Page 8 of Born for Silk
I step aside and watch her bathe in the fuss and adoration. She deserved it. I want it for her. She vows to love The Cradle, to lay with no man and to bear no children so no individual is ever favoured by her. For this, she deserves the adoration for the life-long sacrifice she will make for her Meaningful Purpose.
I watch on as a woman gifts her a ghastly diamond ring. But Tuscany wears a face of pure appreciation and takes it, sliding it on her finger as if she cannot wait to display it. “Thank you. Yes, I will wear it for you.”
I laugh, and she flicks me a playful frown that warms my cruel heart. I am smiling at her. I only smile for her; she is the only person I love.
She seems to have fun.
What young girl wouldn’t have?
I try to relax, but a haunting presence stirs around me.
On the far side of the piazza, eating from the banquet table, are six of the fourteen born from Turin’s Collective in the same decade as me; boys who want to be the heir, and the girls who dream of being queen.
Only now do they know who they bow to. The Cradle will be mine one day. And I will choose my Collective, the lords who govern The Trade lands, from them.
I already know who I will choose: Bled, Darwin, Medan, and my half-brother Turin Two. The rest will be given Meaningful Purpose as lords and ladies in minor towers across The Mainland if they are deemed worthy. Or sent to warden other Trades, if they are not. If they irritate me.
But Tuscany, she will be queen soon.
She is a mere ten years old but Turin’s sister—the late queen—died this past summer. Everyone has been waiting for a new goddess to worship.
And worship her they will.
“She’ll need you,” Kong says, joining my side and standing to watch the exuberant scene as I am. I don’t know what he means. She will always have me.
His words unsettle me.
I turn from my sister, but he is walking away, past a Common girl with her face painted in all gold, disappearing between double doors toward his wing.
As we move through the night, the Missing Moon surely perched high, my sister grows lethargic from canapes—sweets with every kind of chocolate imaginable.
I grow bored of all but her.
Yet, I let her have her moment.
She appears at my side, a smear of brown on her lip and a half-eaten truffle waving in her hand. My sister is high on sugar. “When I am queen,” she laughs, “I am going to travel to every Common community in The Cradle and give them all chocolates. I hear they don’t get to eat chocolate.”
She is endlessly sweet.
Naïve. Innocent. Trusting…
I lift my hand and wipe the truffle from her lip, half smiling, faking bemusement. “You will never visit a Common community when I am king, Tuscany. They are far too wild and savage for you, sweet sister. Besides, I think chocolate is the last thing on their minds.”
She looks at the treat in her hand. “That’s so sad.”
Dammit, I am a bastard.
“You will do great things. You will have your Meaningful Purpose and mother The Cradle like no queen ever has. I am sure,” I offer.
She brightens. “Will you walk me to my room, dear brother?” She spins and dances toward her chamber. I slowly follow. “I am so full now, and it’s nearly time for my rite. My last night as just me. I think I take vows or something. I hope whatever it is involves rubbing my feet while I have a huge sugar crash and fall asleep like a big, overfed house cat.” She giggles, glancing over her shoulder at me.
I can’t quell my smile.
We reach her door. “I’m going in now. Do you think something weird will happen? Like chanting and candles. I hope I don’t laugh and give myself away.”
I tap her nose. “I hope you do.”
The large oak door opens at her back. I survey the plush room, finding candles glowing on the sills and a marble table with ointments and towels. There are two women in white and coral colours—Trade Nurses. And?—