I woke to whispers from the sitting room.
Maybe this and this together?
No, something less intricate, I think.
Do you think she knows?
Not likely.
I never thought it was right.
Do you think the prince knew?
He knew.
The fools.
Makes little difference now. Did you see the way he looked at her?
And his tone. You don’t want to be on the wrong side of that.
Especially now that he’s king.
And his eyes. They can cut a man down.
Just like his father.
Doesn’t mean they still couldn’t use her as leverage.
No, I’d say not. Not anymore, after all that’s happened.
What about this one?
I think this fabric best.
And with this sash.
I sat upright, pulling the blankets around me. How long had I been sleeping? I looked at the empty goblet beside the table and then at my hands. Soft. A glow to them that hadn’t been there since I left Civica months ago. My nails were trimmed and buffed to a natural shine. Why did they do this for me? Or maybe it was only for their king—the one who—what was it they said? His eyes cut through them?
I yawned, trying to shake the fogginess of sleep away, and stepped over to the window. The sun was fading. I had slept for a few hours at least. A goldish pink haze was cast over the towering white wall of the outpost. I could view only a small slice of this soldier city, but the calm of twilight gave it a serene glow. Atop the wall I saw a soldier walking the length, but even that had a strange elegance about it that seemed out of place. Golden light caught the shine of his buttons and glimmered on his neatly trimmed belt and baldrick. Everything here seemed fresh and cleanly laid out, even this whitewashed bungalow. Though it was far from the actual border, this was the world of Dalbreck, and it looked nothing like Morrighan. It felt different from Morrighan. Order permeated the air, and everything Rafe and I had done had gone against that order.
I wondered where he was. Had he finally gotten some rest too? Or was he meeting with Colonel Bodeen and hearing the circumstances of his parents’ deaths? Would his comrades forgive him for his absence? Would they forgive me?
“You’re awake.”
I spun, clutching the blanket close to my chest. Madam Rathbone stood in the doorway.
“The prince—I mean, the king—was by earlier to check on you.”
My heart leapt. “Does he need—”
The women flooded into the room, assuring me he had no immediate needs, and they proceeded to help me dress. Madam Rathbone sat me down at her dressing table, and Adeline brushed out my tangles, her fingers moving with swift assurance, threading through my hair as effortlessly as an accomplished harpist, plucking multiple strands at once, braiding it with a rhythm as easy as a whistled tune, while at the same time weaving it with a sparkling gold thread.
When she was finished, Vilah lifted a loose dress over my head, something fine and flowing and as creamy as warm summer wind. Now I knew what I’d heard about Dalbreck and their love affair with fine fabrics and clothing was true. Next came a soft leather vest that laced up the back, embossed with a gold filigree design. It was more of a symbolic gesture of a breastplate, for it covered little of my breasts. Next Madam Rathbone tied a simple black satin sash low on my hips so it flowed almost to the floor. It all seemed far too elegant for an outpost, and I imagined that if the gods wore any clothes at all, they looked something like this.
I thought they were done, and I was about to thank them and excuse myself so I could find Rafe, but they weren’t ready to let me go. They moved on to jewelry. Adeline slipped an intricate lacy ring on my finger that had tiny chains on one end connecting it to a bracelet she fastened around my wrist. Vilah dabbed perfume on my wrists, then Madam Rathbone fastened a shimmering gold chain-mail belt over the black sash and—maybe most surprising of all—slipped a sharp dagger into its sheath. Last came a gold pauldron that flared out on my shoulder like a wing. Every touch was beautiful, but clearly the armor was more decorative than utilitarian. It heralded a kingdom whose history was built on strength and battle. Perhaps it was a kingdom that never forgot it began when a prince was thrown out of his homeland. They were determined that no one would question their strength again.
But all this for dinner at an outpost? I didn’t mention the extravagance, fearing I might sound ungrateful, but Madam Rathbone was perceptive and said, “Colonel Bodeen sets a fine table. You’ll see.”