Adale was quiet, her stare locked on her hands.
“After Albion,” she said slowly. “They…before the funeral, they brought him to the Temple of Adranus to prepare the body. There were so many people, priests and healers and I don’t even know. Temples are usually so quiet, but this—everyone was shouting. People were crying. Fully trained priests, even! I remember thinking how stupid they were all being. He was already dead. And, and then I noticed there was this man, standing in the corner, writing something in a book. He barely even looked up, and I wondered why he was even there.” Adale went silent again. “I’m sorry. That…that made a lot more sense in my head.”
“It’s all right,” said Esofi. “It’s… Can I ask how he died?”
Adale looked a little surprised. “You haven’t heard?”
“I’ve been told a few versions of the story,” said Esofi. “But I’d like to hear it from someone who was there.”
For a moment, Esofi thought she would refuse to answer the question, but Adale spoke at last.
“We were…it was on father’s estate at Eandra. We were riding. It was only the two of us… We’d never encountered anything dangerous before.” Adale looked down at her hands. “The estate is vast. We go there—we went there every summer since we were old enough to ride and explore the grounds. Every year, we discovered something new. And that year…that year, it was the ravine.”
Adale risked a glance back up at Esofi, as if expecting… Esofi wasn’t certain what. But whatever Adale saw in her face, it was enough to make her continue.
“It was a stupid way for a prince to die,” said Adale. “It was a stupid way for anyone to die. I wish I could say I told him not to do it, but I didn’t. He had a mare, Wildflower. She was killed with him.”
“I am sorry,” said Esofi.
“About the horse?” Adale managed a weak smile.
“I’m sure she was a fine horse,” Esofi replied seriously.
Rapid footsteps approached, and one of Adale’s ladies appeared on the balcony.
“Adale! There you are!” cried the lady. “I’m so bored! Let’s get out of here.”
Esofi looked at the Ieflarian woman in surprise.
“Esofi, this is Lady Brigit,” explained Adale. “Brigit—”
“We’re all waiting on you, Adale,” Brigit proclaimed. “Come on, let’s go find a real party.”
“What?” asked Esofi, finding her voice at last.
“We’re going to sneak out and celebrate properly,” explained Brigit. “You could come, if you want, except I suppose you don’t want, so—”
“You’re going to leave?” Esofi asked.
“Believe me, nobody will even notice,” said Adale. “Especially with Svana and Brandt showing off.”
“Still,” began Esofi, but Brigit groaned as though she’d been stabbed.
“There’s nothing to do. There’s no proper music. I’m going to die of boredom, and it will be on your soul, Adale.”
“All right!” snapped Adale. “Gods. Give me an hour.”
“You’re leaving?” asked Esofi, genuinely disappointed despite the small blasphemy.
“Oh! Brigit’s right,” said Adale. “You could come along. You might like it. You’ve never seen the city—not really, I mean. I’m sure the best parties are down by the river…”
“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s not going to agree,” said Brigit in a voice that reminded Esofi of her sisters back home, and perhaps that was why Esofi suddenly rose to her feet.
“Of course I’ll come,” she said.
SOMEONE MANAGED TO find Esofi an Ieflarian dress that fit well enough. The foreign style was strange on her body, though not uncomfortably so. The dress was in the usual Ieflarian fashion—simple with a short fitted bodice and a long, loose skirt that fell from immediately below the underbust. There were none of the voluminous petticoats that Esofi had become so accustomed to, and she felt oddly naked without them. Still, she thought the style was not without its merits. Movement was free and natural, and it would probably be comfortable during the summer months.
This particular dress looked not unlike the ones worn by the common Birsgener women she had seen. It was pale gray with a white scallop pattern bordering the hem and bodice and a mauve-colored sash around the waist. Someone else found her a short overcoat with long sleeves to wear over it, as the night air was rapidly becoming colder.
Brigit and the other ladies unpinned Esofi’s carefully styled hair and rubbed off the majority of her makeup. Finally, after draping a scarf over her head, they declared she was ready.
Esofi owned nightgowns more elaborate than the dress she was wearing now, but at least she would not stand out. Still, she had to fight down feelings of unease as they slipped out of the castle, even at the heart of Adale’s group of friends and with the crown princess just beside her, their hands occasionally brushing.
Apparently, there was no shortage of parties to attend that night. The streets were packed with joyous people, laughing and drinking and singing. Someone actually stumbled into Esofi, laughed, and patted her cheek before staggering off again.
“We haven’t had a proper sign from the gods in ages,” explained Lethea. “They’re going to be celebrating for days!”
“Oh,” said Esofi. She supposed it was preferable to mass hysteria.
The group made their way through the more expensive districts, passing by stone buildings and large, beautifully constructed homes guarded by fences of iron. As they moved through the streets, Esofi noticed that the homes gradually became smaller and less impressive, made of wood rather than stone. The streets were uneven, some dirt rather than paved with stone, and it seemed these areas employed nobody to sweep the streets. In contrast, the celebrating was more boisterous there. Esofi quietly hoped that they were only passing through, but when someone pointed out a tavern, they went inside.
The tavern was warm, uncomfortably so, but Esofi didn’t take off her coat. She allowed herself to be pushed onto a long bench at a low table. One of Adale’s ladies yelled to the bartenders—she had to yell, considering how loud the music was—and heavy metal tankards were placed in front of them, filled with something frothy.
Esofi glanced around, but nobody seemed to be paying any attention to her. She leaned forward a little and decided that the drink had a distinctly unpleasant scent. It wasn’t as if she’d never consumed ale before, though it was admittedly rare that she didn’t have wine or juice or even water purified by priestesses of Merla or priests of Eyvindr. She was certain she’d never had ale of this…caliber…before.
She took a bit of foam on the tip of her finger and contemplated it. Not too far away, some of the other patrons of the tavern were bellowing out the words to a song that had a lovely tune but shocking lyrics. People were even dancing, or at least trying to. Esofi watched, oddly entranced by it all. It took her a moment to realize Brigit had been chattering in her ear the entire time.
“—glad we came here instead of staying in that stuffy ballroom?” she was saying. “This is the real Ieflaria, you know. If you want to know what the people really—”
“Brigit,” interrupted Adale from Esofi’s other side. “I think that man over there wants to dance with you.”
Brigit sprang to her feet and hurried toward the man Adale had indicated on the other side of the room. But before Adale could say anything else, another woman took Brigit’s place at the bench. Like many of the revelers, her face had been painted with silver stars.
“I love your hair!” the woman shouted, pushing Esofi’s scarf aside and putting her hands over Esofi’s head. “You did it to look like the princess, didn’t you? It’s perfect!”
“Um,” said Esofi, finding herself suddenly paralyzed.
“Did you have it done just today? I’m going to do the same tomorrow!” The woman released Esofi’s head and grabbed at her own ebony tresses instead. “Oh I can’t wait! You’ve even got the color right. Who did you get to do that? Was it the alchemists?”