Page 63 of Of Song and Scepter
“We expect him in time for this evening’s ball.” Clio pulls the dress from the wardrobe and spreads the skirts across her arms. “This is the darkest color we have. Not quite pink, not quite black, but somewhere in between, no?”
Odissa’s knuckles whiten around the edge of the tub. “That’s perfect,” she says. “Enna, would you be a dear and help me out of this bath? I’ve had quite enough.”
With numb fingers, I wrap a towel around her.
She clears her throat, touching the puckered scar on her rib. “Thank you.”
“Tonight’s ball will be splendid, Your Highness. We’re endlessly grateful to have found you, Princess, and we’re holding nothing back. Extravagance is an understatement.” Clio grins, draping the dress across the coverlet.
I edge toward the window, pretending to straighten the drapes, then scan the waterline for signs of movement. It’s lowtide. The sun glints off the sand with dizzying heat. My forehead sweats just from looking at it.
A group of guards stand in wait on the shoreline, facing toward the sea. I recognize the coil of Captain Nara’s tight red bun, the stiff posture of her back. She lifts her trident, slamming it into the sand. The guards snap to attention, focused on the sea.
Slowly, an entourage of figures clad in darksteel lifts from the waves. They crawl onto the sand, fingers digging into white crumbs. They drag themselves forward as their gray tails snap and split, then rise on two legs.
I scan their faces, panic rising, for the soldier I never killed in the deep. Did he escape the dredgebeast? Did he tell the king what transpired?
The Coral guards hinge at the waist, bowing to the newcomers. They produce several parasols, shading the Abyssal troop from view like an armored beetle.
This isn’t right. The Abyssal King wasn’t supposed to come. King Rion is known for his aloofness, his proclivity for the darkness and his hatred for the surface. It’s said he emerged from the deep only once in his hundred years and promptly retreated, shrieking, due to the sun.
If the princess’s king brother is here in the flesh, expecting to find the real Aris—or worse, her killer—what chance do we have of pulling off this gig? As fat a chance as a bloodfish caught in the den of a dredgebeast, that’s what. My avenue for escaping this assignment alive narrows by the moment.
Across the room, Clio chatters to herself, now busy straightening the pins and brushes on Odissa’s vanity table. Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, narrowing.
Carefully, I tie the ribbon around the curtain, tucking it into position next to the window.
“Princess,” I whisper, voice strained. “This ribbon deserves your attention.”
Odissa frowns, tucking the towel around her breasts, and quietly joins me. She follows my gaze to the Abyssal entourage crossing the beach, and her face pales.
“Clio, dearest,” she says sweetly, “I wonder if you might fetch me a glass of ice water from the kitchen.”
Clio obliges and leaves the room. When the door clicks shut, Odissa lets out a whooshing breath.
“Fuck,” she groans.
“Fuck is right.”
“Rion was supposed to stay in the deep. He never leaves. Not for anything. I’m surprised he’s even here.”
“Maybe our soldier friend from the Drink made it back home safe and sound.”
Her eyes flash at the unstated threat in my words. “And that’s my fucking fault? You’re the killer. I’m the brains. You had one job to do, Enna.”
I bite my tongue. Now’s not the time to remind her of her blunder in the Drink, the real reason that wounded soldier survived.
Odissa crosses her arms. “You sawhim? You saw the king just now?” She peers outside. Below, the promenade of parasols has barely moved. One of the darksteel figures produces a thin stone for the captain to read.
“The prince likes me well enough, and he’s desperate for a wife. Soren will vouch for me.”
If that was true, would Soren have ravished me like he did this morning? If the prince liked Odissa at all, wouldn’t he be ravishing her instead? And, more importantly, if IwantOdissa to succeed, if Iwantmy freedom, why am I standing between them?
“His opinion is the one that matters, in the end, as it’s through him I get my throne. What’s a little family drama to stand in my way? I’ll simply have Soren order the king away. Uninvite him tothe festivities. We parted on bad terms, and I refuse to see my brother’s face. That’ll do nicely.”
It’s a shaky plan, but it might work. As long as I’m not the one to deliver her message.
“Wait a minute,” Odissa whispers, leaning out the window. She narrows her eyes at the troop. “Look, the guards are leaving!”
