I backtracked to the door and narrowly avoided bumping into Two.
“You do not approach Our Queen without bowing and waiting for her to approve your approach. Forgo bowing with everyone else—the Left Hand is above them.” Ruby herded us all into a straight line and stood at the end, back pin-straight next to me. I drew back my shoulders to match him. “Once you’re welcomed into the room, approach until you’re three paces apart and then bow.”
He swept into the perfect bow, his back straight and feet apart—a holdover from the days when mages wore runes on their feet and bridging the gap brought the magic to life. I copied him. Everyone else followed suit.
“A good rule of thumb is to stay horizontal in the time it takes you to take a breath. Continue bowing. I’m going to check your form.” He straightened and eyed me. “All honorable nobles hold the same place in Our Queen’s heart now, and the only ones above them are the members of the high court, the Left Hand, and Our Queen. If you cross their paths while living here, you will bow to them as they pass and stay bowed until they are out of your sight. Understand?”
I nodded.
“Don’t nod while you’re bowing. Just say yes,” Ruby muttered to me, checking my spine with a palm. “And straighten your back.”
He moved down the line. I curved my spine toward the floor, shoulders popping, and lifted my chin. At least bowing was the same for ladies and lords. Learning two sets of rules under Ruby would’ve been unbearable.
Five had perfect posture. Of course.
Ruby corrected everyone and shooed us back to the door.
“What a pleasant happenstance!” He fluttered a hand over his chest, faking surprise, and gestured to the table. “Do take a seat.”
I straightened up and stopped. In the corner of my eye, Five stopped too. Copying him made my skin crawl even if he did know his stuff. Ruby tutted as Eleven sat down at the table, and he dragged her back to the door to wait for his permission to enter again. Ruby launched into a monologue on proper manners and the traditions of bygone nations joined together, and I studied Five instead of listening. I was here to be Opal, not learn the history of sitting at tables.
Five wasn’t paying attention either. He’d a good betting face—gaze steady, nodding at all the right points when Ruby’s voice pitched to note an important fact. Five had replaced the knives I’d stolen with a smaller set and a stiletto in his boot, and I feigned peeking around Fifteen’s arm to get a better look at the table. A bird’s beak paring knife rested against his thigh. Each bore the mark of a raptor with its tail feathers splayed.
Breakfast rolled in my stomach. Paring knives were for taking off skin.
Five glanced at me. “You’re not as subtle as you think.”
“You’re not as frightening as you think,” I whispered back, hidden by Fifteen’s broad shoulders.
“I don’t have to be frightening when you flinch at shadows.”
I shifted away from him, anger bubbling up my throat till I thought I’d vomit all over Ruby’s dining table. I wouldn’t put it past Five to have ripped the flesh from Three’s body, leaving her to die. No slit throat or knife in the heart—
No, in the neck.
Like I told Five I’d do to him.
Ruby clapped his hands, his words drowned out by the furious rushing in my ears, and escorted us from the room. I followed the others out, body numb and mind racing. Five had killed Three.
Five had killed Three and used my words against her.
I stared at the back of his neck, fingers itching and fury I’d only known as a child before I knew the words for rage and wrath coursing through my veins. He’d skinned a woman for no reason, and he was walking round normal as could be.
Not a shadow but a monster still.
I slid to a stop to keep from hitting him. The rest of the group followed Amethyst’s servant to the next lesson, and after watching every auditioner turn the corner, I dug my palms into my eyes and held in a scream. I’d killed but never tortured. There was no other word for what Five did to Three.
Lady Isidora dal Abreu and Amethyst were addressing everyone when I slid through the door. No one noticed me coming in late—hopefully, they’d not notice me leaving either—and I leaned against the back wall while Lady dal Abreu talked about common injuries the Left Hand suffered. The white runes inked around her wrists, so small and fragile, matched the white stitches of her dove-gray dress. It cinched under her bust and matched Ruby’s gray trousers and ivory tunic. He leaned against the wall near the door.
“How’re we supposed to practice this?” Fifteen asked. He gestured to the catgut, scalpels, needles, and bandages laying across the table next to him.
Ruby pulled a knife from some secret sheath in his sleeve and sliced open Fifteen’s arm. “Practice on that and don’t interrupt.”
“Since you would most likely be alone if injured, you will learn on yourself.” Isidora handed a bandage to Fifteen, who sniffled at the shock of the cut. She then glared at Ruby and he fled the room. “It’s not deep. Apply pressure and it’ll stop bleeding.”
I held back my shudder. I could already stitch myself up and set a broken limb. I was Nacean, and we didn’t bleed ourselves unless we could send it back to The Lady.
I’d better things to do.
Twenty-Three
I slunk out the door. Retracing my steps, I walked back to the road that led north and traveled into the woods, avoiding the path. The journey north of the eastern spires didn’t last long.
The buildings were squat and stone, laid out like the curving mountain ranges covering the north. Erlend’s colors didn’t hang in the windows and decorate the doors, but they were scattered throughout, slightly brighter and more vivid than the rest of the paint. Servants, soldiers, and messengers paced the paths.
Hidden behind a thick curtain of pine needles, I crawled into a tree and watched them pass. The messengers were the easiest to spot because their traveling clothes were acceptably nice for the palace grounds but functional. Each carried a letter with the name of the recipient on one side and Our Queen’s stamp on the other. Some hid the name. Most didn’t.
They must’ve had to pass through the front gates and be approved by the guards to deliver their letters. No notes or people passed through the gates without the stamp of the guards.
The curvy first letter of Seve’s name caught my eye.
Looked like his name. Probably.
I leapt out of the tree and followed the messenger, peeking under his arm at the hidden side of the letter.
Definitely addressed to Lord Horatio del Seve. His seal was even stamped at the end of his name—a double-toothed kite spreading its wings after a storm, ready to strike again.
He’d positioned it so it loomed over Our Queen’s seal.