Page 43 of A Tale of Ice and Ash
“But youloveromances.”
“In books, sure. In real life? I’d rather not. Complicated, messy affairs. Everything makes more sense when it’s written down.” She leaned towards the window. “We’re nearly there.”
They passed through the city gates shortly after, continuing the winding route towards the castle, lit up like a firecracker against the swirling ink-black sky.Music emanated from the gardens, crawling through the chill evening air.
The carriage drew to a close. The footman hurried to help them down, his wary eyes on Eirwen.
“Don’t stare, Liefried, it’s rude,” Marie snapped at him.
“Ah, yes, My Lady.”
Eirwen stood in front of the main staircase, the grand doors thrown wide before her. The castle was open and alive, and she did not know what it thought of her, or what she should feel.
Home, home. The lair of her enemy.
Marie linked her arm into hers. “Take it slow, if you need to.”
“I am not afraid,” she said. “Not of this.”
A lie, perhaps, but one that made her feel better as they ascended the steps together. Their gowns trailed behind them, glittering ice and starlight. Marie handed her invitation to the guard, who checked it carefully, announcing her presence to the hall awash with beautiful people.
The ballroom was strung with banners and light, towering ice sculptures, mesmerising displays of blue roses and fire lilies. Entertainers were scattered around the room, jugglers and magicians, musicians and jesters. Not a corner was unoccupied. Tables were laden with food; roast venison, stuffed pheasants, mounds of buttery vegetables and delicate pastries. Eirwen’s traitorous mouth began to water.It had been a long time, too long, since she had sampled anything like the feast before her.
“Say what you like about your evil stepmother,” whispered Marie in her ear, “she throws a fabulous party.”
They walked down the centre to the dais at the far end of the room. Seated on the singular throne sat Queen Bianca, draped in a dress of many colours; panels of blue, red, purple and orange, embellished with gold. The sharp cut of the gown cast the effect of a stained glass window.
Marie was announced again, dropping into a low curtsey. Eirwen followed suit, not daring to look up at the Queen’s eyes for fear of recognition. Her knees trembled inside the dome of her skirt.
“Welcome, Marie Von Transinberg,” said the Queen. “It has been a while since your last visit to court. I hope you are well.”
“Plenty well, Your Majesty. You are as radiant as I remember you.”
The Queen smiled. “And who is your splendid companion?”
Eirwen stilled.
“My cousin, Alia Von Eisenever. It is her first visit to your palace.”
The Queen rose from her seat, and crossed the floor between them. Eirwen kept still, rooted to the spot, staring at the pointed ends of the Queen’s golden shoes.
“Rise, dear child.”
Eirwen rose, and looked into the eyes of the person who wanted her dead. There was nothing in them. No flicker of recognition, only the vacant glance of stony indifference.
“You have beautiful eyes, child.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” She added no compliment afterwards, no hint of plastered flattery. She knew she was expected too. She hoped she came off as too nervous to remember the protocol.
“Hmm. Enjoy the party, my dear.”
She swept back to the throne.
For the first time since she entered the room, Eirwen’s nerves vanished. She was no longer afraid. She was angry.
That was my father’s seat. Now it is mine. Mine, and I will take it from you. Just give me time.
There was a light pressure on her arm.
