Page 59 of Splintered Shadow
They proceeded to watch another two episodes, where Vekele told her all the ways the characters made bad decisions, the program was not historically accurate—she had no idea it was a historical drama—and the main character was always diving into the ocean with his clothes on.
It was like Vekele didn’t understand the nature of gratuitous scenes with that handsome actor in wet clothes, emerging dramatically from the ocean, having rescued a kitten or whatever needed to be rescued that episode. She wasn’t even from the same planet and she got it.
News programs were completely entirely different. Sarah had no idea who or what the newscasters spoke about on the programs. She understood the words, obviously, but she didn’t know any of the names or places.
Something happened to someone. It was bad.
Another thing happened to a different person. It was good.
Occasionally, the programs played footage of Vekele and Sarah at the banquet. She couldn’t watch. The cringe factor was too high.
Finally, on the third day, she and Vekele would sign the certificates and speak to the press.
No big. Just the eyes of a multi-planetary kingdom will be on you.
The stylist—she still wasn’t over having a stylist—dressed her in a snug teal waistcoat with a waterfall cut over slim black trousers. Sleeveless, of course, to display her owl tattoo. Fabric flowed over her hips, moving with every step. The collar stood up but was nothing like the elaborate collars on the clothes Vekele found for her at Summerhall. Makeup was kept simple, with no gray paint or powder. The shoes were even comfortable.
As the stylist debated a lip color, an older woman entered the apartment. The woman wore her hair piled high and powdered so thoroughly that a dusty cloud drifted in her wake. She wore a stiff collar that came nearly to the tops of her pointed ears. The golden caps on her claws appeared soft, as if made from silicone. Delicate chains stretched from the caps to a thick bracelet on either wrist.
Quality shone through in her ensemble, but Sarah couldn’t say if it was fashionable, good taste, or overly formal. The soap opera didn’t cover court fashion.
“You may leave,” the woman said, dismissing the stylist.
“Excuse me,” Sarah said. “Who are you?”
The woman ignored her. Instead, she circled Sarah, examining her with a critical gaze. From the distaste on her face, she didn’t like what she saw.
“You are smaller than I expected; not minuscule, more like you were stretched too tall. No substance to your bones,” the woman said at last.
“I’m perfectly average for a human,” Sarah said. The woman stood a head taller than her. Everyone she met on the planet seemed to be taller than her, so maybe she was pint-sized.
“Going without makeup is a wise choice. Play up to that primitive look.”
Primitive?
“I’m sorry. Who are you again?”
“The king’s aunt, here to ensure that you do not embarrass the royal family in front of the media.”
“From what I’ve heard, Baris and Vekele have a dozen aunts and uncles. Which one are you?” Sarah stepped back from the woman, putting distance between them.
An assassin would have to have balls of steel to march into a room, dismiss the staff, and pretend to be family, but better to be cautious and alive than bleeding out on the floor. That lesson she learned from watchingGame of Thrones.
Ghost came to her side, his body tense and his tail puffed.
“I am Lady Cassana.” She gave a weak laugh. “And if I wanted you dead, you would be dead.”
“That sounds like the family motto.”
Cassana was not amused.
Ghost growled, pressing close to Sarah’s legs.
The woman’s gaze snapped down to Ghost. “So the reports were true. You bonded with a beast. The primitive woman and her monster.”
Instinctively, Sarah placed a hand on Ghost’s ruff. It centered her as much as it calmed him.
“I should not be surprised,” Cassana continued. “Vekele was always dragging home wild things he thought he could tame.”
