Page 82 of Lore of the Wilds

This was a terrible idea, but she held out hope. With shaking hands, Lore placed the chalice to her lips and drank.

The wine was decadent and thick. Sour. It made her jaw ache, but then it turned sweet like ripe strawberries. Then there was something Lore couldn’t place, but it made her eyes prick with tears.

It wasn’t a flavor. It was an emotion.

Home.

Just then, Grey lifted his head.

He didn’t stir at the sound of her voice, but he must have smelled the wine.

Dark circles lined his eyes. His shoulders jutted through the silk fabric of his shirt, birdlike. He looked around the room, passing over Lore without a second thought. He reached for the queen’s cup; his fingertips were blue.

“Is there more wine, Your Highness?”

“Not for you, my dear. You’ve had enough today. If you drink any more, it will make your tummy hurt.”

Anger flashed across Grey’s features and then just as quickly dissolved. His shoulders slumped, dejected. “It won’t. My throat is parched.” He eyed the attendant with the decanter in his hands. His expression darkened.

Lore had never seen that look on his face before. It looked foreign, wrong. She glanced between her friend and the attendant.

“Hush now. You know I hate when you beg.” The queen’s reply was sharp and vicious, her beautiful features marred with annoyance.

Grey lay back, paying Lore no mind. The attendant, she noticed, seemed relieved that he wouldn’t have to fight anyone. Hetook the opportunity to bow and retreat, taking his place back against the wall.

Had Grey even noticed she was there? Hadn’t he recognized her?

The queen’s consort leaned down to whisper into Grey’s ear. Whatever she said contented him for the moment, and he settled against her lap once more, closing his eyes.

“What is your name, girl?”

“Tella.” It had been a long time since Lore’s mother’s name had passed through her lips. She wasn’t quite sure why, but something in her gut told her to lie.

“Tella, follow Naevrys. She will have you bathed and changed while we liven up the celebration. Come back to me and I will give you more wine.”

No. No more wine.

Although, more wine sounded nice. Lovely. It was so very sweet. Lore frowned. Why had she lied to the nice queen about her name? She was about to open her mouth to confess, suddenly needing the queen to know her real name, when someone clenched their fingers around her arm, jerking her painfully toward them before she could. “Let’s go,” the voice said.

“You’re hurting me.” Lore said. Or thought she said. But now, she couldn’t feel the lady with the wing’s fingers at all. Had she really hurt her?

No, she wouldn’t have. She must have imagined it.

Three beautiful palace attendants in matching uniforms washed Lore. They sang to her and marveled at her ears, touching the rounded tips like they were marvelous. They thought it was so silly how flat her teeth were. Lore opened her mouth wide, delighted that it made them laugh.

When they were done with the bath, they brushed out her hair, adding oils and creams until her coils shined like the sea atnight. It had been so very long since anyone had brushed Lore’s hair. The thought made her sad, but that was silly—wasn’t she getting ready to celebrate something?

When her tangles were gone, two of the attendants wove flowers through her curls while the other rubbed a soothing oil all over her body.

A fourth attendant walked into the room; arms loaded down with dresses. They draped Lore in a satin slip and secured a taffeta corset embroidered with mushrooms and vines around her middle. Someone pinned a velvet cape around her shoulders—it was the color of the inside of a ripe plum.

She eyed herself in a tall, ornate looking glass. The dress hugged every one of her curves. Lore twirled easily in delicate slippers, marveling at how the dress seemed to cascade like a waterfall. Her lips were stained red from the wine and seemed to shine in the dim light. She pressed her fingers to her lips, unable to take her eyes from her reflection.

“Will there be more wine at the party?” Lore’s mouth was dry, her throat parched. Someone else had said their throat was parched earlier.Who was it?

“Oh yes, Tella. You can have all the wine you wish.”

Lore frowned, breaking free from the beauty in the mirror and eyeing the attendants. Tella was her mother’s name. Why were they calling her that? But then she remembered that soon there would be more wine, and she smiled instead.

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