Page 6 of A Court of Masks and Roses
Topped by the orange Eye of the Goddess, the Temple of Dansil shines over all the other buildings, towering even above the peaks of the royal palace. These two stone monstrosities, the palace and temple, rise like sentinels at Delta’s northern border, just before the forest starts up again. The houses grow larger as we gain ground, the white stucco brighter andcleaner, the bushes manicured. By the time we’re within sight of the palace walls, its surrounding gardens make their appearance with immaculate geometric fields of green grass, gray gravel walkways, and strict accents of blue and red tulips that sway in the breeze. Blue for His Royal Majesty King Firehorn. Red for the Goddess and Bishop Bahir. All is manicured to give the illusion of perfection. Just as I am.
The rattling wheels finally bump to a halt, and I find myself looking out the window at the grand archways of the palace’s main entrance. A royal guardsman with the king’s diamond sigil embroidered on his shoulder pulls open the heavy carriage door as if it weighs nothing. He surveys my hands, waist, and ankles with sharp eyes that look far too old for his twenty or twenty-one years.
I smile. Lady Lianna is unaware she is being checked for weapons, so she can hardly be insulted.
“My lady.” The guard’s voice is perfectly courteous. Holding out his hand, he helps me down the steps. “I am Trace, the captain of His Majesty’s guard detail. Welcome to the Delta Royal Palace.”
“A pleasure,” I murmur, memorizing Trace’s features while gingerly navigating the carriage’s steep exit. Honed muscles, shoulder-length blond hair that shimmers like silver, dark gray eyes that track every movement. His sculpted frame has a predator’s lethal grace that complements the deadly weapons strapped to his waist and back. Unlike the bejeweled strolling courtiers and stretches of blue and red flowerbeds lining the path to the palace steps, Trace is no decoration.
Wasps’ soft buzzing fills my ears as my feet settle onto the gray gravel. I frown at the stinging insects circling the flowers. I hate wasps. I hate this city, so full of people and stone and flowers. I hate this palace.
Raising my chin, I meet Trace’s gaze head-on. Theguardsman’s cool eyes and tight jaw reveal nothing of his thoughts, but the wide, cautious berth that the other guards and courtiers give him warns me to be wary.
“King Firehorn eagerly awaits the pleasure of your company,” Trace says curtly, offering me his arm.
I’m smart enough to recognize pressure when I see it. Firehorn is granting me no time to get my bearings. Annoying, but Leaf and I predicted the possibility and dressed me appropriately, in a full-skirted blue velveteen gown with lace cuffs and a high-standing collar. My eyes are lined with kohl to appear large and innocent. The kohl, together with lip paint, blush, and powder, helps me slip into Lady Lianna’s skin. Still, it’s all I can do not to glance back at my sister before resting my fingers on Trace’s forearm.
The muscles beneath his uniform jacket are coiled with reined-in violence. No doubt the choice of my escort was likewise made with a message from my king in mind. Perhaps I should take Firehorn’s abundance of caution as a compliment.
Trace’s eyes cut to my face, and I force my hand to relax atop his, letting him take my arm’s weight. It’s fortunate that the vambrace with my throwing daggers rests high enough on my wrist that the guard feels nothing of the weapons beneath my sleeve.
Trace leads me directly to the front steps, white polished stone awash with orange light from the great living crystal topping Bahir’s Temple of Dansil. Despite being the head of an order claiming magic to be the work of the Dark God, Bishop Bahir has surprisingly few qualms about using living crystals for his own grandeur.
“That is the Eye of the Goddess,” Trace informs me, following my gaze from the steps to the far-off orb. There must be a mile and a half separating us from the templegrounds, yet the light bridges the space easily. “Delta never gets fully dark, thanks to it.”
I smile as if finding Trace’s insights both novel and fascinating, and climb the steps to the palace door, which Trace opens for me in one smooth motion to reveal gleaming marble floors. Two landings and nine corridors later, Trace leads me down a hall lined with paintings of battles and generals. A sentry standing at one of the heavy wooden doors tenses at Trace’s approach and salutes with one fist pressed to his chest.
Ignoring the sentry, Trace strides to the door and knocks twice.
The door opens promptly to reveal a stocky, smiling man in his forties. His clothes are plain but tailored finely, and his dark hair has just enough gray in it to give him an air of wise dignity without the staleness of age. It takes me a moment to register the small crown.
I pull my hand away from Trace’s steady arm and sink into a curtsy.
“Niece!” King Firehorn takes my hands, urging me to rise. He holds me at arm’s length, his kind brown eyes studying me intently. I can’t help but wonder whether my father had eyes such as his, before I remember that I should hate this man. Firehorn’s smile deepens. “You are a beauty, Lianna. And a copy of your late sire. Please, come inside.”
Trace takes a step forward, stopping only when Firehorn puts out his hand.
“She hasn’t been searched for weapons, sir,” the guard says.
“I certainly hope not!” Firehorn tells him. When this appears to little mollify Trace, the king adds, more firmly, “I shall bear the risk. Consider it a royal whim.” He holds the door open for me and I step into a warm room, overstuffedbrown chairs and heavy curtains creating a tasteful ambience of intimacy and comfort.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” I take the fullest breath I’ve taken since stepping off the carriage, allowing for the possibility that there is more to the king than I’d expected. “I am more grateful for a friendly face than you know.”
“Trace is overprotective,” Firehorn says flatly, his back to me as he closes the door. His voice chills. “He will not go far, even with nothing but a young girl to threaten me, so keep your voice down.” Alarm bells spur my heart into a gallop as the king spins on his heels, his eyes steel. Despite myself, I retreat a step. “You are late, girl.” Scowling, Firehorn examines me closely, as if I were an expensive breeding filly that didn’t quite have the build he’d hoped for.
4
KALI
Firehorn’s eyes stop on my bosom.
I cross my arms, my stomach churning along with my thoughts.
“Save the modesty act, Kalianna. Arms at your sides and turn around. Slowly. Now.”
My face burns, but I turn slowly as instructed, tethering my mind to the throwing knives strapped to my forearm.You will protect you,I repeat to myself firmly.You need no one.
Firehorn grunts. “Well enough. Now show me Kal. Lord Gapral said you’ve trained as a lad.” Retrieving a satchel from behind his desk, the king tosses it to me. Boy’s clothes, in my size.
