Stormcaster (Shattered Realms #3)(88)
“Shut up, Karn,” Lila growled.
“Maybe there’s something else you can sell the empress,” Destin said. “I understand that she forces prisoners to drink her blood and turns them into slaves.” He lifted Lila’s cup and waggled it under her nose. “How about . . . cups? Or maybe a product to get bloodstains out?”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying this.” Lila grabbed her cup back and drained it.
“Actually,” Karn admitted, “I’m not. I know enough about the empress to predict disaster if we’re not able to drive her away.”
“Then work with me,” Lila said.
Spending time with Lila Barrowhill always proved worthwhile, even if it had its price in aggravation. Somehow it was a pleasure to work with a person who never hid behind a fa?ade of respectability.
He rose, opened a secret cabinet, and pulled out a bottle of bingo and two glasses. “Shall we?”
35
THE EMPRESS’S NEW CLOTHES
Lyss and Breon were housed in a luxurious suite of rooms in one of the finished wings of the marble palace. They each had their own bedroom, with a connecting living area. The suite opened onto a terrace overlooking the ocean, but the only way out of the wing was through a locked wrought-iron gate and past a guard post that was staffed with blood mages around the clock.
Servants came and went with food trays and linens, their sandals whispering over the stones. Breon tried to strike up a conversation with some of them, but got nowhere. Lyss finally realized that it was because they were deaf—which is probably the best protection against a spellsinger.
A young woman came in one day with an armload of nightgowns and silk robes that she then hung in a tall wardrobe. She measured Lyss from top to toe, murmuring her surprise over the battleground of Lyss’s body—a maze of old scars and fading bruises.
Lyss tried speaking with her, using the four languages she knew. Clearly the young woman heard, but she didn’t understand. Finally, Lyss pointed her thumb into her chest and said, “Lyss.” Then she pointed at the girl, who smiled and said, “Lara.”
Two days later, Lara brought several bundles of new clothes. There were two sets of garments similar to those that the blood mages had worn—the ones who’d attacked the keep at Chalk Cliffs. Loose-fitting breeches that narrowed just below the knee; a linen overshirt; a long vest, decorated with embroidery and braid; a thick leather belt and leather gauntlets; and a head wrap.
There were also two sets of what looked like a court uniform—fine dress breeches and a long coat complete with braid and glitterbits, the empress’s siren insignia on the back. Plus four sets of smallclothes. The boots appeared to have been made to match the boots Lyss was wearing when she was taken captive.
Gesturing, Lara directed her to try the clothes on, to make sure of the fit. They fit perfectly—even the boots fit reasonably well. Lara demonstrated how the head wrap could be worn as a loose cowl or drawn across her face, exposing only her eyes. When Lyss looked in the glass, she saw just another Carthian warrior.
Well, then.
Lyss smiled at Lara. “Perfect,” she said, making a turn so the seamstress could see all sides.
Lara smiled back, curtsied, and left.
Lyss sat on the low bed, her mind tumbling from one bad possibility to the next. It seemed that the empress meant to keep her around for a while. That could be good news or bad. She’d heard that the empress somehow turned her captives into mages and forced them to fight for her. Was that what she intended for Lyss?
Lyss could not let that happen, but she couldn’t think of how she could avoid it, short of tying strips of sheet together and hanging herself. But she was her mother’s sole living heir. Worse, it would mean the end of the Alister line—the line that had survived more than a thousand years against all odds. It was as if she heard her father’s voice in her head. Stay alive.
No. She would not be the last of the Alisters. She would not.
Lyss walked out onto the terrace and looked down at the ocean below. The marble wall of the palace above and below the terrace was smooth, seamless, impossible to climb. Even if she had a rope, the only place she could possibly go was into the water. The familiar tide of panic rose in her, threatening to drown her before she ever got wet. The empress couldn’t have chosen a better barrier to prevent her escape.
She should have spent more time with her father and Cat Tyburn, learning how to get in and out of tight places. But who knew she would end up a princess held captive in a marble tower?
There came a soft knock on the door. “Come!” she said, and Breon sloped in, his face a thundercloud. He wore new clothes, as well—only his were velvet and satin, sparkling with jewels. His narrow breeches and fitted jacket showed off the fact that he was filling in nicely. His hair was the color of rich caramel. It had been cut, but the single gold streak had been left longer than the rest. It was braided, and it glittered in the sunlight that streamed in from the terrace. He would have been beautiful, all on his own, even with a scowl on his face. In this garb, he was dazzling.
They looked at each other—Lyss in her uniform, and Breon in his finery.
“Well,” Lyss said, “it looks to me like the empress has very different roles in mind for the two of us. She must be intending to keep us alive a little longer.”
“She brought four sets in different colors—each finer than the last one.” Breon brushed at the velvet, his fingers leaving little tracks. “This is the plainest of the lot.”