Page 131 of A Game of Veils

I gaze at her blankly for a few heavy thuds of my pulse. I didn’t trust her in the first place, and I have even less faith in her now. But the thought of seeing more blood spilled on my behalf makes my stomach churn.

I can’t ask for another room without revealing what happened here. The fact that my maid turned against me enough to open me up to this vandalism might count as a strike against me as well as her.

What can I do but make the best of it?

The thought of anything about this situation being “best” brings a pained guffaw into my throat. I swallow it down and gesture vaguely toward the room’s ruined contents.

My voice comes out as vacant as the aching hollow inside me. “Replace the bedclothes so I can sleep. Clean up the worst of the mess as well as you can in the next hour. We’ll deal with the rest in the morning.”

Melisse bobs her head, a trembling picture of deference now. “Yes, Your Highness. Thank you, Your Highness. I’ll fix the bed right away.”

As she hurries over and starts yanking off the covers, my gaze drifts to the heaps of shredded gowns. Some small practical part of my mind kicks into gear long enough for me to add, “I’ll need new dresses first thing tomorrow. Whatever Madam Clea can supply that’s reasonably close to my size.”

A couple of sample gowns should be enough to hold me over until the final trial. The day after tomorrow, Marclinus said.

Three more competitors, two more days.

Then I’ll be empress-to-be or dead. Either I can commission whatever replacement clothes I like or they can bury me as I fell.

Melisse dips her head even lower, bundling the sheets in her arms. “Of course, Your Highness. I’ll speak to her the moment she wakes. I’ll be back to do more cleaning in just a few minutes.”

She scurries out of the room.

If I find myself empress-to-be, I reflect, I should also be able to pick whatever new staff I wish.

Briefly alone, I stare around me at the vast, desecrated room. The sour smell of kitchen refuse fills my nose.

My mind slips back to my bedroom at home in the castle at Costel—the bed heaped with the softest of blankets, the fire so often crackling merrily in the hearth, everything warm and familiar and safe.

Except it wasn’t really safe, was it? From the moment I was born to a king and queen under the Darium empire’s thumb, a king and queen who already had an heir, that castle wasn’t truly mine. The place I thought of as home was always going to be taken away from me.

I assumed I could make a new home with new comforts wherever I ended up. It’s hard to summon even a flicker of that kind of optimism now.

A wave of revulsion sweeps through me, every nerve recoiling from the idea of staying in this room while the maid who betrayed me scrubs, quivers, and fawns as if her life depends on it. It’s not as if I can sleep yet.

Where can I go? What can I do?

What am I doing here at all, if this is what all my efforts have led me to? Have I gone so far astray I’ve lost the path without realizing it?

I turn and step out into the hall. My still-stinging feet carry me as if compelled—past the rows of doors, past the last stragglers from the court heading to their private rooms, down the stairs and on to the east end of the palace.

The arched doorway to the palace temple looms at the far end of the last hall I step into. I haven’t ventured into it other than the second night of our starvation trial, haven’t wanted to deal with clerics and devouts who must be more dedicated to their imperial overseers than the gods they worship.

But I need my godlen tonight, and I don’t think I’m going to find the serenity to reach him in my sullied bedroom.

As temples go, the one attached to the side of the imperial palace like a small extra wing is modest in size if not in opulence. This space is meant to accommodate the spiritual needs of the emperor and his court alone, no one else. I caught a glimpse of the immense public temple in the middle of Vivencia on my journey through the city when I arrived.

Like that one, the emperor’s private temple belongs to the All-Giver along with all the lesser gods. Walking into the domed space, I pay more attention to the details I was too weakened to appreciate last time.

Nine panes of color stretch across the ceiling overhead, swirling into a spiral of silver and gold at the very peak. Golden statues of each of the lesser gods stand in alcoves spaced an equal distance around the curving walls. Silk curtains in their associated colors frame each recess, with matching cushions on the marble-tiled floor.

A few lanterns beam along the edges of the ceiling, but I don’t see anyone else inside at the moment. No doubt the imperial cleric and devouts have taken to their beds at this late hour.

So there’s no one to watch as I cross the room to the statue of Elox within his draping of pure white.

I sink onto the white cushion and peer up at the statue some past emperor must have commissioned. My godlen’s features look wrong sculpted out of the luxurious metal, a material I can’t imagine him having any use for unless it’s to pay to help those in need.

They’ve portrayed him with his typical flowing hair and beard, both reaching just below the level of his shoulders. In one hand, he holds a willow branch like a walking stick, curved at the top as if yielding to the wind. The other hand cups a real sprig of lavender that the temple staff must replace regularly.

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