Page 36 of Of Song and Scepter
My vision darkens. The hold on my magic snaps. I shout, wordless but full of Voice. With the sharp note, tendrils of my magic snake out from my hands, slicing through the garden. The dismembered bodies of fish sink to the reedgrass, littering the water with blood and bones. Snapperfish slither out of their holes, lapping up the unexpected snack.
Aris finally removes her hand from my chest. “Shall we play again tomorrow?” she asks, that coy smile still on her face.
Drained of my energy, I frown at her. Was I not clear? I do not wish to see her again unless I’m required to by duty.
It takes every ounce of my control to keep my tone even as I lean in and whisper, “If this is pageantry, Princess, I don’t like the part you’re playing.”
Chapter twenty-two
Enna
Clio tucks a pininto the mass of white fabric around Odissa’s hips and takes a step back, surveying her with pursed lips. A row of pins clamped between Clio’s sharp teeth wiggles with the movement of her mouth. She moves them to the side to speak. “That should do it. I’ll have these adjustments made, and your gown will be all set.”
Odissa stares into the gilded mirror, catching my eye. She grins at me, smoothing her hands down the front of her wedding dress. “Don’t you love it?” Odissa gushes.
It’s garish. Fabric droops in swooping tucks from a band around her waist, sprawling onto the floor so it appears she’s floating in a puddle of silk. How she will walk in the thing without falling on her face, I have no idea. And it’ll likely be me behind her, gathering up the excess in a not-too-tight wad so shecan make it to the dais. Despite this kingdom knowing nothing about her, the dress is very Odissa. Excessive, ridiculous, and hard to miss.
“It suits you,” I offer.
Clio removes the pins from her mouth, stabbing them into a cushion on the dressing table. “You’re as pretty as a sunfish, Your Highness. Don’t you worry. Now, about your ball gowns. We’ll get those situated next, but that shouldn’t take as long now that we have your exact size. Are we thinking pink? Gold, perhaps?”
Odissa looks as confused as I feel. “Gowns? As in more than one? His Highness is so generous.”
“You are the future queen. The crown wishes for you to look your best during your wedding week,” Clio explains as she works to unlace the back of Odissa’s gown.
“And these pink dresses in my closet. Will they not do? I’d hate to inconvenience the crown.” The bodice freed, Odissa slinks out of the gossamer sleeves.
“Gods, no! It’s a Coral tradition, Your Highness. You’ll need a new gown for each night.”
“Each?” The dress sinks to the floor like an emptied husk. I offer Odissa my hand, and she takes it, stepping out of the silken entrapment.
The housekeeper gathers the dress, careful to avoid the pins. She straightens slowly, holding the lump of fabric, and studies Odissa’s face. “Yes, Your Highness. Five nights, five gowns.” Clio’s eyes narrow. “Surely, you learned of our traditions in your studies?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I’ll just fetch a bit more fabric for your selections, then.” The housekeeper casts one last look at Odissa, pausing with her hand on the doorknob. Odissa gives her a polite nod. Clio stays still, staring, as the silence stretches.
Sweat prickles the back of my neck. What does this female want?
Finally, she walks out the door with the wedding dress. Wordlessly, I offer Odissa a silk robe, and she slips into it.
“Fuck,” she says. “Dancing?” Scowling, she slouches out of her royal posture.
Odissa buries her face in her hands, shaking her head. “Fuck me. I can hardly control this corpse as it is. Now I have to dance with it? I couldn’t dance in my old skin!”
“You’re a shit dancer, Odissa.” The only time I’ve seen her dance was during an infiltration scheme in the Abyssal court. The target was a magic-wielder who frequented a gambling bar in the royal city, and he had a thing for mermaid females, which meant our usual plan wouldn’t work.
Odissa glares at me. “Thanks for that. As if you’re any better.”
Lord Valomir was adamant that all his offspring could present themselves well in the public eye. And that included me, his half-blood bastard. He drilled dancing, posture, and manners into me, until my feet bled.
“I’m better than a twitchy gelfish, yes. You cannot do your… arm movement thing… at a royal ball without blowing our cover.”
She demonstrates the move, lifting her arms above her head and swinging them from the hinge of her elbow. “This one?”
“Fuck no.” I take her hands and maneuver her into the correct position. “I’ll teach you.”
Tephra, please let this court know how to waltz.
