Incendiary (Hollow Crown #1)(65)
“Let’s speak no more of this. Forgive me for saying, but you look a bit green. I will bring you a tea tray, and you are not to move until tomorrow.”
“But Justice Méndez is expecting me.”
“I will go to him. He, most of all, needs you well.” Leo ushers me out of the washroom and into the bedchamber to dress me. I catch my reflection in the mirror, and I don’t see the green pallor he’s referring to, but I feel the ache in every muscle, the stiffness in my right hand, and the burning from the slash on my chest. I know that if he weren’t here, I’d sink into a puddle of my own misery and weakness.
I dry my hair on a towel and get into bed. I realize, with the prince absent, his chambers will be empty. He wouldn’t leave the weapon somewhere anyone could find, but there could be clues. Now, to get there alone without Leo or an escort will be my challenge.
As Leo adjusts the bedding, I take hold of his hand, and he seems almost surprised when I say, “Thank you.”
He pats my gloved hand, wet despite how hard I tried to keep it out of the bathwater.
As I drift off to sleep, I don’t know if the voice comes from Leo or from the tunnels of the Gray, but it is as clear as cathedral bells. “Don’t thank me just yet.”
I jerk awake at the sound of heavy footsteps. The sky is still dark.
I slip out of bed and listen at the door of my room. There’s a lock barring me from getting out. I kneel in front of the doorknob to see if there’s a way to pick it open. Cylinder locks are only for prisoners, and that’s what I am. Then I see a shadow. And another. Footsteps. Two sets of them pacing back and forth in front of my door.
Guards.
Now, are they to stop me from getting out or someone else from getting in? Perhaps both. I hold my breath, try to be as silent as I can, and get back into bed, reminding myself that no matter how comfortable and decadent everything in here is, it is still a cage.
Chapter 16
A different attendant collects me in the morning after Leo gets me ready for the day. He calls the girl Sula. Her brown hair is neatly parted with braids pinned at her nape. She walks as if her clothes are made of wood, her arms tight against her sides. I can practically smell her fear. For a moment, I consider asking her about Prince Castian, but I notice her grip a circular wooden pendant that is sold in market stalls everywhere. It is nothing but a bit of verdina wood carved and polished with holy oils. It couldn’t ward off a mosquito bite, but ever since a merchant claimed it would protect the Leonesse from Moria magics, they’ve come into fashion.
I’ll have to find another way to get to the prince’s rooms, with her hovering close by.
We cross the sky bridge toward the southwest tower on the way to Justice Méndez’s office. In the early sunlight, the green-and-gold mosaics glitter like sunshine on dewy petals. The archway is etched with vines and heart-shaped leaves. No doubt this tower is meant to resemble the green forests that cut across the center of Puerto Leones.
A cluster of five courtiers turns the corner and halts when they notice me. They gather behind their lace fans. Their snickers travel even across the bridge. I think of what Leo said last night. Does the prince truly only attend his father’s court to pick lovers? How can anyone want to be touched by him?
“We must wait for our betters to pass,” the attendant says in a small, high-pitched voice. She folds her hands over her stomach and lowers her head.
I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to bow. Obedient is not the same as clever. But Margo has never been in the palace. She doesn’t know that sometimes it is in the long run.
The girls glide across the bridge. I already know what they’re going to do before the first one reaches me. Sula is invisible to them and, as much as I wish, I am not. When they reach me, the first girl shoves me aside, like she’s clearing a path in a crowd. Her round hips knock me off-balance, and I grab for her with my right hand. Stitches pull against my tender skin, but when I make contact, my magics rise from deep within me. Anger bubbles up and I lash out, plucking a memory from her.
He would never notice her. But she has to try.
The orange-and-gold ballroom is lit by torches and fat white candles that illuminate the floor-to-ceiling mosaics. It isn’t the best lighting for her face, or so her mother reminded her before she was sent to Queen Josephine’s court.
A troupe of musicians plays in the center of the room, where the crowned prince watches with a bored pout. The prince hasn’t danced a single time, no matter who approaches to congratulate him on his capture of the rebel leader. He gestures and his majordomo runs over with a covered wine goblet that he places in the prince’s capable hand.
She takes a breath, gathers her skirts, and strides across the ballroom. If she wants to stand out among the others, she has to be bold. Future kings want bold queens, don’t they?
Prince Castian looks at her with blue eyes that seem to glisten. When he blinks they’re a bit green. Her tongue is thick as she loses courage. He’s so beautiful. So beautiful her heart gives a painful squeeze.
“Lovely night, isn’t it, Lady Garza?” His voice is smooth, like thick crème cake. It skims against her body.
“Yes, Your Grace. Much safer now, thanks to you.”
His brow furrows, and she dips low into a curtsy. So low that she can’t hold her balance and she falls, her hands smacking the cold mosaic floor.