Page 26 of Heart of Night
Kaira doesn’t speak while I scrub at my hair with the lavender soap she hands me, busying herself with plucking at a heap of fabric I hadn’t noticed in a basket in the corner. She could shove my head underwater easily. Ephegos must truly trust Herinor to leave me alone with anyone on the male’s guard—whether they intend to hurt me or help me. Only, when I emerge from the water, I’m reluctant to leave the soothing warmth of the element that once wrapped me in armor to protect me from fire and sword. My shoulders slump, the revitalizing effect of the bath draining in an instant.
“What do you think will happen at court?”
Kaira glances up from the blood-red satin skirt she’s smoothing out over her arm. “All I know is that I am to dress you in these.” Setting down the skirt, she lifts a cream top with detailed flower embroidery in the same hues. “And then you’ll go to the palace. I’m not sure what else will happen, other than meeting the king, of course.”
“Of course.” My empty stomach folds itself over. I’ll be returned as a traitor’s daughter, a traitor myself. A widowed queen of a mythical menace.
Steeling myself, I dry off in a surprisingly soft towel and take the plain undergarments Kaira hands me, then the skirt, and put them on. The top is scratchy, made from a type of flax native to the north of Tavras. Elbow-length sleeves complement the loose cut of the piece, the embroidered blossoms giving it structure and adding detail the average Tavrasian woman couldn’t afford. It’s a sort of fashion I haven’t worn since I left Meer with my mother, and I can’t help it, nostalgia takes me over as I try to push back all the memories beloved and hated.
With a few efficient moves, Kaira has my hair swept into her hands, and before I can tell her not to do anything elaborate with it, a wave of heat rushes along my scalp, making me shrink toward the sink and the mirror to check if the Flame has set my hair on fire.
It falls neat and dry over my shoulders in a waterfall of ash blonde like someone spent hours combing it out as it dries on its own.
“The perks of having at least a spark of Flame magic in me.” She shrugs at me through the mirror before I find my voice. “Let’s get it all nice and tidy so the King of Tavras doesn’t notice Ephegos brought a warrior queen into his home.”
A laugh bubbles to my throat, and I want to tell her I’m far from a warrior. I have fought but one battle. The expression in her eyes tells me she’s serious, though, and I take it as a compliment.
“We wouldn’t want him to make a mistake.” It’s been over a decade since I’ve last seen Erina. I don’t even know what he looks like now. If the deep-set eyes of his father or the lovely mouth of his mother made it into his adult features. All I know is that he wasn’t bad as a child, just entitled, unaware of the sorrows tormenting the lesser in his kingdom—a kingdom of wealth where a shortage of food has never been a problem—or the threat of magical creatures taking his lands, his people, his everything.
Except for that one woman every three years, of course, when it used to be Tavras’s turn to supply a bride for the Crow King. He was aware of those.
My stomach tightens painfully. That Crow King no longer exists. His final bride has returned to Tavras.
And Erina was the one to sanction my imprisonment, my being made into a tribute to a mystical people known for their brutality and bloodlust.
Perhaps the kindness of child-Erina has ceased entirely.
“Do you know anything about him?” Kaira prompts, probably reading from my absent gaze that I must have wandered into my memories.
“Nothing that would help me now.” Truth. After what he did, I no longer know what to expect.
Kaira’s fingers tug my hair into a tight braid starting at the crown of my head and pulling new strands in with every time she weaves another layer. It’s a more elaborate version of the braid she’s wearing, and with my ash-blonde tresses, the effect is startling. I don’t think I’ve worn my hair like this since my childhood years when my mother dressed me up for social events. All of a sudden, I’m eight years old again, and I’m sitting beneath a banquet table, listening to the voices of noblemen and women, to the society of Meer, their laughter and chitchat.
I wish I was small enough to hide under a table now.
There’s nowhere for me to go, though, as the door swings open after a single knock announcing someone is about to let themselves in.
In his black and russet uniform, Herinor looks like a brutal half-god. He’s washed, trimmed his beard, and tied his hair at the nape of his neck. Had it not been for the scars on his face and the grim line of his mouth, I might have been fooled that he isn’t the torturing Crow who’s poisoned me over and over again.
“Ephegos insisted.” He shifts on his feet, surprisingly uncomfortable in the well-fitted clothes.
“They look good,” Kaira reassures him before I can tell him I don’t care one bit what Ephegos insists on.
Am I imagining Herinor’s cheeks turning a shade darker? Might be the light.
Kaira clears her throat then gestures at me. “All done and ready.”
I don’t feel ready as Herinor walks me down the same hallway we took on our way to the bathing room, Kaira a step behind us.
“I’ll see you later tonight,” she whispers, her hand brushing my arm in a gesture that could mean to comfort me. A moment later, she turns to the narrow staircase we’re passing and disappears with near-soundless footsteps.
Herinor stops in the entrance hall, flashing his teeth in an attempt at what I suppose should be a grin. “Ephegos is already at the palace,” he announces, reaching for his belt where only three blades are attached in matching sheaths—and one is stuck in the waistband of his pants like it won’t slash open his skin at one wrong movement.
That’s the one he draws and holds out for me.
I blink, more out of shock that he isn’t offering me the pointy end to cut myself on but the hilt.
“Take it. Hide it under your skirts. There should be a leather pocket sewn into the folds.” He draws his brows into a tight line, urgency defining his features as he waits for me to pick it from his fingers.