Page 13 of A Game of Veils

Really I should be more concerned about my rivals in marriage.

I peer at Melisse over the top of my cup. “Are there any other interesting gifts within the court?”

She rubs her chin. “Nothing like that. Most of the gentlemen and ladies don’t want to give up much of themselves in a trade—and I guess they don’t really need to, in their position—not that I have any idea what it’s like—” She clamps her mouth shut for a moment. “I probably shouldn’t be talking so much about any of them.”

She’ll freely share gossip about the fostered princes, but not the Darium members of court. Her loyalties are clear.

I won’t badger her when I’m not sure I’d get much of anything useful out of her regardless. The more comfortable she feels with me, the better.

Clutching my cup, I get up and move across the guest bedroom I’ve been assigned. I can’t complain about the hospitality here. I’ve been given an opulent space with delicately carved wooden furniture, a canopy bed draped in moss-green silk, and matching curtains embroidered with tiny flowers drifting in the breeze from the broad window overlooking the eastern gardens.

My trunks were waiting for me when I arrived with all my belongings as I packed them. Which I was particularly grateful for when I lifted out my box of assorted tea leaves.

The other contents might pose a bit of a problem. I peer down at the heap of dresses that may as well stay in my luggage. I’m already wearing my lightest gown, and it’s clinging to my skin with a dampening of sweat that I can’t entirely blame on stress.

I turn back to Melisse. “Is there a dressmaker who works with the court ladies? I think I’m going to need to commission at least a few gowns to match the Darium style and climate.”

She inclines her head. “You’ll want Madam Clea. I can arrange an appointment for you, maybe tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow would be wonderful. Thank you.”

I reach into the other trunk and retrieve the glazed clay offering bowl I brought with me. I doubt any luck the daimon might give me will overcome the emperor’s will, but it can’t hurt to leave an offering for the roving spirit creatures that flit through our world. I always had a few tidbits set out near my bedroom doorway at home.

“And if I could also get a few bits of fruit or scraps of bread for the daimon?—”

I cut myself off at Melisse’s sudden pinched expression.

She ducks her head as if afraid of reprisal. “That’s not really… done here. Anywhere in Dariu, really, but especially at the palace. Their Imperial Eminences always say we make our own luck.”

Ah. Of course they’d rather not appeal to any power other than their own.

I manage to smile again and return the bowl to my trunk. “That makes perfect sense. Thank you again for attending to me.”

Melisse dips into a brief curtsy, canny enough to sense her dismissal. “I’ll go straight to Madam Clea, Your Highness. Dinner should be in a couple of hours—I’ll come back to show you to the dining room.”

I wait a few minutes after she’s left, drinking the rest of my tea. Seeing whether she’ll make a sudden return.

When she doesn’t reappear, I retrieve my journal, pen, and inkwell. Pausing to sort through my memories, I jot down every observation I’ve made about the emperor, my supposed betrothed, and the other people of their court that might help me in the future.

I don’t write it blatantly, of course. In precarious circumstances, I’d rather have notes that anyone could look at than try to keep illicit accounts hidden. One of the earliest lessons my sister and I learned from our tutors was to come up with a form of code to make our most private thoughts appear innocuous.

Anyone perusing my journal will think I’ve simply prattled on about the palace décor and the terrain I saw on my journey here.

Despite the tea and the unloading of my thoughts, tension remains twisted through my chest. Setting the empty cup aside, I sink to my knees on the soft forest-green rug.

I sketch the gesture of the divinities down my front and rest my hands on the floor beside my legs. When I tilt my head, the sunlight filtering through the window dances across my closed eyelids.

Elox, I need your guidance. I prepared for my duty so thoroughly, but I wasn’t ready for this. How can I best move onward toward my goals?

I let my mind unspool, my focus detach. Blurred shapes pass across my eyelids with the movements of the curtains.

Then the image comes to me of a bandage wrapped around a wound. Binding the injury. Setting it to heal.

I blink and lean back against the chair, tamping down on a sudden bittersweet pang.

The message is undeniable. I must make my peace with the emperor’s demands and set things right however I’m able to.

What else is there to do, really? I doubt Emperor Tarquin would let me leave the palace alive unless it’s as his son’s bride, even if Elox nudged me in that direction.

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