Page 81 of The Scarlet Star

“Why? We need to do sizing immediately so I can make alterations to your gown before this evening,” Marcan said.

“I just… I need to talk to someone.” Ryn slipped into the hallway, rushing on bare feet over the cold floors. She didn’t realize she was still in her nightdress until she was halfway to the pools.

She came into the women’s bath chambers to find mist coiling off the two-dozen naturally formed rock pools. “Heva!” she called into the mist. She slipped into the haze, balancing on the narrow rock barriers between pools. “Heva!” she called again.

She searched every pool, but there wasn’t a single body in sight.

Ryn ended up in the Abandoned Temple. She stared at the crumbling statue at the end of the room. She pointed at it.

“You’d better not let something bad happen to Heva,” she threatened. In legends, it never ended well when a mortal threatened a god. But after what had occurred in the garden with Damon, Ryn’s gut twisted when she thought through every possibility.

She didn’t stay to hear the voice of El. She turned and marched back to her chambers, her bare feet leaving watery footprints down the halls the whole way.

It took Marcan nearly the entire day to fit Ryn into her dress after she demanded he find a way to work her sword into her outfit. He’d huffed at first, but after a while he got to work on a silk braid down the back of Ryn’s dress for her sheath to rest in.

When hours went by and Heva still didn’t return, Ryn started scratching at the flesh on her knuckles, pacing in circles, yanking her hair—only to have Marcan slap her hands away so she didn’t destroy everything he’d worked so hard on. Ryn glanced at her door every few minutes, wondering if Xerxes was getting ready. Wondering if he had any idea what was coming. Wondering if she should have warned him when she had the chance.

The makeup artists were placing tiny navy gems around Ryn’s eyes when she decided she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Am I all ready?” she asked Marcan, glancing at the clock in the corner of her room. It was less than an hour until the trial. If she was going to warn Xerxes, this was her last chance.

“Yes. You’re perfect.” Marcan stood and looked her over, admiring his work.

“Good.” Ryn headed for the door again, and Marcan’s face changed.

“Where are you going?! You can’t let anyone see you until the trial!” He chased after her and caught her arm.

“I need to see the King,” Ryn said.

“What?! You especially can’t seehim!” the artist objected, pointing down to all her skirts and tulle and gems.

Ryn tugged her arm loose. “I’ll be right back. If Heva shows up… don’t let her leave until I return.”

The hallway was warm when Ryn swept out, her skirts whispering as they fluttered behind her. Her sword pressed into her back, and she tilted her head back and forth to try and loosen it. Music lifted from somewhere in the palace as the rehearsals began for the event taking place very,verysoon.

Ryn broke into a run. Her footsteps echoed as she came around the bend to Xerxes’s chambers. The guards outside his door looked at her oddly, but they didn’t stop her from knocking.

“King!” Ryn called.

“He’s not here,” one of the guards said. “The organizers took him away a few moments ago. You’re not allowed to see him until the trial.” His eyes narrowed a little. “And you would do well to address him as‘Your Majesty’,” the guard added.

Ryn ducked into a shallow bow. “Yes, of course,” she apologized.

Marcan flew into view at the end of the hall, staggering to a stop. “Estheryn!” he scolded. He marched to where she was and turned her around. “You cannot be here! You’re expected at the Hall soon to prepare for your trial!”

Ryn swallowed as Marcan escorted her back. When they reached her room, she dug a hand into her hair, and Marcan smacked it away again.

Where was Heva?

Ryn lost track of the seconds passing by as she was led to a room off the Hall of Stars with the other maidens. She hardly noticed the other three women standing around. She wrung her fingers and poked her head back out the door into the hallway. There were no female Folke guards in sight.

Music lifted inside the Hall, signalling the beginning of the trial.

“Relax. Just relax,” Ryn whispered to herself as Calliope passed by.

Calliope cast her an odd look. “Madwoman,” she muttered.

Someone appeared at the door, and Ryn spun around too fast to see who it was. A blast of dizziness swept over her, and she grabbed a table for support as she took in the organizer entering the room with a large book in his hands. Ryn’s shoulders dropped.

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