“And do you support him?”
“How bold you are! Of course I do.” She paused. “Except, perhaps, where Firebloods are concerned. But that remains our secret, doesn’t it?”
I nodded. It was impossible to trust her, or anyone in this place, but I couldn’t help but be disarmed by her warmth. Not to mention her apparent support of my people.
“Thank you for…” I pressed my lips together awkwardly. “In the arena, it was good to know that one person wanted me to win.”
She smiled slightly, her gaze running over the undergarments. “It seems I guessed your size correctly. Shall we dress you?”
“We? I… You’re a lady. What about Doreena?”
“I told her I would help you instead. I wanted a chance to chat. Turn around so I can lace your corset.”
I turned and she cinched me up snugly.
“Breathe in,” she instructed, pulling the laces tighter.
I gasped.
“Breathing is optional. Looking beautiful is not.” She smiled to lighten the words, but I had a feeling she meant them to some degree. She looked incredibly pretty, not a golden hair out of place, the silky strands piled on her head in an elaborate style and fixed with pearl-tipped pins. Her coral satin dress with white lace at the elbows and bodice brought out the peaches-and-cream quality of her skin. A black velvet ribbon accentuated the slimness of her waist.
She turned and picked up the bundle she had brought, shaking it out to reveal a wine-colored gown embroidered with beaded flowers. She held it open and gestured for me to step in.
I shook my head. “I’d rather wear the clothes I wore in the arena. That’s who I am. The dress is… I’ve never worn anything that fine.”
She laughed. “Wouldn’t that be a sight? The king and his favored courtiers dining with a girl in bloody rags. I don’t think so. Besides, those clothes have either been laundered or thrown away. Step in.” She shook the dress impatiently.
Given no choice, I stepped into the gown. After she was done fastening the buttons at my back, she took a hairbrush from the box and lifted a section of my hair.
“Leave it,” I said stiffly. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me. I can’t have my protégé looking like a ragamuffin.”
“Your protégé?” I asked, unease sliding through me. The word struck a chord that echoed my time in the abbey. Brother Thistle had said he had once seen me as a tool, a weapon to wield at his choosing. What was I to Marella?
She spoke slowly, her attention fixed on my hair, hands carefully smoothing the strands. “You are an opportunity. When King Rasmus’s mother was killed by a Fireblood, the sentiment toward your people took an extreme turn. When his older brother was assassinated, the animosity turned to hatred. King Rasmus used that to justify his mission to wipe out your people. Anyone who disagreed was banished or killed. No one alive would dare speak out against his campaign against Firebloods.”
“But you have?”
She chuckled. “I’m no fool. I’d be whisked off to the keep or worse.” She took a section of my hair and twisted it. “We all suffer from Rasmus’s wild moods and the dangerous decisions that follow. But I haven’t been idle. I’ve made plans and bided my time, waiting for a Fireblood powerful enough to help me carry them out. And here you are.”
I tried to turn, to meet her eyes, but she held my head between her palms. “Stay still! I need to fix the back.”
“What do you want me to do?” The words came out more stonily than I’d meant them.
“Keep winning your matches. Keep Rasmus’s eyes on you. Gain his trust and you will find yourself with more freedom in the castle, which will benefit both of us.”
“And why should I trust you?”
“Because I’m the only person here, and perhaps in the entire kingdom, who doesn’t want you dead.”
I shook my head, just a tiny movement, without thinking. I saw her face change in the mirror. “Someone else wants you alive, too, then? The monks you lived with? Whoever helped you escape the prison?”
I pressed my lips together.
“The young man?” she said softly.
I felt my eyes flare wide before I hid my surprise.
Her reflection smiled at mine. “My father tells me everything. I know about the monks. But I think perhaps the hooded young man is a sweetheart. What’s his name?”
I stared forward resolutely, but I couldn’t help thinking of Arcus. I longed to know he was safe and wished for the hundredth time he was with me, protecting and guiding me as planned.
“You’ll tell me one day,” Marella said with perfect confidence. “And to gain some good faith, I’ll tell you something first. I was once betrothed to the king.”
My eyes met hers in the mirror. “You and King Rasmus?”