“She’s like a locust, plucking them right from the branches. Everyone knows the season is upon us when Lady Whitmore’s fingers are perpetually stained crimson.” She lifts another half of the scarlet fruit and plucks a seed from the flesh before slipping it between her lips.
“As far as addictions go, that one’s not too bad,” I say, biting into the juicy seeds.
“Nothing like Alice with her laudanum.” Marion’s shrug is dainty and demure. “But that, my dear Hannah, is a conversation best left for another time.”
With a swish of her wrist, Marion calls to the nearest attendant. “The jewels, please.” Her voice is tinged with an air of regality I don’t think I’ll ever be able to emulate.
The attendant curtsies and disappears into the dressing room.
Marion sets down the pomegranate, delicately dabbing her fingers on a linen napkin. She rises from the settee and glides over to the gilded dresser. “The queen always says to choose one’s jewelry before choosing one’s dress since the jewels are the most important part of one’s outfit and should not be overshadowed by mere fabrics,” she explains as the attendant returns with a large velvet-lined tray heavy with jewelry and hairpins.
My head spins from too much wine, sugar, and now this. I meet Marion at the dresser, and my fingers curl into my skirts as I take in the delicate necklaces. Sapphire and diamond accents wink like stars against the black velvet, their silver chains shimmering like the tail of a comet. Bracelets lie in neat rows, their metallic bands encrusted with aquamarine, lapis, and moonstone. Gold bangles gleam alongside them, their smooth surfaces etched with delicate patterns that swirl and loop like waves breaking against the shore. Hairpins studded with pearls and sapphires are scattered among the jewelry next to earrings dangling from small silver hooks and ranging from teardrop-shaped sapphires to clusters of delicate pearls.
My breath hitches as I force my face into a neutral mask.
These are supposed to be yours, Hannah. This is supposed to be normal.
I have to keep my composure and reel in the factthat I’m completely gobsmacked and speechless by this spread of jewelry worth more than my entire life. Because, in my life, or ratherLady Ashwood’slife, this is only a fraction of what I would actually have in my fancy armoire back in the Palace of Cups.
I glance at Marion, whose hand drifts over the collection of jewels with the same subtle plucking motion she used before choosing a pastry. “This is beautiful, Hannah.” She beams, selecting a necklace. The chain dangles from her fingers, its diamonds catching the light.
“Yes, it’s super pretty.” I nod, my heart pounding. “But maybe I should go with something a little more subtle.” I point to a silver necklace with a single glimmering sapphire pendant. “Like this one.”
“Nonsense!” She clucks. “Do something unexpected, Hannah. Surprise yourself.” Marion lifts another statement necklace, jewels dripping between her fingers. “‘Let not the shadow of duty eclipse the sun of yourself.’ The queen taught me that when I first arrived at court. It completely changed my life.”
A pang of recognition twists in my chest, the words resonating with the glossy pale pink cover of the self-help book I had outside Luna’s Twilight Tarot and Healing Arts. The realization settles over me like a blanket, heavy and warm and familiar.
Is there a chance the Tower didn’t make a mistake? That the Empress found the right person and I’m actually where I’m supposed to be? That falling into Towerfall wasn’t an accident?
No, Hannah, ithadto be a mistake. What could you possibly offer Pentacles that it doesn’t already have?
Marion chooses classic pearl hairpins to go with themore subdued necklace I insist on choosing and hands them to the attendant before clapping, her elation lifting her onto her tiptoes. “Now for the dress.”
Five attendants bring out five separate gowns, lined up and shimmering in a dazzling ombré from lightest to darkest shade of blue. My gaze settles on the second to last. A berry-blue gown, its bodice richly embroidered with silver thread that swirls across the fabric like constellations. I move closer, running my hand over the delicate threads, smooth and cool beneath my fingers.
“You don’t have to say a word.” Marion makes a shooing motion, and the other attendants retreat, gowns in hand, back into the dressing room. “That look says enough.”
“I feel like a fairy-tale princess.” A rush of excitement surges through me, and I spin around, my arms spread wide, before collapsing against the layers of fluffy down that cover the bed. The room spins around me for a bit too long. I need to take a break from the wine and find some water.
As I steady myself and gaze up at the canopy overhead, Marion perches on the edge of the bed beside me. “We are quite fortunate here within the palace. Even if it is a bit rigid.”
I prop myself up on my elbows. “Why don’t you go to your country house, get away for a while? Sure, your husband will have to stay here and do his job, but it doesn’t seem like the queen needs you as much as she used to.”
“I would love that, but Highgate…” Marion’s smile falters, and she looks down at her hands neatly foldedin her lap. “My husband is a complex man. He’s rather traditional and very…particular about certain things.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Particular?”
“He believes in specific roles and responsibilities. Men and women, each with their own place. He can be…firm in his beliefs. He means well, truly. He simply has a way of seeing the world that can be quite structured. He believes he’s protecting me and making sure I’m cared for, and he is. I am. It’s just that his way of caring can feel a bit…stifling.”
I want to hug her and tell her we’ll run away to the country together and that no man will ever be able to tell us what to do ever again, but I don’t. I can’t.
“I understand,” I say gently, feeling a pang of sadness.
Marion forces a brighter smile and blows out a puff of air. “But Highgate is a good man. He’s loyal and dependable, and marriage does not come without its challenges.”
“Absolutely,” I agree. “No one is perfect.”
“Well, your Ashwood seems to be nearly there. At least from the outside.” Marion titters and playfully brushes me with her elbow.
