Page 108 of Jeweler to the Blessed
“He talked about me like I was normal.” Hart had said as much before. I didn’t know why that bothered me. It was to protect me, after all.
Hart’s fist clenched. “You are magnificent. He knew that. It’s why he did everything he did to protect you. To give you the best chance.”
I swallowed. “The best chance against the Cursed King?”
He laughed. “The Cursed King has had over two hundred years to take the throne. I assure you, he is not a threat.”
Hart had said he knew him. He said the Cursed King wasn’t dangerous to me as Jeweler to the Blessed. Now, he reinforced it when he called me Eris’s Champion. I wanted desperately to believe him. We’d need to discuss it more if I sought to change things before the Blessing. I was getting ahead of myself. First, we needed to get through tonight.
Hart’s face sobered as if sensing where my thoughts had turned. “You want to venture into the Oldwood after the Masquerade?”
I nodded. “We need to free him before the Blessing. This is our best chance.”
I had considered going last night, but with the attack on myself and the prince, the Oldwood would have been filled with soldiers until sunrise.
Hart stood. “You lead, I’ll follow.”
Something in me warmed. If I believed, as he did, that I was Eris’s Champion, it might be the third option I had been looking for. If I could harness the magic of a goddess, maybe I wouldn’t have to deliver the adamas, and also, I wouldn’t have to run.
Maybe I could free the city from King Rodric Glanmore’s adamas-fueled grip.
Hart returned me to my room to wash and dress. He sent one of the sentries to find him a mask for the ball, taking their place outside my door while I readied.
Penelope was waiting for me. She had a box with a familiar stamp on it, one that only took me moments to place.
“You got me a dress from the modiste?”
“Prince Elias did. He insisted you required a proper garment.”
This whole thing made me uncomfortable. I couldn’t remember if Alaric had ever been required to attend the Masquerade. It was irrelevant, I was sure, but why did the prince want me there? If what Hart and I had discussed was true, I was in even more danger with the Glanmores.
One of the clearest pieces of information fromChampions of Kavioswas that Themis’s Champion was a Glanmore. Three generations of the family had founded the city—and its mines—together. With the power of the adamas, and its eternal youth, it wasn’t entirely clear which generation the Cursed King was a part of. As far as I knew, neither Rodric nor Elias had nightmare magic. The most agreed-upon theory was that Elias had a brother.
Whoever he was, we all knew he was cursed. Although, no one agreed upon the details of that curse. Why hadn’t he taken the throne and ended any potential fight between Chaos and Order’s champions for Kavios?
If I were Chaos’s Champion, and the Cursed King was at the founding of Kavios, then Hart was right. The Cursed King would have had two hundred years to take the throne uncontested.
What kind of curse would stop him?
Penelope pulled the dress from its box, and I held my breath. All thoughts about the Cursed King paused as I worried about whether the prince’s tastes would match mine. The women in the castle appeared to enjoy lower cuts and more exposed skin than I cared to display.
There’d be no time to fight whatever had been chosen. Penelope held it proudly for my review. The dark green reminded me of the exact shade of Hart’s eyes. I shook the thought away, examining the long, flowing sleeves. At least my arms would be covered.
The upper back of the dress was made of sheer material with a high lace collar. It protected my neck, and while the gossamer showed off my skin, it didn’t expose it to touch. If I looked at it only from behind, it would be perfect.
Then Penelope turned the dress.
The front dipped low. It would show a daring amount of skin between my breasts.
I sighed. At least this was the front of the dress. I had achance to defend myself if someone reached for my chest. It was the best I could hope for. There was no point in arguing. Penelope couldn’t change it anyway.
She brought in hot water to wash and, after I was clean, helped me into the dress. I was uncomfortable with how well it fit, clinging to every curve.
With the dress in place, Penelope braided my golden hair into a crown around my head. Then, she came at me with a stick of kohl.
I stepped back. “What are you doing?”
She glanced down at the stick, which looked like a thick writing instrument. “Lining your eyes.”
