This time when I went to smack him, he didn’t back out of my space. He simply snared my wrist before it could make contact and held it an inch away from his cheek.
“One chance per accomplishment, Edira.”
I curled my fingers slightly, and the tips of them grazed his smooth skin. He froze beneath my touch. Two could play this game. If I couldn’t punch him, then at least I’d irritate him to no end. I longed to ghost my fingers along the length of his sharp cheekbone, to trail over the dermal piercings hammered above his brow. But before I could bring my fingertips farther along his jawline, he cast aside my hand with a scowl, taking an exaggerated step back.
A satisfied grin stole across my expression. “At least I got rid of that damn smile somehow.”
Heat flared in his eyes. “That’s enough for today. Can’t have you worn out for tomorrow’s events.”
He strode across the lawns without a backward glance, leaving me behind. I didn’t try to catch up. I was done running to or away from that bastard. Rorik was a wild card that I didn’t know how to play. But I didn’t care. Couldn’t. Because night was here and the fete was tomorrow, and my body throbbed from all the work I’d put it through. Nothing was more important than sleep, so I put his confusing antics to the side and eased the front doors open.
Just down the hall, two attendants were busy rearranging a multitude of flowerpots on the credenzas in preparation for the festivities. Final touches, I assumed. Seville’s theme for the fete was “grandeur,” which made me laugh out loud when I heard her mention it to the staff. She’d orchestrated everything down to the varying perfumes she selected so each room would house its own unique scent.
The flowers should have done that.I eyed the overflowing pots. The nagging reminder that something was off with the flora was inescapable. With their backs to the front door, the attendants hadn’t noticed me slip into the house, and their whispered conversation carried through the near-silent foyer.
“I can’t believe Dagas is attending. After Lorelai, I assumed they’d never set foot here again.” Her brown hair was swept up into a sloppy bun, and she adjusted the silk scarf along her forehead to keep loose strands from falling into her eyes.
The other attendant, a woman with short black hair, nodded her agreement. “She did pass rather quickly after, well, you know.”
Dagas? Lorelai? I paused at the bottom of the stairs, curiosity outweighing my desperate need for sleep.
“Not the first time, either.” The brunette took a step back and surveyed her work. “Still, I’d rather work here than for the Starglens. I’ve heard their home is atrocious.”
Just then, sharp heels clacked against the floorboards, and the women straightened as if lightning had struck their spines. I stiffened with them, knowing full well who was likely rampaging through the manor at this hour in four-inch pumps.
“You two!” Seville came into sight from the opposite end of the hall, and she glared at their frozen forms. “I demand to know who set out the glassware for the Ever meeting. I specifically requested our crystal stemware—the set with the diamond inlay. Retrieve them now and make sure the kitchen knows to serve wine from the reserves when we meet with the Waterstones and Starglens.”
“Of course. Right away,” the brunette said, and both attendants scurried away without a backward glance.
“The incompetence.” Seville pinched her nose, and then without bothering to look my way, she said, “Get to bed, Edira. I swear to the heavens if you have bags beneath your eyes tomorrow, I will riot. We did not spend a fortune on gowns for you to look like death warmed over.”
A heat flamed my cheeks, and I grasped the banister as I glared at her. “You should get some sleep, too.”
“As if anything in this world could make me look less than flawless.” She let her hand fall away before she turned on her heel. “Go. I have work to do.”
And with that she was gone. I grumbled at nothing as I climbed the stairs to my room. I wouldn’t have to worry about bags or harried appearances if I could wield glamour, too. But I obviously couldn’t, and the fatigue from training was already settling deep into my muscles. Still, I couldn’t help but think about the attendants’ hushed gossip. This fete, it seemed, was truly vital for putting old feuds to the side.
I only hoped diamond stemware counted for something when it came to the Starglens.
The next morning, I lounged in bed and revisited the Ever texts I’d pulled from the library. I nibbled on scones and sipped coffee, more than content to let the day slip away, until Vora breezed into my room and announced it was time to get ready. I groaned at the stiffness in my body, but relented when she bribed me with a steaming bath, complete with rosewater and lavender. Of course, it was over entirely too quickly, and before I knew it, I’d been whisked away to an oversized dressing room where Amalyss and Tasia were already waiting. They sat side by side on cushioned, low-backed chairs while two attendants twisted their hair into artful updos. When I stalled in the doorway, their quiet conversation halted.
“Come on. We don’t have time to dally.” Vora nudged me in the back as she guided me toward the third open chair. We were surrounded by ornate mirrors and glass trays full of perfumes and balms and oils. The room was thick with colliding aromas, and I struggled to parse one scent from the next. Tea and coffeehad been arranged on end tables near each chair, and Amalyss delicately set down her cup as I approached.
“Good afternoon,” she said. Beside her, Tasia nodded but didn’t meet my gaze.
“Afternoon.” I took my seat, and Vora immediately got to work, combing through my damp locks. Ywena abandoned my shoulder to temporarily perch on Vora’s, giving her the chance to style without interference.
Strange. I’d never seen Ywena with anyone outside of Rorik, and yet she’d effortlessly settled against the crook of Vora’s neck, all without the attendant even blinking.
For several minutes, none of us spoke. There were a few mumbled comments from the attendants as they traded ideas for our appearances, but aside from that and the gentle clink of fine ceramics, there was nothing to abate the ever-growing tension between Amalyss, Tasia, and me. I would’ve been content to sit silently and listen to their aimless conversation, but they wouldn’t even speak to each other. Amalyss and Tasia were still walking on eggshells, as if even the sound of their voices would invoke Orin’s wrath. And he wasn’t even here.
“So.” I cleared my throat, and they both tensed. “Are you excited for the fete? What color are your gowns?”
They shared a private look before Amalyss dared to speak. “The fete should be fun. My dress is blue.”
“Mine is violet.” There wasn’t even a hint of excitement in Tasia’s voice. “What about yours?”
“Green.” Or some variation of it, at least. I’d largely left the design up to Seville and Mrs.Marlow.
