Page 14 of The Scarlet Star

It wasn’t long after that her mother was arrested for an act of thievery she didn’t commit. Even under the pressure of interrogation with the Folke, Ryn’s mother never admitted she had an Adriel daughter. The day she was dragged out the front door of their house, she shoved Ryn into a cupboard and said, “Adassah! Go find your cousin Mordekai in the Mother City! He’ll keep you safe!”

Adassah Cahana. Her Adriel name. Her birth name. Her mother had used it by accident in the heat of the moment even though local persecution had driven them to start using the false Weylin names her father had purchased a year and a half before.

Her mother had closed the cupboard door, and Ryn listened as the Folke took her mother away. Her mother never returned.

The journey to hunt for Kai in the Mother City had been dreadful and frightening that week, but Ryn finally found him after eight days of living on the streets. She was nearly starved to death when Kai scooped her up off the roadside and carried her home with his friends from the Priesthood. Kai was the one who’d investigated and discovered that Ryn’s mother had died after contracting thecinder plaguein prison.

She’d died alone. All because she was an Adriel, and their Weylin neighbours discovered it and thought it would be funny to accuse her of thievery.

Weylins had killed Ryn’s mother andlaughedabout it.

For years after Kai had taken Ryn into his care, he spent his evenings teaching Ryn the scriptures and the ways of the Priesthood. Ryn wasn’t that interested in learning, but she let him talk for hours anyway. She let him teach her Adriel songs from the hymnary. She let him guide her through the basic customary prayers. His voice was a familiar comfort, and even though he was only two years older than Ryn, he was more of a father than her real one had ever been.

Ryn’s room in the palace was cooler in the morning. The window had been left open for most of the night, even after she and Heva climbed back inside. It wasn’t an easy task to get back over the outer wall, to navigate the gardens, and to climb the side of the palace to Ryn’s room without anyone noticing. Both girls had barely made a sound during the journey, giving each other glances and signals about when to move and when to wait. But it was much easier travelling in a pair than when Ryn had tried to do it on her own.

Maids brought hot tea, unleavened bread sprinkled with sugar, and fresh pomegranate seeds on a silver tray at dawn. Ryn nibbled on the bread, but found it had no taste. After a while, her stomach rolled with queasiness and she gave up trying to eat. Even as the warm sun spilled gold over the Mother City, Ryn’s fingers were stiff and cold. Whatever promises she’d made tothe Priesthood the night before sat heavily now. She’d never be Queen because she couldn’t steal a heart from a king who didn’t have one. So, how could a frail, antisocial Adriel girl assassinate a powerful, murderous King? Never mind that she had no chance of outsmarting the Intelligentsia who surrounded him at all times.

Ryn nearly dropped her teacup when Marcan barged in; the large doors swung around and slapped the walls with athud. “I was up all night,” he announced. Two assistants trailed in behind him carrying a delicate tapestry studded with thousands of tiny, navy gems.

“That makes three of us,” Heva mumbled, too quiet for Marcan to hear. She stole the rest of Ryn’s bread and took a bite. Sugar spilled down her chin and she swiped at it with her fingers.

When Marcan lifted the jeweled fabric from the assistants, Ryn realized it wasn’t a tapestry at all.

She leapt to her feet. “What is that?” she demanded.

A smile broke across her artist’s face. “It’s your introduction dress, Lady Estheryn. It’s a mosaic, like you suggested.”

No. That wasn’t a simple mosaic made to sit at the back of a dining room. That dress was a centrepiece, the sort of attention-grabbing display that could be featured as the main attraction at a Divinities Museum. With thin tulle skirts and a bodice of enough gems to make the stars envious, it was the last thing Ryn wanted to be caught dead in.

“Wow. Nice,” Heva remarked. She tried to poke the navy skirt with a sugar covered finger, but Marcan slapped her hand away.

“I can’t wear that!” Ryn exclaimed.

Marcan raised a brow and frowned. “Why ever not?”

“It’s… It’s beautiful!” Ryn said in horror. “There’s real goldin the skirt, and how many gemstones did you use? A thousand?”

“Severalthousand.” Marcan smiled, and Ryn slapped a hand over her eyes. “I had a few assistants help me place them all. This, Maiden, is what I call a diamond painting. Can’t you see how it resembles the starry heavens?”

Ryn swallowed the lump in her throat. The King would notice her in that dress.Everyonewould notice her. People would talk about her, look into her background, and discover who she really was.

“I’m sorry, Marcan, but I can’t.” Ryn fanned her hot cheeks. She was supposed to be a quiet spy. She was supposed to hide. She was supposed to never be here in the first place.

Marcan’s smile faded. The wobbly pout that replaced it put a twisting feeling in Ryn’s chest. “Please, Ryn. This will save my reputation,” Marcan rasped. His brows pulled together, and Ryn wished she’d never looked him in his eyes.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Marcan was yanked from his home and ordered to be a part of this Heartstealer period the same way she was. It wasn’t fair that she could relate to his fear of the unknown to come. It wasn’t fair that he looked like a helpless mouse caught in a trap when his eyes grew large and misty like that.

“Divinities, Marcan. Fine.” Ryn’s shoulders dropped. “I’ll put it on.”

It wasn’t fair, most of all, that Ryn was the one who had to wear the dress. She glanced at Heva, who was no help.

Marcan’s face lit up. “You’ll be the talk of the introductions this morning, Estheryn. Trust me—this will turn heads.”

Ryn wanted to curse.

It took almost an hour for Marcan to fit Ryn into the dress. A number of other artists—Marcan’s “friends”—began smearing colours and chalky things onto Ryn’s face after that. She winced, until Marcan told her to relax so his friends could work. “I don’t do makeup,” he explained, not that she’d asked. “But it’simportant you look like you belong.” He stole a repulsed look at where her gardening dress hung over the back of a chair in the sitting room.

Marcan and his assistants left two hours later, and Ryn raced to the mirror the second they were gone.

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