceptable choice. With a goblet of water, I return to him. It can't be what he wants but if he'll accept it without backlash, it'll be worth the risk.
He takes it from me and drains it. The men cheer. He casts a powder-blue spell. The cup glides through the air to me. It's warm against my palms.
The other women in the room move to the serving table. I refill the goblet, grateful water appears to be an acceptable choice and return it. The Envadi looks me in the eye, a blaze still burning in him. He points at the floor. Despite his power, I don't want to lower myself to him anymore. But my body is so tired. It's hard to keep it up. I sit, curling my legs under me. It's what is expected of me.
The men talk and laugh. Women walk back and forth between the food and the men, but the Envadi never asks for anything more. Rather than demanding things, he ignores me. He laughs and talks with Father and the Grand Chancellor. Though I know he's a barbarian, he sounds just like the other warlocks.
Other men come by with their leashed women. They send their women for drinks and food for him. Some of the women ignore me. Others gaze at me with sympathy. A few glare at me. One walks up to me, but instead of stopping, kicks my legs before falling to make it look like she tripped over me. I ignore them all.
Vaguely, I'm aware that I should be hungry. I ate so little for breakfast, and my body is exhausted. But none of the food appeals to me. If anything, I feel nauseous. My dress clings to my skin. Sweat beads on my forehead. I lean against the throne. It's cool against my side and face. My eyelids give a heavy blink and close.
Without warning, I'm wrenched to my feet. The Envadi wraps his arm around me, half carrying, half hauling me along. I try to clear my mind as we move past whooping men. The women keep their eyes to the ground, some frowning, some smiling, and some expressionless.
I stumble as he stops to open a door. Frigid air blasts, bringing me fully conscious. My gown does little to protect me from the coming storm. A carriage waits at the end of a pebbled walkway. A footman opens the door. I half jump, am half pushed inside. As I collapse on the seat, the door closes. I pant in the dark.
The carriage moves. My stomach twists. I fumble for the pot kept beneath the seat. There's nothing in my stomach to loose, but my body tries anyway. Over and over again. The ride is infinitely longer than this morning. Rain patters on the roof. The horse's hooves clop on the road. The carriage dips and bounces. I heave again.
When the carriage finally stops, I stay slumped against the seat. The cold darkness bears down on me. The door opens. I flinch at the torch light carried by the footman, but don't move from my seat. After a moment, the footman peers in. With a groan, I sit up. I rub the back of my hand across my mouth. The fresh, rain-scented air eases my stomach. I drag myself from the carriage, quickly becoming soaked by the downpour. Thankfully, the Envadi is nowhere in sight. But Phyllis is.
“Come. I've prepared your room.”
Not wanting to think what that means, I let her guide me into the house, and through halls and upstairs, dripping on everything. In front of Cynthia's door, I pause. Phyllis snaps at me. With a groan, I climb the stairs after her to my room and head straight for the bed, not worried about drying off.
“Not yet. I'm under orders to prepare you for the Chancellor.”
I shiver. The branding. I almost forgot about it. I want to forget about it and have everyone else do the same. The bed sits there. I want to collapse on it. How much longer will this day be? I wipe a tear before she can see it. My little table has bowls, ink, and a needle on it. I avert my gaze from the tools to the vanity. It has a tea set on it. I sit in front of it. She grabs a brush and works on my tresses.
“You'd better drink your tea.”
I pick up the cup and smell it. The earthy smell from the morning invades. I slam it down, some sloshing out.
She stops brushing to top off the cup. “Your Father said I'm to inform you that you may be out of his house, but your sisters are not.”
I grasp the table. There's no way to direct the attention onto me if I'm here. I swig the drink. She refills it and hands it to me. She frowns with concern, and for a moment I think she's going to apologize, but it deepens to a scowl.
“Drink up.”
I close my eyes and down the second cup. When she fills it a third time I say, “No more. One was fine for the ceremony. Two is more than enough.”