Crush the King (Crown of Shards #3)(2)
The woman eyed me a moment, then focused on the musicians again. The ogre face on her neck kept staring at me, though, almost as if it could sense my unkind thoughts about its mistress.
All morphs had some sort of tattoo-like mark on their bodies that indicated what creature they could shift into. My torturer’s mark was a snarling ogre face with the same coppery hair and amber eyes that the woman herself had. The ogre’s eyes narrowed, and its lips drew back, revealing its many pointed teeth. The creature wasn’t happy with me either.
Despite the disapproving glower, I winked at the ogre. I was rather incorrigible that way. Morph marks often mirrored the expressions and emotions of their human counterparts, and the ogre rolled its eyes, just like its mistress had more than once during my training session.
Lady Xenia, my torturer-slash-dance-instructor, stabbed her cane at the musicians. “Leave us! Now!”
She didn’t have to tell them twice. The musicians clutched their instruments, grabbed their sheet music off the metal stands, and scurried out of the dance hall. The violinist who’d laughed at my cheeky salute gave me a sympathetic look, and I winked at him too. He grinned back, then fled with the others.
Xenia turned and stabbed her cane at me. The ogre head on top of the silver stick matched the morph mark on her neck. “You shouldn’t encourage the musicians. They’re here to work, not laugh at your pitiful attempts at humor.”
I sidestepped her cane, limped over to a bench, picked up a towel, and wiped the sweat off my face and neck. “Since when is dancing so much bloody work? Dancing should be fun.”
She shook her head. “No. The Tanzen Falter is not fun. Not for you, Evie. Not if you want to gain that alliance with Queen Zariza.”
“She’s your cousin. Can’t you convince her to align with me some other way? We both know that Unger joining forces with Bellona and Andvari is in the best interests of all three kingdoms.”
“Zariza might be my cousin, but she is still the queen of Unger, and she answers to no one, not even me,” Xenia said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Just like you are the queen of Bellona and answer to no one.”
I snorted. “Tell that to Fullman, Diante, and the other nobles. Because they are all quite convinced I answer to them and them alone.”
Xenia shrugged, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “Regardless, Zariza will challenge you to dance during the Regalia, and you must be ready. Beating her at the Tanzen Falter will show your strength. Plus, it’s the only way she’s going to align with you.”
I shook my head. “I will never understand why you Ungers turn everything into a dance competition.”
“Because we are a civilized people. Unlike you Bellonans with your gladiator traditions. To you barbarians, everything always ends in a bloodbath in an arena.” She sniffed her disapproval.
I wanted to point out that many Ungerian dances ended with the loser being executed, but I held my tongue. About that, at least. “Well, you do realize you’re not supposed to poke the queen of Bellona with your cane, right?”
Xenia sniffed again. “This is my dance hall, and I will poke whomever I like, whether it’s you, Zariza, or some other queen who dares to step through those doors.”
“Then I’m glad that I’m not a queen,” a voice drawled, “and that I don’t have to learn how to dance.”
A woman ambled into the room. She was around my age, twenty-seven or so, and tall and muscled, with braided blond hair, golden amber eyes, and lovely bronze skin. She was wearing a dark green tunic, along with black leggings and boots. A dark green cloak was draped over her shoulders, but the long, flowing fabric did little to hide the enormous spiked silver mace dangling from her black leather belt. As if the weapon wasn’t intimidating enough, a morph mark was also visible on the woman’s neck—a fearsome ogre face, also with braided blond hair and amber eyes.
Paloma, my best friend and a former gladiator, studied Xenia and me. “If you two are finished with your twirling lessons, perhaps we can get on with the more important business of the evening.”
Xenia sniffed for a third time. “No business is more important than dancing. You should pay more attention to it. After all, it’s part of your heritage.”
Paloma frowned. “What do you mean?”
She gestured at the morph mark on Paloma’s neck. “You’re an ogre, which means you have some Ungerian blood in your family. Didn’t your parents ever tell you that? Or teach you any Ungerian dances?”
Paloma shifted on her feet, clearly uncomfortable. “No. My father was from Flores, and I don’t remember my mother ever saying that she was from Unger.”
Paloma’s mother had disappeared when she was a child, and Paloma had no idea what had happened to her. Perhaps even worse, her father had kicked her out when she was sixteen because he thought her morph mark made her a monster. So Paloma’s inner ogre and apparently Ungerian heritage was something of a sore spot.
Xenia stepped closer, peering at the ogre face on Paloma’s neck. “I’ve never paid much attention to it before, but your mark is quite striking. It reminds me of . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“What?” Paloma asked in a low, guarded voice.
Xenia shook her head. “Nothing. Just an old silly hope.”
She smiled, but her expression was more gritted teeth than easy happiness. Even more telling, the scent of her ashy heartbreak swirled through the air, burning my nose with its sharp intensity. My mutt magic let me smell people’s emotions, everything from soft, rosy love to hot, peppery anger to Xenia’s sudden grief. She must be thinking about her child, the one she had lost through her own supposed foolishness.