Page 59 of Prisoner of Darkness and Dreams
I’m not just talking about our journey through the Miravow. Without Dots, I wouldn’t have known how to heal Fairon or fight the aisthekis, and the others might’ve never succeeded in rescuing me from Qimorna.
The korigos nudges me with his nose, gives Tira’s palm a lick, and then turns and trots into the forest. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t turn and bound toward us, yipping. Wherever he’s going, he doesn’t want us to follow.
Chapter 20
Corrin
Iadmire the embroidery on my cloak as the carriage jerks along the wide avenue toward Elmere palace. The outfit’s a little more traditional than my usual tastes, but one has to admire quality, and the clothes we purchased to play the part of Baron and Baroness Hornifold certainly speak to that.
I look up to see Damia rolling her eyes from her seat opposite me.
“Could you stop preening and focus on playing your part?” she asks, glancing out the window. “We’re nearly at the gates.”
Our progress is slowed by the queue of carriages waiting to be admitted, but I can see the bronze archways up ahead.
“Why?” I ask mildly. “Do barons not preen?”
They absolutely do, and we both know it. Her lips thin when she can’t deny it. She settles for tugging at the abundance of jewels around her neck impatiently.
“The sooner we can get inside, the sooner I can take this nonsense off,” she tuts.
“Damia prefers a tunic and pants to court attire,” the fae, Hyllus, helpfully explains to me. Even glamoured into a smaller, more human form, he’s rather squashed into the carriage. It had been a challenge finding servants’clothes that would fit him. In the end, we had to pay a geostri seamstress handsomely for a custom job.
“Because I can barely move in this thing,” she huffs, adjusting her deep purple dress. “At least in proper clothes, I can kill a man without worrying about ripping a seam.”
“I’m sure you’d have no problem killing a man in that too,” I say politely—and entirely honestly. Even with her shining black hair delicately pinned up and her lips painted a plum shade that very much compliments her brown skin, she looks no less deadly to me.
She rolls her eyes again, but I notice she wears the hint of a smile.
The carriage trundles forward a little more, and I glance through the window to see the gates of the palace just ahead. My man Warren, acting as our coachman, pulls us to a halt as an official in palace uniform knocks on the door.
“Name and papers please,” the man says dully.
All three of us straighten up. This is the moment when we discover if Tunier was worth the money. Hyllus respectfully hands across the rolled-up parchment.
“Baron and Baroness Hornifold of Artifract,” I say in my poshest voice.
The palace official unrolls the seal and studies it. I school my features into the bored, slightly contemptuous expression nobles so often wear, not allowing it to slip even as I become increasingly tense with every second that slips by. Damia’s the same. Her hand shifts to her thigh, where I suspect there’s a knife hidden beneath her skirts.
At last, the official begins to close the scroll. But rather than wave us on, his eyes flick from Hyllus to something outside the carriage.
“I say, what’s the hold up?” I snap. “We’ve spent enough time in this wretched carriage.”
Damia glares at me, but the official only looks apologetic.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace, but your servants will have to leave palace premises once they’ve escorted you to the doors.”
“Why?” Damia asks sharply, every inch the imperious baroness.
The official ducks his head under her gaze.
“I’m afraid more guests than expected have arrived for the coronation, and the palace is nearly full. The royal staff would be honored to attend to Your Graces, but we simply can’t accommodate the maids and manservants of every visiting lord and lady.”
I exchange a look with Damia. We’d been counting on Hyllus and Warren to have the run of the palace, particularly in areas guests wouldn’t be expected to go.
“But we’re no merelord and lady,” I bluster. “You must make an exception for us, of course.”
The official looks weary, and I guess this is far from the first time he’s had this argument today.
