Threats of Sky and Sea Read online

  Emis contemplates the merits of a wig aloud, but Gisela dismisses the notion.

  “Lady Breena is probably unfamiliar with the weight of a wig,” she says. “I am sure that we don’t wish to burden her with something else when she is being presented at court for the first time.”

  Presented at court? Is that what they think is happening? I hold back a strangled burst of laughter. If they only knew. Perhaps I’ll be presented at court, but not the way they think.

  I step into the towel’s warmth, and their hands descend upon me, inspecting to be sure that they haven’t missed any stubborn spots of dirt.

  “Can’t have you meeting His Majesty looking like you did,” Gisela says.

  “Which color do you think would suit her best?”

  Gisela sighs. “I do wish we could put her in lavender. I think it would go nicely with her blue eyes and set off her hair splendidly. But you know how the king feels about that.”

  “He’s got something against purple?” I ask doubtfully, remembering the banners I passed by. “Then why does he have it plastered about his halls?”

  Emis rubs vigorously at my scalp with a smaller towel.

  “That won’t make it grow any longer, you know,” I tell her.

  “The king believes that shades of purple should be reserved for members of the royal family,” Emis says. “It’s not a law, per se, but he does…frown upon it.”

  “I’ll bet he does more than frown.”

  The girls pause tellingly, mouths in grim lines.

  “As I said,” says Gisela. “I think it’s best we choose another color for you.”

  “Gisela, do fetch the seamstress. They told us that we could use royal funds to see to our task. A modest gown surely falls within the realm of reason, and I’m sure she has one to spare.”

  “A gown?” I ask, dismayed. I haven’t worn skirts since I was a child. They always got in the way. “Couldn’t I just…I don’t know…have a clean pair of breeches?”

  Gisela turns slowly. “Ladies of the court do not wear breeches.” She says the word like it’s rolled around in my washed-away dirt.

  After she returns, they settle on a blue dress and stuff me into it like a doll. They put some black stuff on my eyes, and a simple comb is run over my hair.

  “I’m beginning to rethink this hair style of yours, Lady Breena,” Emis says playfully. “It suits you quite well.” She holds up a looking glass so I can see their finished product.

  A lady looks back at me. A stranger with sad eyes that I simply don’t know.

  Twelve

  The ladies aren’t permitted to go down to the throne room with me, but they clasp my hands before I leave and wish me luck. I still haven’t told them why I’m here, but they seem to sense I’ll need it.

  “May the Makers be with you,” Emis whispers into my ear. I squeeze their hands in gratitude before a guard leads me away.

  The palace is a maze of halls, windows that look out into courtyards, staircases, and people who appear as if from nowhere. The guard with me is silent. No stern fingers on my forearms this time. Maybe he doesn’t want to muss my dress, but I think it’s more likely he knows I have no hope of escape. We reach a pair of plum-colored iron doors. Purple again. They’re easily four times my height. The guard’s elongated axe thumps down onto the floor as he locks his eyes forward. I guess we’re to wait here then.

  “Worked in the castle long?” I ask, simply for something to do.

  No answer.

  “Do we just…go in?”

  Nothing.

  “Right,” I say slowly. “I’m just going to nip outside for some fresh air then, shall I?”

  The long axe blocks my path.

  It had been worth the attempt. I hold my hands up in surrender and consider the doors once more. What lies beyond them? Besides the king and his determination of my fate that I don’t have any say in.

  I’m uncomfortable in the dress I’ve been stuffed into. A shade of blue so pale it’s almost silver, the fabric is itchy. It looks thin, but my skin is stifled and can’t breathe.

  Where’s Da?

  As if cued by my thoughts, a figure appears at the end of the hall. I’m relieved to see the height and gait of the figure match Da’s. Despite the situation, I grin. The silhouette of a cape billows behind him. It’s so odd to see Da in such a costume. It’s like he’s an actor in a festival play.

  The figure draws closer, and I slump in disappointment. Not Da. Only Rick.

  “So nice to see you, too,” he murmurs as he stops even with me. He nods coolly at his guard, who abandons the grip he has on his arm with an apologetic shrug.

  “Thought you were my da.”

  “I’ve aged before my time then.”

  My opinion of him dips. I hadn’t pegged him as a vain peacock. Rolling my eyes, I look away. I don’t think he’s funny right now.

  “Breena.”

  I turn slightly to meet his eyes.

  “I’m sorry if I caused offense. Any excuse for a bit of levity to lighten this horrible atmosphere, you understand.”

  My annoyance is somewhat alleviated. “Right. So how was your trip to the groomers?”

  “Excuse me. Groomers are for poodles. I was in the menagerie’s spa area.”

  I stifle a laugh. “Of course.”

  He tips me a half-smile. “It was far from terrible. I expect worse in the coming moments to be quite honest with you.”

  “Me as well.” My trepidation returns, and I rotate to face the doors. I half-expect them to burst open, to be dragged inside and told that Da and I are to be summarily executed. It’s one of the less painful scenarios that my imagination is spinning about.

  Rick nudges me and indicates the hall he entered from. Another tall figure clips down its floor. This time, it actually is Da.

  Any residual doubts that he is who Katerine says he is vanish. He’s utterly at ease in his waistcoat, embroidered with gold. Black leather boots, finely cobbled, adorn his feet. His posture is relaxed, his head scrubbed clean, and his mustache has disappeared. He raises an expectant eyebrow at the guard, who releases him with a cough, cowed into submission.

  See, now that would be a useful skill. Why couldn’t he have taught me that attitude?

  I probably would have been rubbish at it anyway. I’ve never been able to pretend the way he has, to instinctively sense how to act with each person to get what I want. I’m a bad liar. I try to stick with the truth, even if it gets me into trouble.

  “I believe our entire party is here,” Da says. He reaches for the heavy door’s handle, and no one stops him. He claps the knocker down once and then three times in quick succession before standing back.

  As though being cranked wide like a drawbridge, the doors open to us. Da strides inside. I swallow a hard gulp of air and follow, with Rick and the guards at my back.

  It’s more than I feared. The elaborate throne room is filled with noblemen and women in all of their assorted finery. I catch the flash of sapphires and sparkle of diamonds on their wrists, fingers, and throats. Braids of gold chains dangle from a few women’s ears. Perhaps that’s a fashion here. I let myself be thankful that my ears aren’t pierced. The glittery threads of metal remind me of the farmers in Abeline and the way they’d tagged their cows to mark them as their own.

  I recognize Lady Kat at the front of the room, but Baunnid and Tregle are missing from the gathering and I wonder at it for a moment.

  We walk down a long violet carpet to a dais where several thrones are erected. In the lowest one sits a girl about my age with long black hair spilling over her shoulders like ink. Her gaze is impassive, the yellow-green of it piercing. Is she the Egrian princess? No, that can’t be right. I could swear the king only has one child, a son. The girl crosses her ankles subtly beneath her emerald skirts. She doesn’t care what happens to us today. She looks bored, as though she’d prefer to be somewhere else. So would I. But my fate’s going to be decided upon in this room, and I don’t have that o
ption. My heart knocks against my chest.

  Beside the girl is an empty throne—the prince’s. I assume he’s away, waging some war in his loathsome father’s name. And speaking of…

  My eyes shift reluctantly to the figure rising from the dais. Hard gray eyes are set above a bristly red beard. Swathed in purple from head to toe, he descends from his throne.

  “Ardie,” the King of Egria says. “Welcome home.”

  Thirteen

  Silence dominates the room. Utter stillness. There isn’t even a rustle of fabric against skin. I’m not sure the king blinks as he hold Da’s gaze. I’m reminded of the confrontation with Lady Kat in Abeline.

  Da crooks his arm across his middle and bows low at the waist, keeping his eyes on the king. Rick coughs behind me. When I turn to him, frowning, he nods meaningfully at Da’s bow. Oh. I bobble a humiliating curtsy to the king. Sweat beads on my back under the scratchy fabric of my dress.

  “Your Majesty,” Da says, voice low. He makes it droll, the punchline of a joke in the tavern.

  I close my eyes briefly in denial. Really, Da? I couldn’t stop him if I wanted to, but I wish he wouldn’t test our luck.

  In a scarlet red gown, Katerine pushes her way over to the herald, who watches the scene, arrested. She grinds her heel across his toes. He jolts, lips going white as he smothers a yelp.

  “May I present His Grace, Duke Ardin of Duchy Secan, Royal Adviser and Court Rider—”

  “—Former Court Rider,” Katerine interrupts.

  “—and his daughter, Lady Breena Rose of Duchy Secan.”

  I want to shove the words back into his mouth. It’s not a title I want. I know nothing of the duchy Secan, except that I don’t belong to it. But my mind quickly processes Da’s titles. Royal Adviser and Court Rider, eh? These must be the services Tregle alluded to. Da used to be the king’s adviser. It doesn’t surprise me as much as it should. I already know that they were friends once and that Da’s a Rider. It’s not such a great leap from that to Court Rider.

  “And,” the herald continues. “His Royal Highness, Prince Caden Garrett Langdon Edric Richard of the House of Capin.” He pauses. “The Fourth,” he adds lamely.

  This one does surprise me. The only person who’s come with us is… I turn, and Rick looks back at me mildly. “I do prefer Rick.”

  I’d figured him for a merchant’s son. Not a prince.

  “I don’t blame you” slips out. Even the small flutter of my words reverberates around the still marble room. “That’s a lot of names.”

  He laughs, and Makers help me, but the joy in it is such a welcome sound right now that I can’t suppress the smile that blooms on my face.

  “Wonderful,” the king pronounces loudly over us. “I flatter myself to think that you already know who I am, and those introductions were tedious enough. I hope you all agree?”

  A chorus of nervous laughter echoes throughout the room. My smile wilts and dies. A nervous-looking woman hides her twitches behind a fan.

  The king’s steely gaze is leveled at me. I meet it, though cringing inwardly. “What did they say your name was, my dear?”

  “Breena,” I whisper. It takes effort to get the word out.

  “Lovely,” he says. “Truly, a lovely name. I’d like to tell you a story, Breena, if I may.”

  I doubt I want to hear his story but doubt even more that a protest from me would matter.

  “When I was a little prince, all of the realm’s knights trained at the palace in the capital. We grew up together, all of us. It was a happy place, you know, Breena. The finest meats. Hot baths every night. Lavish parties. I’m sure you can imagi—then again, I suppose not.”

  I bristle at the intended insult.

  Pacing before us, the king continues. “I developed a deep friendship with one young man. A young noble, heir to a duchy who, like myself, was particularly gifted in war studies. Rubbish with a sword though.” Hands in the air, he chortles good-naturedly. “Sorry, Ardie. You know I could always best you in a duel.”

  Wind rattles at the windows. Da looks innocent, but I know it’s him. It’s a warning to the king: Da may not be good with a sword, but he has other weapons at his disposal. Weapons he no longer needs to hide.

  The king tuts and twists a finger in his beard. “None of that now.”

  “I know all of this already,” I burst out. Fury ignites Katerine’s eyes. “Your Majesty,” I add quickly.

  “You’re well-informed, young lady.” His voice carries in the quiet hall. “But others are not. Perhaps you’ll permit me to continue.

  “The best of friends, we were. When I began to see that Egria could be so much more than what it was, that same noble from my boyhood—a duke by then—was there at my side. There were others, of course, but it was him whom I knew I could count on against our enemies. He was gifted, Breena. Loyal. A difficult combination to find.

  “Unfortunately about sixteen years ago, he and his wife disappeared. Just—poof!” His fingers flick open. His smile is more bitter than a berry picked before it’s ripe. “You cannot imagine how thrilled I am to reunite with my dear friend.”

  He halts before us. The rancid stench of red wine wafts from him and stains his lips. Up close, I can see the resemblance between him and…Rick? Prince Caden. Their eyes have the same shape and color. The king has given his son his nose, a slope of a thing that’s just a little too pointy to be called feminine. He claps a hand on Da’s shoulder and turns to me.

  Regret fills his tone. “But it’s treason, what he’s done, Lady Breena. Would that we were peasant boys reuniting after years in different villages, but your father abandoned his liege. He was sent on a mission of goodwill to the island kingdom of Nereidium and asked to retrieve a treasure. Your father’s wife went missing at court one morning when we broke our fasts. Neither was ever heard from again. What do you make of that?”

  “Maybe my ma was sick of the corsets.” Distaste for the man in front of me makes me bold. Da’s mouth hitches up proudly before he smothers the grin.

  The king sighs. He’s nearly as convincing an actor as Da. Nearly. But the pretend emotions never touch the creases around his eyes.

  “It’s a difficult position I’m in. Difficult indeed. For all I know, you’ve been trading state secrets for the past sixteen years.”

  “I’ve been running an inn in the northern province for the past sixteen years.” Da says it as a matter of fact. Word of where he’s been must not have had a chance to spread yet for gasps and whispers surround me. The king hushes them with a raised hand.

  “Tell me, Ardin. Why did you flee?”

  This is a test. I’m certain of it from the way the king’s jaw clicks. He grinds his teeth. I hold my breath, waiting for Da’s reply. If he gives the right answer, maybe nothing bad will befall us. The wrong one and—

  “It’s as Breena said,” Da finally says. “Lady Corrine tired of being strapped into a corset.”

  The king’s jaw disengages as though swinging open from a hinge. “Kill the girl,” he spits. “Duke Ardin will spend his life in the dungeons.” He whirls and stalks back to his throne.

  Kill the girl. The words wallop into me like a physical blow. I stagger back, seeking an exit while a wave of excited chatter and exclamations sweeps through the nobles. But I’m not ready to die, I think. As though it’s up for discussion. The king’s knights move toward us.

  And life imprisonment for Da. The king will prolong his suffering. He’s probably enjoyed getting us cleaned up only to tell us that it would be the last of any such moments. How long can even Da last in the squalor of the cells on little food? A few years?

  A hatred such as I’ve never felt boils up within me. If I’m going to die anyway, I’ll go having told the king what I think of his justice. Angrily, I open my mouth.

  “Wait.”

  My jaw snaps shut. Two voices have spoken as one, but neither is mine.

  Da’s charade of aloofness is gone. “Please, Your Majesty. My daughter k
new nothing of any of this.”

  I pull at the sleeve of his waistcoat. “What are you doing?” I hiss. “We’re in this together.”

  “I won’t see you die for my crimes.”

  “Yes, Father.” This comes from the prince. His is the other voice I’d heard. “It’s unjust to punish the offspring for the trespasses of the father. Particularly in such a case as this.” His eyes hint at a hidden meaning. “Duke Ardin’s daughter has committed no crime and is of noble blood. By rights, the duchy belongs to her now.”

  My fingers fly of their own volition to Prince Caden’s sleeve as well. My arms hang between him and Da, and I feel like if I can keep them tethered to me, I can suspend this moment.

  “And what are you doing?” The crescendo of voices from the crowd covers my panicked question.

  “Helping you,” he says quietly.

  “Well, stop it. I’m staying with my da.”

  “You’re not,” he says, plucking my hand from his sleeve. He’s speaking quickly, under his breath. “My father isn’t bluffing. It’s this or he’ll have you executed. Let me help you, please. There’s no reason you should die.”

  I can’t fault that explanation, and I let my hand fall, struck momentarily wordless.

  The king smiles, but it’s tight around the eyes. They froth with rage over being publicly contradicted. “Oh, very well,” he says. “My errant son makes a point. The Lady Breena will be brought into court society. Send Duke Ardin to the dungeons.”

  “No!” The cry tears out of me, and I lunge for Da. The prince is right—and I don’t want to die. I know that easily enough. But being separated from Da is nearly as unthinkable.

  The hands that raised me catch my shoulders and lock me in a fierce embrace. I press my face into Da’s shoulder, trying to keep the world at bay for a minute longer.

  “They’ll try to tell you who you are, Breena Rose, but don’t you listen,” he whispers into my ear. I shift and see the king’s guards moving in over his shoulder. “It will all be different now, but you’re my daughter and I swear—I swear to you I had good reason.”