Page 27 of The Faceless Mage

After he’d finished speaking, he simply left—no polite farewells, just an abrupt departure that left everyone in the room scrambling in his wake.

Captain Orvell approached the leader of the guards from Farhall and announced that he would show him to his new quarters. After one last worried glance at the corner where the Raven stood, the other guards followed, with a sneer of anger from one of them.

Once the guards had filed out, Vaniell, too, abandoned the scene, his hands in his pockets and a smug smile on his face. And then there was only the princess, her attendant, and the Raven.

He remained still for a few moments after the others were gone. The king’s mind receded into the distance, leaving only the odd, unwieldy presence of a mind unaware of their connection. As silence fell, the Raven took a moment to probe for any hint of awareness, any stray thought that might reveal whether she could feel him in return. He let his head turn from side to side, as if sweeping the room for further threats. And when he found none, either physical or otherwise, he forced himself to leave the room and shut the door behind him.

Chapter 8

Leisa’s eyes narrowed as she regarded the closed door with frustration. She was beginning to believe that the Garimorans had spent centuries perfecting the most abrupt and disconcerting way to leave rooms. And conversations. And possibly anything else they didn’t want to be a part of. Did that extend to marriage? Political alliances? Or was she making silly conjectures based on a tiny cultural quirk?

Probably, she decided. She would need to spend a lot more time observing before she drew any kind of conclusions. Which meant she needed to hurry up and pretend to go to bed.

Hurry up and pretend that sleep would be remotely possible.

But how could she possibly sleep after such a strange confrontation?

Lady Piperell was moving quietly about the room—tidying up and stacking teacups on a tray with the help of the maids. The teacups reminded Leisa… What had become of the tea she’d given the Raven? By the time King Melger entered the room, the cup had disappeared.

Perhaps it was silly of her, but she wanted to believe her strange new bodyguard liked tea. Perhaps it would help dispel his aura of danger and mystery if she knew he drank tea just like anyone else.

But the others had been so shocked and horrified when she offered it to him. Did they simply not think of the Raven as a person? The king clearly did not, as he’d ordered him to spend all night standing in the hall outside her room after, presumably, being awake all day.

Did it mean, as she’d first feared, that the Raven was not a man at all?

As she pondered the question, she happened to catch Lady Piperell’s wide-eyed stare. The older woman beckoned her over to where the Raven had stood.

On the floor in the corner was a single, empty teacup.

Leisa couldn’t help breaking into a grin, feeling absurdly as though she’d scored a victory. Of what sort, she had no idea, but she needed all the confidence she could get.

Especially after the debacle of her performance just now.

Someone—whether the king, the prince, or her own guards—had to be suspecting that she was not who she pretended to be. Evaraine would never have behaved so boldly as to countermand the king’s orders. But what else could she have done?

And then Vaniell had blindsided her with that horrifying “courting gift.” Leisa would never have accepted it, but Evaraine didn’t have a choice, even if it seemed a bit early in this relationship for such an expensive gift. She would simply have to be very, very careful not to lose it before she had a chance to give it to its intended recipient. This wasn’t the sort of token one could lose without repercussions.

Not to mention, it made her profoundly uneasy, for reasons beyond its evident value.

But, as before, there was nothing else for her to do but accept it. Nothing else but to move forward with the plan and pray that she didn’t mess up any worse than she already had. Any worse than she’d known would happen long before her arrival in this palace full of secrets and rudeness.

She could only pretend to be meek and biddable for so long, and even Evaraine would have proven recalcitrant if subjected to the sort of treatment they’d shown her thus far. But whether Evaraine or Leisa, circumstances had conspired to shatter all her careful pretense. She’d called their bluff, and she wouldn’t be backing down, whether by royal prerogative or pure bone-deep stubbornness.

King Soren said it had to be Leisa, so if he didn’t like her way of handling things, he could go for a swim in the moat. His castle didn’t have a moat, but she would almost be willing to dig one just to make her point.

Leisa went to bed after that, unsure what to think and eager to begin the next part of her task. She would, after all, eventually need some time foractualsleep.

Lady Piperell assured Leisa that she would be staying in the rooms originally designated for Evaraine’s waiting ladies, at least until it was decided who would be attending the princess on a regular basis. Leisa need only call out, and Lady Piperell would hear.

Leisa thanked her, feigned a yawn, and fell into the wide, pillowy expanse of her silk-covered bed.

An hour passed before she decided it was probably safe to move about. From the trunk that contained the most personal of her belongings, she retrieved a parcel of books that had been strapped together with overly complicated knots, specifically to deter the fingers of over-dedicated maids. They were easy to remove if one knew the trick, and the books contained no actual pages, only a hidden compartment for Leisa’s clothes. Her real clothes. Her boots were inside one of the trunks that supposedly belonged to her “maids,” along with her dagger and other assorted necessities.

Then she faced the full-length mirror, both relieved and worried about what came next. As she always was.

Leisa’s magic was a mere parlor trick, but there was a very good reason King Soren had always insisted she keep it secret. Once others knew what she could do, they would lose all trust in her. Wonder whether they could ever believe what they were seeing.

There were other reasons she chose not to speak of it—personal ones, scars that cut deep, and pain she kept carefully buried. Who would even understand if she tried to explain?

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