“You don’t strike me as a follower.” The truth slipped out far too easily.
“My mother was.” Sabine was surprised Tal trusted her enough to refer to his mother in the past tense. “My older brother drowned in a lake when I was two,” he continued. “Afterward, church was the only time I saw her smile.”
The New Maiden’s heart ached, but she did not offer him condolences. Instead, she extended sympathy in the form of her own truth. “My father is a gambler. We nearly lost our apartment ten times over. But Her word made me believe there would always be a place for me. Offered me hope that I could be more than what I was born into.”
“Fitting,” Tal said, eyes sweeping over her, “considering.”
The silkiness of his tone left her smarting. She could not believe how easily he had coaxed forth the contents of her heart. This was not what she had intended their relationship to become. She was so used to being guarded.
The rumble of a carriage interrupted their delicate moment. The stable boys pushed past them to unlatch the horses. From inside the coach emerged a beleaguered-looking Cleo, a sullen Rob, and a sour-faced Elodie.
The queen appeared startled to see the two of them together, but her surprise passed quickly. “The Kirrish delegates arrive in two hours,” she said, words that meant practically nothing to Sabine. “Both of you will dine with us tonight. Velle needs to put its best foot forward, and we won’t be able to do so without you present.”
Sabine and Tal exchanged a look. It was not entirely clear which you the queen meant.
“As you wish, Majesty,” Tal said, offering her a sweeping bow.
Unwilling to be outdone, Sabine swept into a curtsy. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
“Enough with the formalities.” Elodie sighed wearily. “Just don’t be late.”
“Sorry,” Cleo mouthed over her shoulder. “Difficult day. But please,” she added before hurrying after her sister, “do not be late.”
“Wouldn’t dare,” Sabine said, but the royal cohort had already gone.
“I hate these delegate dinners,” Tal muttered. “They’re full of the most odious people, the kind who size you up in a single glance.” Sabine’s stomach fluttered with nerves. She had already spent the afternoon being gawked at. She was not certain she could handle being on display yet again. “It usually helps if you don’t make your entrance alone,” Tal said gently. “We could arrive together, if you like?”
Sabine considered the proposal and found no downside. Tal was conventionally handsome and a known friend to the crown. He would be a perfect shield for any judgment that might befall her. “All right, then.”
He looked surprised but pleased. “All right, then,” he echoed. “I’ll see you tonight.”
It was only after Sabine had enlisted Katrynn’s help to ready her for the night’s event, envisioning Tal’s nod of approval and Elodie’s dazed expression, that Sabine realized she was not entirely certain which one of them she was dressing for.
10
Delegate dinners at Castle Warnou were notoriously ostentatious events. This evening, the linens were the cobalt blue of the Kirrish coat of arms and the silverware had been swapped out with cutlery that shone gold. Tables were arranged in the center of the ballroom’s polished floor in a U shape, the better to see, the worse to hear.
Many an accidental enemy had been created this way, most notably the delegate from Upper Tyne who thought that the delegate from Lower Tyne had inquired: “May I lie with your wife?” instead of “May I borrow your knife?”
A different table arrangement might have prevented such misunderstandings, but subterfuge was an essential part of courtly politicking. The Kirrish delegates were only nominally important, children to placate with shiny objects. Elodie’s true audience tonight was Velle’s nobility.
Before the country learned of Edgar’s threats and the tarnished harvest, Elodie needed to ensure that public opinion was firmly on her side. Tera Warnou had taught her daughter that if she wanted to shape the narrative, she needed to start with those who held the most influence in her court.
To prime her guests for gossip, Elodie had arranged for servants to hover in the doorways, holding trays of bubbly nut wine. Glasses were pressed into the hands of the delegates and nobility as they entered. Peich-nat went down far too easily. In a matter of seconds, Elodie’s own glass was nearly empty. She’d intended to take a single sip to calm her nerves but had absentmindedly continued to drink and was now inauspiciously light-headed as she greeted the guest of honor.
“Chancellor Wilden.” Elodie’s skirt swished softly against the polished floor as she offered the man a half curtsy. She still wasn’t used to the extra weight of the crown on her head. “It is a pleasure to enjoy your company tonight.”
The chancellor, a portly man close to her father’s age, inclined his head politely. “The pleasure is all ours, Majesty.” He clinked his glass with hers, then took a sip of the carbonated liquid. He grimaced. “Not my taste,” he grumbled. “Don’t suppose you have any plum brandy?”
Elodie fought the urge to roll her eyes. Not five minutes into the proceedings and the man was already insulting her. “Alas,” she said, smiling so wide it hurt, “I don’t suppose we do. Unless your delegation brought us a bottle as an offering?”
She knew they had not.
The chancellor wandered away with a mumbled excuse, discarding his glass on an empty tray. Elodie shook her head, hoping the bubbles in her brain might settle. Tonight, she desperately needed to keep her combative instincts at bay.
The Kirrish delegates huddled in the far corner, no doubt gossiping about her aperitif. The more permanent fixtures in Velle’s court were chatting among themselves, fawning over the Duchess of the Upper Banks, who was dressed in a shimmering silk set that made her look like a spider’s web. Near the door stood Cleo, resplendent in a yellow gown, her dark hair pinned in an elegant bouffant. On her arm, inexplicably, was Artur Anders, looking uncomfortable in a cravat. It was the first time Elodie had seen Sabine’s brother in trousers that actually fit. The queen glided toward them.
“Artur,” she said, not bothering to hide her surprise. His name had not been included on the seating chart. “How unexpected.”
Artur turned to Cleo, looking panicked. “I thought you said—”
“It’s fine,” she interrupted, putting a hand on his arm placatingly. “Brianne told me Sabine had a difficult day,” Cleo told Elodie, as though this was a natural thing for her to know. “I thought a familiar face might help make this event easier for her. Court dinners are not for the weakhearted.”
“She has work to do tonight,” Elodie said sharply, trying not to let on exactly how stressed she felt. “If the New Maiden dazzles the court, she may begin to command favor beyond Velle’s borders. I would not parade Sabine around without purpose.”
Cleo looked wounded. “I was only trying to help.”
Elodie sighed, very nearly running a hand through her hair, which would have disturbed the constellation of pins Marguerite had meticulously assembled. “I know, Cleo. I’m sorry, just… no more surprises tonight, all right?”
Cleo cleared her throat pointedly, eyes fixed on the door behind Elodie. “In that case, I’d advise not to look behind you.”
Elodie turned to watch Sabine enter the ballroom, a vision in white. The bodice of her gown was fitted closely to her form, and Elodie’s eyes followed every one of the New Maiden’s gentle curves. She clutched her wineglass with both hands. There was little left for her to imagine. The skirts fanned out, layers of tulle spilling from the soft swoop of Sabine’s waist. When she moved, it appeared the girl was walking on a cloud.
But the true surprise came when Elodie tore her eyes away from Sabine to take in the person beside her. Tal was outfitted in black, fingers decorated with silver rings, a gold chain glinting around his neck. There was a softness in his eyes that Elodie had not seen since they were children, a gentleness in his step. Sabine did not shy away from him. In fact, if Elodie had not known better, Tal and Sabine might have appeared a couple.
Half a step behind the pair was Rob, donning a purple doublet and looking cross. Elodie’s mood matched her brother’s. Tal and Sabine’s closeness discomfited her. Tal’s allegiance to the Second Son was in direct opposition to Sabine’s role as the New Maiden. Yet because Elodie had not warned Sabine of Tal’s rebel alliance, he had managed to infiltrate the New Maiden’s trust more easily than Elodie could have ever imagined.
