I looked at their efforts in the mirror. I hardly recognized myself. This still seemed to be far more than just making me presentable for a dinner party—no matter how fine a meal.
“I don’t understand,” I said. “I rode in prepared to be met with animosity, and instead you’ve shown me compassion. I’m the princess who left your prince at the altar. None of you harbor resentment toward me?”
Vilah and Adeline averted their gazes as if uncomfortable with my question. Madam Rathbone frowned.
“We did. And certainly a few others still do, but…” She turned to Vilah and Adeline. “Ladies, why don’t you go and dress for dinner too. Her Highness and I will be along.”
When Adeline had shut the door behind them, Madam Rathbone looked at me and sighed. “For me it was a small omission of kindness that had accrued interest, I suppose.”
I looked at her, confused.
“I met your mother once many years ago. You look so much like her.”
“You’ve been to Morrighan?”
She shook her head. “No. It was before she ever arrived there. I was a maid working at an inn in Cortenai, and she was nobility from Gastineux on her way to marry the king of Morrighan.”
I sat down on the edge of the bed. I knew so little about that journey. My mother never spoke about it.
Madam Rathbone crossed the room, replacing the stopper on the perfume. She continued to put the finishing touches on her own attire as she spoke. “I was twenty-two at the time, and the inn was in near chaos with the arrival of the Lady Regheena. She stayed only one night, but the innkeeper sent me to her room with a crock of sweetened warm milk to help her sleep.”
She looked in the mirror, pulling her bun loose and brushing her long hair. Her severe features softened, and her eyes narrowed as if she was seeing my mother all over again. “I was nervous to enter her chamber, but eager to see her too. I’d never seen nobility before, much less the future queen of the most powerful kingdom in the land. But instead of finding a regal jeweled and crowned woman, I found only a girl, younger than I was, road weary and terrified. Of course, she didn’t say she was frightened, and she forced a smile, but I saw the terror in her eyes and the way her fingers were tightly woven in her lap. She thanked me for the milk, and I thought to say something reassuring or cheerful, or even reach out and squeeze her hand. I stood there for the longest time, and she waited expectantly, her eyes fixed on me as if she desperately wished me to stay, but I didn’t want to overstep my bounds, and in the end, I only curtsied and left the room.”
Madam Rathbone pursed her lips in thought, then turned, removing a short fur cloak from her wardrobe. She draped it over my shoulders. “I tried not to think about it, but that short exchange haunted me long after she was gone. I thought of a dozen things I could have said but didn’t. Simple things that might have eased her journey. Things I’d want someone to say to me. But that day and chance were gone, and I couldn’t get them back. I vowed I’d never worry about overstepping bounds and never let unsaid words plague me again.”
Ironically, that was exactly what gnawed at me—all the words my mother never said. All the things she had kept from me. Things that might ha
ve eased my journey. When I got back to Morrighan, one way or another, there would be no more hidden words between us.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
PAULINE
It was the first time I had ever broken the sacraments. I prayed the gods would understand as every First Daughter was called to come forward and light a red glass lantern and place it at the base of the memorial stone. Then they sang the Remembrance of the Dead for the departed prince and his fellow soldiers—the same prayer I had sung for Mikael, day after day back in Terravin. Had they all been wasted prayers, since Mikael wasn’t really dead?
My nails dug into the flesh of my palm. I wasn’t even certain who I should be angry with. The gods? Lia? Mikael? Or the fact that I once held an honored position in the queen’s court and now I was little more than a fugitive sneaking in the shadows of a beech tree, unable to show my face to anyone, or even step forward and lift my voice to the gods? I had fallen lower than I ever thought possible.
When the last prayer was sung and the priests dismissed the First Daughters to return to their families, the crowds began dwindling. I didn’t expect to see my aunt there—she would stay by the queen’s side—but I looked for her just the same. I’d been afraid to ask Bryn or Regan about her. She was a stickler for rules and had drilled them into me from the time I came to live with her at the citadelle. I didn’t even want to ponder how she had reacted to my complete breach of protocol or my new status as treasonous accomplice. I saw Bryn and Regan speaking with one veiled widow, then another, until finally they worked their way toward us, carefully, so no one would suspect us of being anything but mourners.
They were silent at first, shooting questioning glances at Berdi.
“You can speak freely,” I told them. “Berdi’s trustworthy. She loves Lia as much as we do and is here to help.”
Regan continued to eye her suspiciously. “And she keeps secrets well?”
“Without question,” Gwyneth said.
Berdi squinted at Regan, her head tilting to the side as she scrutinized him. “The question is, can we trust you?”
Regan offered her a weary smile and a slight bow. “Forgive me. These last several days have been difficult.”
Berdi gave him a reassuring nod. “I understand. My condolences on the loss of your brother. Lia spoke highly of him.”
Bryn swallowed hard, and Regan nodded. They both seemed lost without their brother and sister.
“Were you able to speak with your parents about Lia?” I asked.
“Not before the news came about Walther,” Bryn answered. “And then Father fell ill. Between Walther and Father, our mother is devastated. She doesn’t leave her room except to tend Father, but the physician says there’s nothing she can do, and asked her to stay away. He says her visits only agitate him.”