“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “For you, and for Edward. If she was going to break his heart, she could have at least done it in private. She can be so very cruel sometimes.”
Mareda bristled in her arms.
This, apparently, was the wrong thing to say.
Her sister wriggled away, untangling herself. Her eyes still gleamed with tears, but they were hard now, the red rims suddenly dangerous rather than tragic.
“Don’t.”
Adeline really tried.
Shetoldherself not to roll her eyes, but she couldn’t help it. It was a deeply ingrained reaction to something she would never, ever understand. The one thing they would never, ever agree on.
Because even grieving for her father’s pride, Mareda wouldn’t hear a single word against their mother. The baseless, undeserved, unrequitedloyaltyjust beggared belief. Went beyond logic or reason–or even any kindness or love as far as Adeline could tell. Unless you counted the love Edward had for Selma, the tragic love story Mareda had been raised on. Yet here it was, a treasured fairytale shredded before her eyes and still her sister couldn’t accept that the Queen held no regard for her own family whatsoever.
It never failed to set her teeth on edge. She gritted them now.
“Fine,” Adeline said flatly. “You’re right. She’s perfect, and that wasn’t at all humiliating for everyone involved.”
She turned to Papou again, shucking off her cloak and slinging it over the horse’s back to trap in some extra warmth beneath her thick blankets. And to keep her hands busy, so she wouldn’t be tempted to grab her sister by the shoulders andshakesome self respect into her.
“That’s not the point. You forget that she’s our Queen.”
Adeline snorted. “Trust me, I don’t. Queen first and foremost, mother when it suits her. I’m well aware.”
Mareda folded her arms, her lips a hard line.
“Will you speak so terribly of me, whenI’myour Queen?”
Adeline’s hands curled into fists at her side.
“If you are my Queen one day, Mareda, I won’t consider you above judgement. The rules of common decency won’t cease to apply to you because you’ve got aneffingcrown on your head.”
It took physical effort to censor herself, and even in doing so, she knew it was still too much. It wasn’t the half-uttered curse that had Mareda’s eyes flashing either.
It was theif.
If you are my Queen one day.
Adeline swallowed hard, but she glared right back. She’d conceded enough for one morning.
Her sister just shook her head.
“Let’s get started.”
Mareda stalked away, shrugging her cloak off into the powdery snow as she went.
“Let’s,” Adeline called at her retreating back.
She stooped to snatch up Mareda’s cloak and quickly draped it over her sister’s horse before she followed, stepping off the snowy banks and onto the solid laketop. With a kick of each booted heel, the steel spikes shot out of Adeline’s soles and at once she noticed the sturdy brace beneath her every step. Though up ahead, Mareda was still managing just fine as she prowled further toward the centre of the lake.
The Laune was a well-worn surface. Every day, hundreds of feet passed over the laketop, boots dragging thousands of paths into the ice. Wooden stalls gouged divots in the solid lake, and enchanted steel firepits melted shallow puddles that froze over every night. It wasn’t hard to find traction walking over the Laune at a casual pace; but Adeline was eager to see how her sister held up against the slippery early morning frost while dodging a sword point.
And yes, perhaps that curiosity was whetted against the sharp edge of the words they’d exchanged on the banks.
So when Mareda turned smoothly on one heel and unsheathed her sword, Adeline couldn’t help the wicked grin that rose to her lips like a retort.
She pulled her own sword from the sheath at her hip – and lunged.
