Page 67 of Tower of Tempest
Queen Bronwen was a true testament to the rags-to-riches story. I still couldn’t believe it. That the king had chosen her despite everyone telling him it would be a mistake. I loved the story. The whimsy and magic of it. The romance.
Over the last week, I’d spent every day with the queen, getting to know her, her history, my history. We’d walked the halls of the castle, drank afternoon tea, talking for hours in the drawing room, spending nights looking at the stars from the conservatory. She was so easy to talk to, and I already felt a kinship with her. She’d also promised she’d teach me to fly when I was ready. There’d been no judgment in her eyes when I’d told her I didn’t know how.
It had been wonderful learning more about this woman whom Gran told me gave me up. She’d lied to me. Not a half truth but a full-on lie because it was apparent the queen would never have given me up. I hadn’t broached that topic with my mother, not sure how to even go about it.
My mother began humming mindlessly while working my long strands around the hot tongs. We fell into a comfortable silence, and it was nice being able to just sit in peace.
I’d barely seen King Yarron, the queen telling me he was very busy with important meetings and work. I had a feeling there was something she wasn’t saying, but I’d enjoyed my time with her so much that I’d set my worries aside.
I still wasn’t sure how she could be so certain I was her daughter. She’d shown me many paintings of her in her youth, and there was a striking similarity between us. Not to mention that song... I wasn’t sure how Gran knew it, how she’d passed it on to me, but it was odd. Everything too much of a coincidence to not be true.
“You look beautiful, daughter,” the queen said, setting the tongs on the hot coals next to us, which glowed orange.
I swallowed, staring at myself in the mirror: my curled hair, my rosy cheeks and big, green eyes. The freckles that scattered across my pale skin. They’d chosen a silver dress for me, one with long sleeves and a tight bodice that flared at the waist and cascaded to the ground like a shimmering waterfall.
I did look beautiful. I felt beautiful. I also felt confused. Overwhelmed. Scared. And angry. So, so angry at Gran. At the secrets she’dkept from me. She’d taken me from two loving parents, from an entire life of being a princess. Yet some traitorous part of me still loved her and worried about her, which only made me even angrier. I hated that she’d carved out a piece of my heart and had taken it with her.
“Have you found any other information on my... on Silla?” I asked.
The queen stared at me in the mirror. “No,” she said softly. “We have many trusted advisors working on it, but none have been able to parse who this woman is or why she took you.”
Her voice was stiff, unnatural, and a pang shot through my heart at how hard it must be for her to talk about this.
I could not for the life of me figure out why Gran had taken me away from them, why she hated them so much.
My mother said they had no enemies that she knew of. That they’d just become king and queen when the Shadow War was ending. They’d both been impossibly young: my mother fifteen and my father eighteen. So young to have so much responsibility thrust on them.
I’d found out much in my time here. That my mother had been fifty years old when she’d had me, which was almost unheard of. Women simply didn’t have children that late in life. She and my father had tried and tried to produce an heir with no success until she finally got pregnant with me. Her miracle baby. She’d given birth, and she and my father were overjoyed. Until the morning they discovered I’d been taken.
They’d sent guards out to scour the lands but could not find me anywhere and had come to the painful conclusion I was dead. But without confirmation, rumors swirled in the sky court about me, many girls coming forward over the years claiming to be me. I’d told them of the tower, of my life with Gran, but it was hard to talk about because I knew it hurt the queen to hear about my childhood. She’d missed all my firsts.
“Do you think she’ll come back for you?” the queen asked, reaching around to brush a stray hair from my eyes.
I shook my head. “She’s far too weak for that, but even if she weren’t... she’s trapped somewhere, someone’s prisoner.”
I hadn’t told them everything about my time since I’d left the tower. Loch had trusted me with his story about his time in the shadow court,about his discovery of the shadow king. I didn’t want to betray that information. Not until I got a better sense of these people. My family.
My mother swallowed. “What a wretched, horrible woman.”
I laid a hand on her arm, knowing I should agree. I did agree. At this point, I didn’t know whether I hoped they found Gran or not. If they did, they’d put her to death, and I wasn’t sure I could handle that. Or they’d throw her into one of those cages high above the castle. I didn’t think I could live here knowing she was up there, suffering. But she was probably already suffering. Especially if this mysterious shadow king had her.
For all she did wrong, that horrid, wretched woman my mother referred to raised me. She’d stayed by my side when I had night terrors, nursed me to health when I was sick, taught me to read and write and to question the world around me. She made me laugh and cry, and some part of me still felt I owed her for all of that.
“Are you sure about this ball?” I asked as my mother placed a silver mask with feathers pointing out from the two ends over my eyes. “Introducing me to the whole court tonight? I’ve only been here a week. I don’t know how to be a princess, a queen.”
The queen placed her hands on my shoulders. “I’ll let you in on a secret. Neither does anyone else. I was fifteen years old when I married your father. Plucked from the streets by him after his guards hit me while flying through the air. I didn’t know a damn thing about being a queen. I just did my best, and slowly, I grew into the queen I wanted to be.”
I hadn’t thought of it like that.
“No one expects you to be a queen tonight. The people are just eager to meet you, and I know I’ve only been in your life for a week now—” Her voice wobbled, tears filling her eyes. She’d been doing that a lot lately. “But you’re truly remarkable.”
I averted my gaze. “I think you’re a bit biased.”
She came to sit on the stool next to me, gathering my hands in hers. “No, Arabella.”
I tried not to wince at that. I still wasn’t comfortable with the name. Didn’t know if I’d ever be comfortable with it.
“I’m not biased,” she insisted. “I see a woman who has been through something that would make most lose their sanity. Instead of telling methe horrors of your life in that tower, you told me of books and woodcraft and paint. You told me about a forest and a meadow that sounds lovely. About a garden you tended.” Her eyes crinkled. “You seem to make the best of every situation. Even this. I suspect you tell me the good things to shield me from the bad. I can tell you’re so giving in that way.” She paused. “Yes, it’s a dream to become a princess, but the reality is much, much different. It’s hard and grueling and tiring and overwhelming, yet you’ve managed to stay positive, to keep your head. I don’t know how you do it. You’re a marvel. Truly.”
