Page 8 of Ties of Shadow

He shut the door and grasped my shoulders, brushing my cheek with his thumb. “I was the worst of fathers, the worst of men to you last night. I’m so ashamed. Could you ever in that big heart of yours imagine a way to forgive me?”

“But of—”

“No, no. Don’t answer yet. Just look!” With a flourish, he threw open my wardrobe. A silver ballgown hung to the floor, white gloves were draped over the hanger, and sparkling white shoes sat beside the dress. “Look, my honeystar, it even matches your hair! The seers said I could find something on the market street, and it was such a good deal at the store. It was the last of its kind in stock, but I knew my daughter had to have it. Can you forgive me now, my sweet girl?”

I squeezed his hand, my smile fixed like flint as I took it all in. It did match my hair. So well. Too well. I would look like a wraith, a ghost, better suited for hanging from the ceiling as the chandelier than mixing among the nobility. But his face was so earnest. He had even apologized. He loved me.

“Of course, Father. It’s okay. Thank you for this dress.”

My father grinned at me, obviously pleased with himself. “Now hurry, girl. The ball starts soon, and you cannot be late!” He gave one last grimace at my appearance before sweeping out of the room.

I turned back to the dress from last season, tugging softly at the square neckline, wondering if Father even realized the style was now a broad scoop. But it was too late to fix. The dress I had planned to wearwas nowhere to be found, and I was out of time. It was nearly too late to bathe.

I felt happy he got it for me. I was certain I could feel happy.

The bath wasn’t able to restore my aching muscles, but it served its purpose to clean me up. I tried to create a swooping hairstyle to cover the dark swirl on my neck that still had an upward-rising twist. Fashionable enough, and no one would see it. The hairstyle was also not in fashion. Nothing about me would be, but at least no one else could see my new beauty mark.

The dress was exactly as bad as I’d expected. The only mercy was that my pink-hued, sunburned cheeks added some color to my wraithlike appearance. Even my blue eyes seemed bleached out in all the shades of silver and white. I reached for my mother’s necklace and placed it just below the notch of my sternum. Maybe I could draw attention to that, and no one would notice the dress. As white as I was, perhaps I could blend in with the curtains…or the tablecloths. An image of myself lying across the royal tables as the nobles set their wine glasses and plates upon me made me laugh. I would be the lumpiest of tables.

A knock at the door pulled me back to the present. Double-checking that my hair covered the mark, I glided to my father in my new, pinching shoes. His darker olive skin tones, earth-brown eyes, and black hair with just a hint of gray were all suited for silver, and his matching suit appeared much more flattering on him than my attire was on me.

“What a vision,” he breathed. “You are ethereal. I shall have to buy you more dresses just like this!” He pulled me toward him in a tight hug. “Come, my dear. Let me continue to make it up to you at the bonding ball.”

I tried to smile. “Thank you, Father, it is a generous gift.”

His eyes drifted to the necklace, and his cheek jerked. Instinctively, he rubbed at the scar on his hand. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

I watched him rub his thumb over the rolling skin. “Was it worth it, Father? The bond?” He glanced down and, noticing his habit, shoved his hands into his pockets. “You paid such a cost.”

“Your mother was everything good and light.” He cleared his throat, the dark shadows of memories vanishing from his eyes. “But now we must focus on someone else’s happiness. Not just on our own sorrows. Enough with insipid questions.”

He turned and offered me his elbow, leading us out to the main hall and up the grand staircase. The walls contained more luz lamps than usual and beamed with light, making the room seem brighter than daylight. A steady stream of visitors crossed the ornate marble floor toward the ballroom, all dressed in their finest. I noted that several of the more popular, and therefore more powerful, young ladies were adorned with feathers in their hair—another new trend. I’d need to collect some the next time I was out.

At the ballroom, the caller announced us, and Father walked in with a proud tilt to his shoulders. The men bowed to each other, and the women curtsied, but behind fluttering fans, smiles soured to snickers as their eyes flicked over me. Several seers meandered, blessing the guests with a greeting as they passed like specters.

“My dear, go mingle. I need to catch up with Lord Brynett.” Father motioned toward the group of young men and women at the front of the ballroom near the archway where the Mastersons would be bound and wed.

The noblemen and women milled around each other like wasps flitting around carrion before the massive windows that displayed the glorious sunset. The Mastersons were the center of it all, laughing and beaming at each other in a true demonstration of infatuated obsession.It was the fifth bonding ceremony of the season. These balls, added between the usual holidays, were a social dance I knew well. I would eat and smile, and occasionally, some foreign lord would ask me to dance before he was taught better by the others. We would watch the happy couple be sprayed with river water dripping from razewa branches as they decided to be trapped together forever. Then, I would leave and pretend my loneliness was a welcome state. So, as usual, when my father turned, distracted, I headed to the back wall by the banquet table.

The elderly ladies gathered there were too polite to be rude to my face; some were even quite cordial. Lady Brynett dipped her head, and I returned a shallow curtsy. The lady was one of the queen’s main attendants, and I often saw her tending to the queen when I came with the potions. King Harold turned around the corner beside us and caught her up in conversation, so after I greeted him, I twisted away and sipped on a glass of something too sweet.

A door along the wall opened behind me, and Chef struggled to get through while carrying a large tray. I moved to help, but her glare froze me in place. Heaving it onto the table, she finished arranging the desserts. She murmured, “Are you an apparition? Or here to match the calla lilies?”

I took a fake drink, my lips hidden by the glass as I replied, “A gift from my father.”

Chef looked me up and down again before moving a breadbasket to the left. “He’s better with herbs than with fashion.”

A genuine smile split my face but lost some of its brightness as I responded. “He felt he needed to apologize. He…tries.”

Chef snorted with very little grace. “Seems to me that he could not do things that hurt you in the first place.” I glanced at her, shocked, but she had already turned toward the kitchen.

The Mastersons were near, edging closer to the king. How did I end up so close to the main throng of people?

“He bumped my arm at the market,” Lady Marva said. “That’s when the first mark appeared.”

Lord Masterson’s eyes were honeyed and fixed sweetly upon her face. “Even before the mark, I knew that you were the most perfect woman in the whole realm for me.” The courtiers twittered and fanned their faces as they whispered back and forth.

“I knew you were handsome, but you convinced me with your bravery fighting against those horrible spyrings from the mining tunnels. The Shade has no shame using such evil to attack us.”

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