Followed by Fros(60)

I chuckled. “He is in good hands.”

“Can I get you anything, Misa?” he asked, eyes on mine. “You can come inside—we have braziers for a reason.”

I wanted to reach out to him, touch his hand, but I kept my own hands firmly clasped in front of me. “I’m fine,” I said, assuring him with a smile. “I can see and hear everything, and I don’t think the guests want to wear heavy coats.”

He smiled, faintly. “If you do—”

“I’ll ask one of the servants,” I said. Laughing, I added, “Go enjoy your night off, Lo! Before your food gets cold.”

He nodded and graced me with one last smile before heading back inside. I tried to watch him through the windows, but he sat just out of view.

Hands trembling, I managed three more bites of rice before it grew too cold, and I didn’t touch the wine in front of me. Not only did I want to avoid it freezing to my lips, but the thought of staining Kitora’s dress made me nearly ill. When a servant came to claim my plate, I told him I was fine for the night, but he still brought me roasted chicken with rosemary, which smelled intoxicating. I managed a few small bites. God bless the men and women who had divined such an amazing dish. I hated to waste it, but curse aside, my stomach had tied itself into knots, and I doubted I could have eaten much more anyway.

The guests began clapping, and I leaned back in my chair enough to see Imad addressing them. For once he wore the garb of a prince—gold robes and a thin crown, though his earrings remained unchanged. I could not catch everything he said, but excitement flavored his tone, and he even glanced out the window near the end of his speech to wave at me.

When he sat down again, out of sight, I caught a glimpse of Lo and leaned forward a little to get a better look at him. He was sitting beside one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen—my age or perhaps a little younger, with skin smooth as a babe’s and a long braid of hair the color of rich coffee. She wore red with bright orange appliqués, a sheer orange head scarf pinned above either ear, and several beaded necklaces of varying lengths. She had large eyes and a small nose. Perfect, red-stained lips. Petite. She looked like a painting.

A plate of yellow rice sat half-eaten on the table before her. She hadn’t been served the chicken yet, so perhaps she had arrived late.

I paused, watching her. Who was she, and why was she beside Lo? They seemed . . . familiar with each other.

I couldn’t ignore the pulling in my gut, like half of me was sinking.

Lo spoke with her and the older woman beside her, who was also still picking at the first course. Judging by their facial features, I assumed she was the younger woman’s mother, but neither of them resembled Lo. So they were not family. At least, not immediate.

My eyes returned to the young woman. She had to be the most beautiful person I had ever seen.

I touched my own face, envisioning its pallor in my mind, the darkness around my eyes and the whiteness of my hair, cut short at an odd angle—the exact opposite of what was considered pretty for Zareedian women.

Just then, the young woman at Lo’s side glanced up and spied me through the window. I snapped back to my upright position, and, fortunately, a new round of dancers filled the floor, drawing the audience’s attention there.

I rubbed my chest, frowning at the uneasy feeling that lingered there, beneath the ever-present cold.

To my surprise, as evening settled over Mac’Hliah, the young woman who had been with Lo came out to the balcony. Seeing me, she smiled and quickened her step until she stood at the other end of the table. She bowed.

Her beauty was even more astonishing close up.

“You are the Svara Idyah, Smeesa?” she asked.

I nodded and tugged on the edge of my head scarf.

“May I sit with you?”

Stunned, I nodded again.

She pulled out a chair—her fingers smooth and slender—and sat. She had hazel eyes fringed with dark lashes.

“My name is Faida,” she said, “from Djmal, near Kittat, where you visited.”

“Djmal,” I repeated, and cleared my dry throat. “That’s where Lo—the captain of the guard—is from.” Family, then? I prayed she was one of Lo’s many siblings, or perhaps a cousin. Could the older woman be his aunt?

She lit up. “Yes! Yes, you know it!”

I nodded and fought the urge to chew on my lip.

“I wanted to thank you,” she said. I saw gooseflesh spread across her neck from my chill, but she didn’t flinch away. “For coming last spring and bringing us water. My father is a merchant, and my brothers are farmers. It has helped us such a great deal. Our lands are green again because of you.” She bowed her head once more. “I would have brought a gift had I known you’d be here. Please accept my utmost gratitude in its stead.”

I couldn’t believe her words. Only Imad had ever thanked me in such a manner. “I . . . I didn’t . . .” Swallowing, I settled on, “You’re welcome.”

She smiled at me. “I am glad to have met you, Smeesa. Lo has spoken well of you. Please do not hesitate to return to our lands. You are a blessing to Zareed.”

Stuttering, I thanked her again for her kind words, and she retreated back to the throne room, bowing in my direction once more before leaving the balcony.

I shivered and rubbed my arms to smooth the icy pinpricks on my skin. Had Lo been telling these women about me? Had Faida asked? I could not feel warm, but Faida’s words had softened me. The thought that I’d helped people, made an actual difference in their lives, soothed me as any warm drink should. I felt a heaviness leave my shoulders—it had settled so gradually that I hadn’t noticed its weight.