The Mirror King (The Orphan Queen, #2)(106)

He shook his head, staring at the clothes in a forlorn way. “I’m definitely going to get those dirty.”

“That would be very embarrassing for me.” I dug out a pair of white stockings to match.

“Why? No one cares what I wear, or if I get it dirty.”

“Not tomorrow.” I folded my choices and separated them from the rest. Then I turned to meet his eyes—my mirror eyes. “Tomorrow, you’ll be wearing these clothes to my coronation.”

His jaw dropped. “I can go?”

I forced a smile. “If you dress properly and promise to behave, you’re invited.”

“I will do anything you want, my queen.” Chrysalis knelt and lowered his head in genuflection. “Anything you want.”





THIRTY-EIGHT


EARLY THE NEXT morning, the seamstress, Rosanne Wallace, came to my room with a long, paper-wrapped package.

“What is that?” I glanced at the clock; it wasn’t even dawn.

“This was your mother’s coronation gown.” She turned on the light and hung the gown from the top of the wardrobe. Though there were likely several layers of paper for protection, the whole package seemed bigger than necessary. At least twice the size of any normal gown. “I thought you might wear it today. It was her mother’s before her, too.”

So it was old, out of fashion, and probably ready to fall apart. That seemed appropriate.

I rinsed my face and mouth before allowing her to measure me. She was quick and gentle, and muttered numbers to herself as she went. The whole time, the gown waited beneath its packaging, huge and mysterious.

“You’re taller than your mother,” said Rosanne. “And skinnier. We can let out some of the hem and take in some of the seams, but you won’t fill it out, I’m afraid.”

“I’m used to it.” I stepped off the measuring stool and started for the washroom again. The coronation was at noon, the ball in the evening, and then I’d be back to running the kingdom, this time with actual authority.

A terrifying thought.

“You’ll look beautiful today, even if I lose a finger to this needle.”

The corner of my mouth twitched up. “If you bleed on it, then I’ll have the vermilion gown, not just the vermilion throne.”

“There are a lot of us who’ve wanted you to take the throne these last months you’ve been here.” She moved toward the dress hanging on the wardrobe.

“I’ve waited ten years for this day, and now that it’s here, I can’t stop thinking of everything it’s cost.” Deaths. Betrayals. The destruction of an entire kingdom. “Patrick always said today would be the day I’d take the crown. If I could have done it yesterday, I would have. Or tomorrow. The idea that I’m doing exactly what he wanted . . .”

I bit off my words. I barely knew this woman.

But she was warm and kind, and my mother had trusted her.

“It may be what he wanted, but it sounds like it’s what you wanted, too.” She smiled thoughtfully. “Your coronation couldn’t fall on a more appropriate day. Today is the day the kingdom was lost—and the day it was reclaimed. Today will be remembered for the rest of time.”

I’d been wrong about the gown: it was old, but it wasn’t falling apart. It was a pre-wraith creation of scarlet wool and silk, with gold and silver embroidery over almost every surface. Swirls, angles, and intricate knots: the gown was an extraordinary creation.

The waist was lower than currently fashionable, settling snuggly around my hips and dipping into a knifepoint, but I liked the texture of the embroidery under my palms, and the way it fit flat against my stomach instead of looser like modern gowns. It felt old and regal, like a part of my family’s history I’d never had a chance to learn about.

Radiants had crafted this gown, Rosanne told me while she worked. There was an entire book on the subject, filled with details about the type of fabric used, the embroidery thread, and the magic that repelled dirt and moths and rips. Alterations had to be made with special needles—illegal to make under the Wraith Alliance, but the Wallace family had some for emergencies.

Tobiah would have loved to hear about this, but he never would.

My coronation today was only because he was dead.

Tobiah. My Ospreys. Thousands of others.

Rosanne and Melanie swept my hair into a loose, low bun, and secured it with a delicate net of gold silk. They powdered my face, darkened my eyelids, and softened the circles under my eyes.

“Where’s Danie?” Usually this was her job.

“Poor thing felt ill this morning, I heard.” Rosanne frowned in sympathy. When her back was turned, Melanie lifted an eyebrow and shook her head. Danie was gone.

“That’s such a shame,” I said, and let them get back to work. So, Danie had run. Just one more thing to deal with today. After I had the vermilion throne.

When they put a mirror in front of me, I hardly recognized myself. I looked dramatic and otherworldly as they hefted a thick, red cape and fastened it to the gown’s shoulders and sleeves.

“I suppose no one really likes being able to use their arms.” I lifted my arms to the side and grimaced at the weight of embroidered wool.

“Try not to do that,” Rosanne said. “Practice gliding instead of marching, and pulling the cape with your wrists as well as your shoulders to help distribute the weight. And try not to lift your arms until you sit, when attendants will unclip the cape. They’ll fasten it again when you need to stand.”