The Queen returns to Everless before dawn breaks the next morning. That she prefers to travel at night is a message, tied up in brown paper, desperate to speak.
When I get back to the women’s dormitory after watching her carriage pull into Everless, I find a little velvet bag sitting on top of my made bed. Another gift—which means more gossip at my expense. Beside it, a note, in Ina’s pretty handwriting: Thank you for your discretion, Jules.
I sit down and pick up the bag. The weight of blood-irons inside is like a blow to the stomach. The bag drops from my hand, spilling a glittering month-coin onto my thin coverlet, and around me, women turn to stare, their purposefully averted gazes now drawn by the flash of gold.
I grab it up, feeling sick, and see the other girls quickly turn away. They mistake it for suspicion—as if I think one of them will take it from me. But they’re not the reason for the queasy sadness churning through me.
Yesterday—the closeness I felt with Ina, the kinship, the shared secrets—was a soap bubble, growing and glimmering in me, but now it’s broken. I thought Ina was . . . well, not my friend, that would be foolish, but something. That I was more than just a servant to be paid off. There’s at least a few years inside the bag. My cheeks burn in humiliation. But as I stuff the money furiously beneath my pillow, a snide, calm voice in my head informs me that it’s not sweet, oblivious Ina I should be angry at. It’s myself—for forgetting who the both of us are, for daring to think that I could mean something to the future queen of Sempera.
Shame mixes into the turmoil inside me. I’m no closer to discovering the secret behind my father’s death—his murder, as I’ve begun to think of it, the time pulled from his blood killing him as surely as a knife to the heart. Have I grown distracted, my head turned by Ina’s beautiful gowns, Caro’s friendly gossip, Roan’s smiles that seem just for me, and forgotten the promise I made by the lakeshore after Papa died?
I didn’t stay here at Everless to make friends with Ina Gold. If I’m to spend my days serving the Gerlings, I want Papa’s death to mean something. The need for knowledge flares in me, brighter than ever.
I must see her. The Queen.
Over the next few days, I invent reasons to approach her, finding little tasks that will bring me to the long hallway where her rooms are in hopes of catching a glimpse. I tell Caro I’ll deliver any messages the Queen needs. I carry her worn clothes, heaps of velvet and silk, to and from the laundry. I make tea in the mornings and evenings, and leave it by her door while the guards stationed there glower at me.
When I go to the Queen’s door at sunset one day to deliver her evening tea, the guards are absent. I knock and set the tray down just outsider her door. But then I linger longer than I should, standing there in the empty hallway until the tea has surely lost all its warmth, waiting for the Queen to appear. Just when I’m on the brink of giving up and going back to the dormitory, the door opens.
It’s a long, confused moment before I realize that the woman who has stepped into the hall is, in fact, the queen of Sempera. She looks more like one of the drunkards who stumble out of Crofton’s worst taverns in the early hours of the morning. Her flame-colored hair is knotted and tangled, and her clothes seem to have been put on in the dark—the buttons on her gown are only two-thirds of the way done up, revealing a swath of white skin across her chest. The corners of her mouth are stained with dark red smudges that could be lipstick or blood.
She takes a halting step forward, and I nearly fall backward in my scramble to get away. But my shoulders slam against someone’s chest; small but strong hands close around my upper arms, keeping me upright. The scream is halfway out of my throat when Caro yanks me around to face her.
“Shh, Jules,” she murmurs, her eyes huge in the dark hall. “It’s all right.”
She sets me aside like a small child and walks toward the Queen. I stare in confusion as Caro lays her bare hand over the Queen’s heart. Our untouchable ruler lets her eyes drift shut and leans into Caro’s touch, seeming to draw strength from it. A moment later, she turns and vanishes back into her room without a word. You will not lay a hand on her, even to assist her, I think, but it seems Caro is different. Side by side in the dim light, they almost look like mother and daughter, the Queen’s eyes reflecting Caro, their posture the same.
Caro turns to me, sighing heavily. “I’m sorry you had to see that, Jules,” she says. “Sometimes Her Majesty lets her duties get in the way of her well-being and doesn’t rest like she should. She has night terrors.”
I’ve seen nightmares, I think, my own and others’, but never anyone who looked like that, like they’d crawled out of a grave. But my terror is still stuck in my throat, so all I can do is nod. Caro puts an arm around me, and warmth flows back in. I wonder if that is what the Queen felt a moment ago.
“You must keep this between us, Jules,” Caro says softly. Another secret. “If word of her weakness got around . . .”
“Of course,” I say hurriedly, regaining my voice. “I serve the Queen.”
Caro leans closer. “Jules, you must understand something. You know the Queen—you’ve seen her—” She stops, stares at me as if to make sure I’m listening. “The Queen will soon die. Blood-irons cannot save her. Nothing can be done. In just a short time, Ina will be married, and Sempera will have a new ruler.”
Questions flood my mind. Will I ever know if my father died for a reason? Looking for something—anything—to do, I bend down and pick up the cup of tea I’ve left outside the Queen’s door. The cup rattles in its saucer. Caro gently takes them from me.
“Now,” Caro says gently, “while the Queen rests, why don’t we do something for ourselves?” I stare at her. “Soon Ina won’t have a moment to herself, what with getting ready for the wedding. She wanted one last frolic before . . .” Her brow furrows. Despite the forced lightness of her tone, her revelation about the Queen’s death hangs in the air. “She’s a married woman.”
Frolicking and marriage are as far from my thoughts right now as the moon. But I let Caro pull me along, not knowing what else to do. “I’ve just been to the stables,” she tells me, low and excited, as we hurry down the hall. “I’ve arranged for a carriage to take us to a tavern that I know in Laista. We’ll have a party, just the three of us.”
The sumptuous carpets quiet our footsteps all the way into the wing that contains Ina’s rooms. When we knock on her door, Ina opens it immediately. It takes me a moment to recognize her: she’s done up her hair with silver pins and flowers. Her dress is a confection of tulle and lace with a neckline that makes me blush.
“So nice of you to join us, Jules,” she says, giggling, as Caro propels me inside. “Have a drink?” She is already holding something by the neck—a green glass bottle of sparkling liquid. She proffers it to me.
The look on my face must be sufficient answer, because Caro tucks a defensive arm around my waist. “Ina, give the poor girl time to adjust,” she whispers, turning me away from the princess and toward a massive, open wardrobe, which spills silk and velvet in every color I can think of and then some. “First we need to find her something to wear.”
“Oh . . .” My weak protest is swept away when Ina dives in, pulling out one dress after another until her arms are heaped with them.
She motions for me to follow her to the bed, where she lays out the gowns excitedly—they’re all bright-colored, skimpy, frivolous, or all three. Ina is already choosing a garment of blue silk that looks alarmingly small in her hands. She passes it to me, and I have a hard time believing this light thing is a dress, much less something I could wear outside the castle in cold weather.
But now Ina’s standing with her hand on her hip, with Caro a little behind her, her head cocked to one side and a mischievous glint in her eyes. I have no choice, so I reach up behind my neck to unclasp my dress. I remember Ina waltzing around in her underthings the other day, trying on wedding dresses. But Ina has an effortless beauty I could never match. In front of them, I feel gawky and awkward, all elbows and knees and sharp angles—a body that grew up hungry.
Caro’s eyes flicker over me and her forehead creases a little, but she doesn’t say anything. Meanwhile, Ina’s oblivious, shaking the dress at me. I lift my arms and allow her to pull the dress over my head while Caro comes around behind me, lacing up the back.
Ina tugs me to the vanity. Already scattered over its polished top is a mess of paints and kohl and vials of things I can’t name, open and boasting rich browns and blacks and reds for Ina, and coral and rose and bronze for Caro. Their powdery scent wafts into the room. Ina takes up a powder puff, Caro a wooden hairbrush. I close my eyes and let them work.
When I finally look, my face in the mirror fills with surprise. I still look like me, but the shadows beneath my eyes have gone. My hollow cheeks are filled out and glowing. Outlined in kohl, my brown eyes reveal strands of amber that I’ve never seen before, and Caro has swept my hair up into a deceptively simple-seeming bun at the nape of my neck.
The dull skin and tired eyes have vanished. Realizing those are not a part of me, my heart lifts a little.
“Ina,” I say, “you must be magic.”
She laughs and squeezes my shoulder.
While they put finishing touches on their own faces, I’m overcome by curiosity, and give in—another small rebellion against Liam Gerling’s insistence that I keep to my own path, a servant’s life. I take a sip from the green bottle on Ina’s nightstand. The liquor tastes of fruit and honey and fizzes on my tongue. By the time Caro and Ina are ready to go, I feel warm inside, ready to smile at anyone who passes, my heavy thoughts a distant memory.
Laughing, we make our way to the stables. Distantly I register how strange this is—sneaking out of Everless in the company of the princess and her handmaiden. When I notice the jewels that adorn Ina’s neck, Addie’s face flares in my mind like a flame, then quickly dies.
As soon as we duck into the stables, someone clears his throat off to the left. We look over to see a handsome but plain black carriage, a footman I don’t recognize lounging in the driver’s seat. Ina turns delightedly to Caro, who just smiles mysteriously. Its slight, thin, curved shape reminds me of a crescent moon.
“Ina,” I exclaim, “let’s hope this outing is more successful than . . .” I intend to remind her of the trip to the orphanage, of course. But she turns to me quickly, her eyes wide, shaking her head slightly. I swallow my words. Caro cocks her head. I remember how closely Ina guards the secret of her curiosity—not even a footman can hear of it.
Everything is easier with Caro’s organizing hand. The footman, a young man about Caro’s age, is clearly in on the game. He flashes Ina a toothy grin as we clamber into the carriage. “Feeling restless, Your Highness?” he jokes.
Ina volleys an easy smile back at him and shakes a mocking finger. “I’m going to live in a stuffy palace my whole life.” The footman nods tightly, as if he’s afraid of incurring the Gerlings’ wrath for the slander that so easily falls from Ina’s lips. Caro watches her with something like longing on her face. I wonder if Ina knows what’s to come—the Queen’s death. “I may as well have a little fun now, while I still can.”
In the carriage, a tiny oil lamp overhead illuminates velvet seats and paneled walls. Ina casts her gaze out the window. In the dim light, her eyes take on a sudden sadness. Discomfort prickles inside me, too, puncturing the lightness from the drink. While Caro speaks to the footman, I follow Ina’s stare, trying to see what she sees—the high walls of Sempera’s palace, the gilded throne, the tight, claustrophobic ribbing of a formal dress.
Her past—her birth—flits through it all like a shadow, only to vanish when you bring a light to it.
Caro falls back onto the seat next to me. I tear my eyes from the window and avoid Caro’s, afraid that meeting her gaze will reveal what I’ve just understood about Ina—that it’s the orphanage and her traitorous thoughts about the Queen, not this tipsy midnight excursion, that would be scandalous, maybe deadly, if her adoptive mother found out.
The liquor in my veins shields me from the cold as we ride out into the night. All that’s gnawed at me since I started at Everless—my fear, my discomfort at not fitting in, and even my constant, desperate desire for justice, for answers—has receded to the back of my mind as I watch the road go by outside the window. Ina’s knees brush mine as we’re jostled by the ruts in the carriage road; she chats with Caro, no trace of sadness in her features. I suppose she must have learned to snatch moments of privacy as a child learns to steal treats from the pantry.
Soon, the scattered lights of Laista are glowing before us. The carriage deposits us in front of an unmarked door of polished wood, on a narrow but well-kept street. We’re in the good part of Laista, on the side of the road closest to Everless. When Papa was the Gerlings’ blacksmith, he used to take me to Laista’s summer carnival every year, to see strange animals and eat shaved ice flavored with honey. Even after we moved to Crofton, I begged to go again—but Papa refused, saying he would still be able to smell the smoke from Everless.
Though nearly empty, the streets are just as I remember. The clean cobblestone rings out underneath our mares’ hooves, and torches light up the street at intervals. Even the snow on the rooftops is clean. It covers the row of buildings like a blanket, unmarred and shining. While Caro pays the driver, Ina points out the wreaths that dot Laista’s doorways. My eyes stop on a pane of fogged glass—behind it, a slim, curly-haired figure works her rag around a kettle . . .
She raises one hand to clear the moisture from the window, then peers through the glass, directly at us, before suddenly receding. A spark of familiarity flies through me.
“Ina, Jules!” Caro’s already walking away, gesturing for us to follow. When I turn my head again, all trace of the girl is gone. I walk toward Caro’s beckoning hand. She leads us inside one of the taller buildings and down a set of stairs, narrow but well kept.
The tavern I worked at was a dingy, hopeless place, filled with men and women with prematurely lined faces and cloudy eyes, burning their time for another mug even as they drank to forget how little life they had left. But this is another world—not luxurious like Everless, but comfortably elegant. Moneyed. I’m reminded that in this world, people drink to enjoy themselves rather than to dull the sting of a hard life.
Something in me—sharp, angry—stirs.
The room is dim and expansive inside; the marble countertops gleam and the wall behind the counter ripples with bottles of every shape and color. Tobacco smoke drifts from the bar, where a handful of people sip from crystal glasses. A handsome young man quickly ushers us to an empty, private table in a back corner. I find myself wondering if that is simply how everyone is treated in places such as this, or if this, too, is Caro’s quiet planning at work.
“One bottle of your best red wine and one of madel, please,” Caro orders in her carrying whisper. She looks beautiful in this low light, her pale eyes glittering against her skin.
Before I realize any time has passed at all, two bottles appear: one dark green, one red. The waiter places three heavy crystal glasses in front of us.
When I drink a sip of the madel, the drink froths and burns in my throat; the fire shoots to my belly much faster than it did in Caro’s chambers. I sputter, and Caro laughs, a light tinkling sound of bells.
“Here,” she whispers. “Let me show you.” She pours a bit of red wine into her glass, then, carefully, adds a tiny bit of gold madel. The wine fizzes slightly, then settles. Caro extends the cup to me.
Cautiously, I sip. The wine has diluted the madel, making it strange and smoky. It still burns a little going down, but not enough to make my eyes water. As Caro grins and Ina laughs, a bolt of unexpected happiness surges through me. The moment stretches—Ina’s laugh turns into a song, and Caro’s smile melts over her face—into one shimmering, expanding bubble. Then Caro speaks, bringing the world back to a normal pace.
“Start with that,” she says, “and maybe we can work you up to straight madel by the end of the night.” She takes a long sip out of her own cup.
Ina giggles as she looks around the room, pure joy lighting her face. She raises her glass. “A cheer,” she says. “To three long-orphaned girls who found their home.”
I smile back and start to raise my glass, but the expression on Caro’s face catches me. For a moment, it’s shock, her eyes wide—then it solidifies into something close to anger as she looks between me and Ina.
“Jules,” she says, her voice even, but her eyes tight. “I thought your father only just passed.”
Hurt stabs through my chest at her bluntness. “He—he did,” I stammer. “But I found out that I was adopted a few weeks ago. Not that it matters,” I add quickly. “He raised me.”
Ina has finally noticed something amiss. She stares at me, her eyes apologetic, then words spill out of her mouth to cover the awkwardness of sharing my secret. “She might be one of those Briarsmoor children, Caro. We should convince the Queen to take us there. For Jules.”
“Perhaps,” Caro says blankly.
I look down, mortified at Ina’s request and embarrassed that Caro thinks I’ve kept something from her. But in the span of a breath, Caro’s face smooths out, her pleasant smile returned.
She gestures around us. “Ina, even if you have the best liquor in the palace next year, I don’t think you’ll find anything to match this atmosphere.”
I hear Ina reply, “Oh, I think Roan’s company will make up for that. He doesn’t want to stay around his older brother a day longer than he has to, and I like Everless well enough, but it’s nothing like Shorehaven.”
In the palace next year. I make some vague noise of interest, studying my drink intently and hoping Ina and Caro can’t see the wetness that has suddenly sprung to my eyes.
With all the furor and breathlessness pervading Everless over the wedding, it never occurred to me to wonder what would come after.
Ina will leave Everless. Roan will leave Everless.
The Queen will disappear, too, and I’ll be left with only the mystery of my father’s death for company. And Liam’s dark glares.
I mumble something about getting us another round of drinks and push back from the table, keeping my face angled away from Caro and Ina. A few moments before, the madel warmed my blood and loosened my limbs. Now I feel a little like I did at the mava pile—surrounded by a thin haze of fog, faces and voices swirling around me but never quite solidifying into sense. I can tell I’m swaying slightly as I walk but can’t steady myself.
My thoughts become jagged and sharp-edged: Ina and Roan are moving to the palace; and I’ll be alone again, my childhood love gone.
Maybe it wasn’t entirely the pursuit of truth giving me strength these past two weeks.
Suddenly, the heat and smoke are pressing in on me. The tavern feels like a furnace. Faces smear into blurs, voices and laughter muddle into one harsh sound. I grip the counter to keep my balance. My head spins.
Air. I need air.