A near choking sense of sorrow settled in my throat, but I shut that thought down before it could breed and take on a whole new life. I shut it all down as I exhaled, long and slow. Like the countless times before, emptiness seeped in through my skin. I nodded, welcoming the nothingness that sank into my muscles and penetrated my bones. I let the nothingness invade my thoughts until no inkling of who I was remained. Until I was like those poor, lost spirits that roamed the Dark Elms. An empty vessel once again filled with purpose. It was like donning the Veil of the Chosen as I nodded and turned without word.
“You should’ve just given her to the Lord,” Tavius commented. “At least then, she might actually do us some good.”
I ignored the Prince’s caustic remarks and quickly walked through the alcoves, the skirt of my gown snapping around the low heels of my boots on my way out of the Great Hall.
The corridor was eerily still. I reached up and lifted the hood attached to the collar of my gown. I pulled it into place, an act driven by habit more than anything else. Many of those who worked inside Wayfair Castle knew me simply as the Queen had called me: a handmaiden. To most outside the castle, my features were those of a stranger, just as when I’d been veiled as a Chosen.
I stalked past the great mauve banners adorning the walls. They swayed, caught by the warm breeze rolling in through the open windows. In the center of each banner, the golden Royal Crest glittered in the lamplight.
A crown of gold leaves with a sword through the center.
The crest supposedly represented strength and leadership. To me, it looked as if someone were being stabbed through the skull. I couldn’t be the only one who thought that.
I passed the Royal Guards at the doors leading to the wall facing the Stroud Sea, where I knew the ship would be waiting to return to the Vodina Isles. Passing the stables, I crossed the courtyard and slipped out the narrow, smaller gate rarely used since it fed into a less-traveled trail through the bluffs overlooking Lower Town—a crowded section of warehouses and dens, catering to the dockworkers and sailors.
Under the moonlight, I navigated the steep pathway, aiming for the dark crimson sails I spotted above the squat, square ships bearing the Vodina crest. A four-headed sea serpent.
Gods, I hated snakes. One-headed or four.
Based on what Lord Sarros had said before the unfortunate incident of his head being severed, a small crew had traveled with Lord Claus—three additional Lords.
The briny scent of the sea filled the air and dampened my skin as I reached level ground and entered one of the alleys between the dark, quiet buildings. The soles of my boots made no sound against the cracked stone. I prowled toward the edge of a building catty-corner to the Vodina ship, the edges of the gown’s hem fluttering soundlessly around me. Years of intensive training with Sir Holland had ensured that my steps were light, my movements precise. The near-silence in the way I could move was one of the reasons some of the oldest servants feared I wasn’t truly flesh and blood but some kind of wraith. Sometimes, it felt like I…I was nothing more than a faint trace of a specter—not fully formed.
Tonight was one of those nights.
A dozen feet from the docks, I stopped and waited. Sailors and workers crossed before the mouth of the alley, some hurrying about and others already stumbling. I slipped my hand through the thigh-high slit in the gown, curling my fingers around the handle of my dagger. The iron warmed to my touch, becoming a part of me. I felt the edge of the blade just above its sheath. Shadowstone. The shadowstone dagger was rare in the mortal realm.
A door down the street opened. Raucous laughter staggered out, followed by high-pitched giggles. I stared straight ahead, motionless in the shadows as I thought of my mother—my family. They’d probably already moved to the banquet hall, where they would share food and conversation, pretending as if the Lord of the Vodina Isles hadn’t just returned their Advisor to them minus his body. Pretending that this wasn’t another sign that the kingdom was on the brink of failure. I had never, not once, experienced supper with them. Not even before I’d failed. It hadn’t bothered me before. Not often, at least, because I had been Chosen. I’d had a purpose.
I have no need of a Consort.
Things had been hard after that. But when I turned eighteen? I was once more veiled and wrapped in that gauzy shroud of a gown and brought to the Shadow Temple as they summoned the Primal of Death.
He hadn’t shown.
Things were even harder when I turned nineteen. And then, six months ago, when I turned twenty and found myself once more seated on the throne in that damn veil and gown for the third time? They’d summoned him again, and still, he didn’t come. Everything changed then. I hadn’t known what hard was until then.
Before, they always sent my meals to my room—breakfast, a small lunch, and then dinner. After the first summoning, that changed. They skipped deliveries. Less food was sent. But by the last summoning, they sent nothing at all to my chambers. I had to raid the kitchens during the short window of time where any food worth consuming could be found. But I could deal with that, as I could the lack of other necessities and new clothing to replace well-worn items. Many within Lasania had even less. The worst part was the fact that my mother had hardly spoken to me over the last three years. She barely looked at me, except on nights like this when she wanted to send a message. Weeks passed without me catching even a single glimpse of her, and while she had always been remote, I’d still spent time with her. She would check in on our training and even share a lunch with me every so often. Then there was Tavius, who now behaved with the knowledge that there was little if no consequences for his actions. The hours when I wasn’t training with Sir Holland—who believed the Primal would still come for me because I had never told anyone what he’d said, not even my stepsister, Ezra—and I was alone without anyone to spend time with or be close to, were long and passed slowly.
But tonight, she had looked at me. She had spoken to me. And this was what she wanted.
A bitter taste pooled in the back of my mouth as a familiar form appeared at the edge of the alley. I recognized the cut of the dark crimson tunic and the shine of his fair hair in the moonlight.
The beat of my heart was steady and slow as I lowered the hood, stepping out of the shadows and into the lamplight. “Lord Claus,” I called.
He stopped, turning to the mouth of the alley. His head tilted, and I didn’t know if I felt relief or pain or nothing at all as he said, “Handmaiden?”
“Yes.”
“Hell,” he drawled, stepping into the alley. “Did the bitch Queen change her mind?” Each step toward me was cocksure, unhurried and at ease. “Or did I catch your fancy?” He adjusted himself. “And make up your own mind?”
I waited until he was several feet from me, far enough away from the street. Then again, in this area of Carsodonia, one could scream, and no one would blink an eye. “Something like that.”
“Something?” Air whistled between his teeth as his gaze once more fixed south of my face on the swells of my breasts above the gauzy bodice. “I’m betting you know a lot about some things, don’t you?”
I wasn’t even sure what that meant, and I truly didn’t care. “The Queen was quite displeased with your answer.”
“I’m sure she was.” His thick chuckle faded. Finally looking at my face, he stopped in front of me. “I hope you didn’t come all the way down here and wait for me just to tell me that.”