The Orphan Queen (The Orphan Queen #1)(15)
“It’s my engagement ball. It would mean so much to me if you would join in the celebration.” Lady Meredith squeezed my hand and released me.
“We’d be delighted to attend,” Melanie said. “All our congratulations on your engagement.”
Lady Meredith practically glowed as she and Lady Chey offered slight curtsies before turning down the hall, their maids in tow. “We’ll find a russet for Julianna. It will match her eyes. And perhaps a teal for her friend . . .”
Melanie and I exchanged pleased smiles as our guide beckoned us farther into the palace.
We didn’t have to hide the way we gazed around the palace, but if our expressions were wonder filled, it was by design only. I noted statues large enough to conceal me, and ventilation grates where supplies could be hidden. I kept track of my steps and every turn we took until finally the servant produced a key and opened a heavy oak door.
“These will be your apartments,” the man said. “Traditionally, they were kept as quarters for visiting Liadian royalty. We thought it fitting that you receive them now.”
I didn’t respond, just slipped into the large sitting room to get a good look at the silk-covered sofas and chairs, the lace draped across tables, and a half-dozen full bookcases. There were paintings of people and places, but nothing familiar.
“All the furniture was carved from trees cut from the surrounding forest, primarily. The wood panels on the walls are chestnut, like the rest of the palace.” He went on, naming everyone in the portraits and passing along any gossip he knew first-or second-or thirdhand. “Here is the larger bedchamber where the duchess will sleep. The fireplace, you might have noticed, has no back, so the fire can throw its heat into both the sitting room and the master bedroom. For privacy in the summer, there’s a lever that will lower a blind.”
He guided us through the washroom and Melanie’s room. Everything was more spacious and grand than I could have hoped. During our tour, a small army of maids invaded with towels, robes, and baskets of soaps and other toiletries. Skyvale Palace had real plumbing and had been fitted with gas lamps in every room.
“Skyvale Palace is a little over two hundred years old—pre-wraith, like most of the homes inside the Hawksbill wall—which means it was originally built and run using magic. In the last hundred years, we’ve significantly refined the methods of running the palace using new scientific advancements and modern technology, and we also make use of systems that previously used magic.” He finished showing us all the wonders of the palace, and finally left us alone.
I unbraided my hair and indulged in the most delicious bath of my life, lingering until the water grew cold, and then put on a long silver dress to explore while Melanie took her turn.
There were five windows, two of which were actually doors and led to a small balcony; one of those doors was in my room. Thoughtfully, Melanie had already hung our red ribbon in the window: the signal to the other Ospreys that we’d succeeded in installing ourselves in the palace.
I stepped outside and leaned over the edge of the balcony. The air was crisp with an autumn breeze and the scent of turning leaves and the clatter of horse-drawn carriages down wide avenues splashed with red and gold. The private district for Skyvale’s nobility, all wealth and extravagance.
Among the autumn foliage, indigo-coated guardsmen walked the perimeter of the grounds. Two men passed the base of the wide staircase, near the entrance gate.
From here, Skyvale was beautiful. The immense wall surrounding Hawksbill blocked most of the view of the other districts: Greenstone, Thornton, and the Flags. From here, the city had no poor, no refugees, no flashers being taken off the streets.
No children living in a forgotten castle in the mountains.
No deadly wraith rushing eastward.
All that could be seen was beauty, prosperity, and people who’d never known anything beyond their own privilege. Children ran under the white cascade of a fountain far below. Their laughter floated upward.
“This is certainly a nice change from the old palace.” Melanie stood in my doorway, wrapped in towels and a robe.
“More dangerous.” I nodded toward her room. “Get dressed. Dinner should arrive soon, and we’ve got work to do.”
She snapped and thumped her chest, the Ospreys’ salute, and vanished into the other room.
After a maid dropped off a heavy crock of soup and a loaf of fresh bread, Melanie and I settled around the table in the sitting room. We devoured the soup within five minutes, and only when we were halfway through the bread did we slow down. Eating was a competition in the old palace, where the slowest often nursed growling stomachs.
The desk in my bedroom had been stocked with pens and ink and palace stationery, so we positioned a few sheets side by side and started with a long rectangle, a huge rounded bulge at the back.
“This is the palace.” I drew two perpendicular lines for the exterior doors we knew about, including the one we’d entered through. “And the king’s office was . . .” My pen nib hovered over the eastern end of the palace. “Here?”
“Yes.” Melanie broke off a piece of bread and chewed. “And that’s us.” She tapped the western front.
I marked both locations. “What else?”
“There was a glass building near the office, too. I saw it out the window.”
I’d missed it, but I drew a glass house where she pointed. “The king is ill,” I said, adding outlines of the front gardens and courtyards. A circle and spray for the fountain, an immense staircase, and a scattering of statues: I added everything I remembered.