Page 59 of Wicked Prince of Shadows
What would Vetle think when he saw me? Did I do the gown justice? Would he like me? I shook my head, trying to dislodge those thoughts. But they remained. I quickened my pace.
The northern courtyard opened before me, and I stopped at the entrance, breath catching. Lanterns hung everywhere, their pale light pushing back the grey darkness beneath the dull light of the full blood moon. The courtyard had been cleared of debris, the stone swept clean. At the far end, musicians sat on a raised platform, their hands moving over drums and blocks and instruments I'd never seen before. The stone floor before that appeared to be for the dancing.
Practically everyone had gathered here in the broad open courtyard. There were guards on the walls and at regular intervals while others wore the guard uniforms but mingled as if they were prepared to be called onto duty. Some of them wore bangles or scarves with scraps of color. Everyone else wore what was almost assuredly their finest gowns and suits, all showing patches of faded color and traces of vibrance, some of the jewels and beads bright and others dim and faded.
Some of the children darted among the adults along the central dance floor while others colored and scribbled on parchment in the left corner beneath a trio of oil lamps. No one was dancing yet.
A familiar gravelly voice coughed behind me. “Quite lovely. The magic has made the dress far more suited to you than it ever was toher.”
I turned, surprised to see Maltric first. The aged advisor bowed his head. He wore an indigo suit that shimmered with threads of purple where the color had remained true. His monocle glistened.
I bowed my head in response, but my spine stiffened. “To her? You mean Queen Tanith? He got this for her?” Heat coiled in my stomach, an unpleasant tightening passing through me.
Maltric nodded, his heavy eyebrows bunching. He adjusted the monocle. “Well, yes, in a way. She was, after all, to be his bride. When our royals wed, the groom crafts the gown himself. All of his magic and representations of his home and family and traditions are woven into it.”
“So hemadeit for her?” That odd sensation twisted harder in my stomach. It was confusing in some respects. Questioning Tanith’s decisions and respecting Tanith as this ancient figure worthy of reverence was a conflict I now accepted within me, but the anger and uncomfortable jealousy that roiled within me was both because she had betrayed him and cast him aside as much as it was for her desiring him. I might as well have been split apart the way these different beliefs tried to rip me in half. All I knew for certain was I didn’t like thinking about her as someone he had desired.
Maltric chuckled, something in my expression apparently giving me away. “It isn’t precisely right to say he made it for her. He made it and laterthoughtit was for her. But the task of weaving such a gown from shadow magic and with the aid of tailors and alchemists is long and arduous. It took months. Most princes begin as soon as they are of age and allow the course of their journey to shape what it becomes by the time they meet their beloved.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “My pointis simply that this is far better suited to you. I cannot imagine it on Tanith. It was never right for her.”
As I realized the advisor intended it as a compliment, I relaxed. “Thank you.” I fidgeted with the skirt, my gaze searching for Vetle while trying to be subtle. “It’s beautiful. I’m honored he let me wear it. He said that you’ll be translating the new script on the tablets. Have you seen anything with it?”
He frowned at that, his brow furrowing. “It’s too early to say for certain what all it contains though we’re decently certain they have found the primary additions, but…yes, I’ve looked over the script and the ideograms. It expands upon the definitions somewhat, but it is still complicated. There may be some elements that we have interpreted incorrectly, but what difference it will make in the long run depends on how expansive that is. For all our sake, I hope your trick with Doctor Rasoul’s blood proves this will work. The good doctor does as well.” He gestured toward a point on the far right side of the courtyard. “He hasn’t let it out of his sight since the attack happened. Not that I blame him.”
I followed his gesture, spotting Doctor Rasoul's curly hair catching the lantern light. He sat on a marble block, chatting amiably with a woman in a gown of streaked indigo and pale azure, a large grey pot with a leafy plant and three tight buds on the table between them. He looked more relaxed than I'd seen him since my arrival, though his hand rested protectively near the pot. The woman beside him laughed at something he said.
"I hope so too," I murmured, my chest tightening. Everything hinged on this working. If it didn't?—
"Don't think about that tonight," Maltric said, as if reading my thoughts. His silver eye gleamed in the lamplight. "Tonight we celebrate survival. Tomorrow we face whatever comes." He bowed slightly. "I, however, will return to my translations. Enjoy the dance, Your Highness."
The title still felt foreign on my tongue, but I nodded. "Thank you, Advisor Maltric."
He disappeared into the crowd.
I stood alone for a moment, watching the gathering crowd. Some mingled around a table with food that looked to be mostly mushrooms and roasted deathbeak. No one seemed to mind. The music swelled, drums pounding in a rhythm that matched my own pulse.
"Sabine! Mahlda!"
I turned just as Osric barreled toward me, his amber eyes bright with excitement as he thrust a large canvas toward me. He set his hands on his waist when I took it.
"Look what I made! I used the paints like you said! It’s like what I use to remember but also your garden."
My breath caught as I saw it. The painting showed the Queen's Garden—not as it was now, broken and devastated, but as it was in his imagination. Vibrant greens with such delicate nuance in the leaves and shades cascaded down terraces that gleamed with color. Flowers bloomed in shades of crimson, gold, and violet. The detail and shading were extraordinary. Each leaf had veins. Each petal had depth and shadow. The way he'd captured light filtering through branches spoke of an understanding of perspective that seemed impossible for someone his age.
"Osric, this is—" My voice caught. "This is beautiful. Truly beautiful. You have such talent, and you clearly worked so hard on this." The magic had given him greater depth and perception, perhaps the ability to intensify the colors. But the depth of his efforts was all him.
His face lit up like the afternoon sun breaking through storm clouds. "You like it?"
I nodded, tears burning the backs of my eyes. Seeing the garden so beautiful and rich with color and life fed something inmy soul. Even without color, the linework stunned me. I wanted to disappear into that canvas. It hurt to tear my eyes away. “You should draw and sketch as much as you can. Are you going to do more tonight?”
He beamed at me, moving back and forth as his eyes scanned the assembled guests. "Oh yes. I love these dances because everyone gets to wear whatever colors they still have. See?" He gestured around the courtyard. "Bren has that green scarf. Candice's dress has red at the bottom. Gehn's got those blue cuff bangles. It's like we all get to remember what the Waking Lands looked like, even if it's just little pieces of what’s left. I'm going to surprise some people and pull out the colors more where I can find them. I've been saving my magic for it. It’s hard to remember it when you don’t get to see it much. But I'm letting the others paint with me too. We might use up all the paints before morning, but then we'll get more."
I smiled, noticing again how each person carried some fragment of color—a ribbon, a sash, embroidered trim that had somehow retained its original hue even if most of their attire was otherwise faded. In this place of greys and blacks and whites, these small defiant splashes of color felt like acts of rebellion against the curse itself. My gown was one of the few that was almost fully its original color, but that was likely because he never removed it from the box.
"That's wonderful," I said softly. “It is truly beautiful here tonight. And yes, I'll get you paints as soon as we get back to the Waking Lands.”
Osric's attention suddenly fixed on something behind me. His eyes widened, and a huge grin split his face. “Oh…" Before I could respond, he darted away, weaving between the adults until he disappeared from sight.
I stiffened, my heart already racing as the hairs on the back of my neck lifted.
