Page 11 of Heart’s Rescue

Arryn

Barely Acceptable

“Barely acceptable,” Mother declares.

I try not to let my shoulders sag. Bad posture is most unladylike, and the stars know I don’t want to give Mother any more reasons to find me barely acceptable this morning. Not if I’m going to pull this off.

I nod as though I’m going to take Mother’s criticism to heart as she carefully lifts my sunflowers in her magic and then rips them apart.

It hurts. Illusions, even these bad ones, are a part of my magic. It burned my fingers and made my muscles shake to create them. Now, as they’re being destroyed, I feel like there’s a gaping, ragged hole in my chest, and each petal and spark that drifts to the floor falls like a shard of broken glass.

Mother meets my eyes as the last sunflower vanishes. I stand up tall. By the time I’d finished all sixty flower arrangements, the eastern sky outside the library’s windows was the glossy alabaster pink of the inside of a seashell. Now it’s mid-morning, and the sun’s radiance paints my mother’s face in a way that makes her beauty gleam like a weapon.

“Dismissed,” Mother says.

There’s a part of me that wants to scream with my sudden freedom. But instead, I stand stock-still, watching Mother with obedient eyes. Don’t speak until spoken to, and all that.

“Unless there’s something else?” Mother asks, arching one of her delicate eyebrows.

“Yes, Mother,” I begin, nodding politely. “I thought—”

My voice falters. I swallow hard and push on.

“I thought I might travel to the Shrine of the Morning Star. To offer prayers for my beloved.”

Both of Mother’s eyebrows lift. For a moment, she looks almost pleased.

“Yes,” she says. I can see the wheels spinning in her mind already. “Yes, very good. Make sure you take the main road. You should pass the palace at high noon.”

When King Grathgore will be taking his meal on the balcony, of course. I nod again while my heart races against my chest. I can’t believe I’m about to get away with this. Mother’s gaze travels up and down my body, a quick, evaluative glance.

“You look awful,” she declares. “That’s good. We’ll play it up. I’ll put you in dark blue again, something subdued. Stars, you’ll need to leave soon!”

She claps twice to summon a servant; a human girl creeps into the room a moment later.

“Take my daughter to her room,” Mother says. “Clean her up, but leave the eyes. She should look like she’s been crying.”

I turn to leave the library, the human at my heels.

“And summon a crier,” Mother calls after me. “Someone needs to ride before her to announce her intentions!”

Two hours later, I’m riding past the palace. I don’t dare glance up at the balcony where King Grathgore of the Summer dines when he is in repose. Instead, I lift my gaze to creep along the high towers and turrets of His Majesty’s palace.

I know most of them. That squat, blocky tower holds the room where the hunting trophies are kept, a dark, creepy place where we’d play hide and seek as children. And behind that tower are the delicate, arching spires and bridges of the guest quarters, where my beloved first took my innocence. I know that memory should make me smile, but it still leaves me with a pinched, uncomfortable feeling low in my gut. Perhaps I’ll feel different once I’m the queen.

I tear my eyes off the guest quarters and to the farthest, tallest tower, the one capped in crystal, where Princess Elanerill waits in her magical sleep until her heart is retrieved from the Kingdom of the Fall in the Lands Below. They built that tower so she could be close to the stars, the story goes, but as I watch the crystal roof gleam in the light my chest feels tight. She’s so far from the Lands Below, our princess. So far from her heart.

I blink, then shake my head, a bit taken aback by the trail of my foolish thoughts. Our family crier rides ahead of me on his white stallion, stopping every few paces to blow his golden trumpet and announce who I am and where I’m going. Which means I’m constantly reining in Crabapple, my palomino, so that I can stand in the street, look pretty, and try not to roll my eyes at the fiftieth declaration that Lady Arryn of the family Damoira is off to the Shrine of the Morning Star to pray for the safe return of His Highness Prince Folwynn.

Which, of course, I’m not. I mean, I am praying for his safe return. I just won’t be doing it at the Shrine of the Morning Star, and I won’t exactly be relying on prayer alone. I run my hand down the side of my dress, which is dark blue velvet with white silk trim and black ribbons, feeling for the hard edge of the dagger I’ve hidden in the folds of the skirt.

My sword would have been better; there are bandits and the stars only know what else in the Barrier Mountains. But I couldn’t exactly ride through the middle of town and past the palace with a sword strapped to my waist. Honestly, it was a bit of a miracle I’d managed to distract the human servant long enough to slip the dagger under my skirt.

This skirt, though. I look down and frown at the velvet that falls in such artful waves over my legs. The dress has a rather modest neckline, but the top is skintight and the skirt is so long it falls past Crabapple’s stirrups. I grudgingly admit that it probably looks striking from a distance, but it’s going to be a horrible pain to drag this much velvet through the Barrier Mountains as I try to find Prince Folwynn’s trail.

Or maybe I’ll just cut the skirts. That thought sparks an unexpectedly sharp jolt of pleasure. Yes, maybe I’ll just use my hidden dagger to ruin this entire expensive and artfully arranged outfit.

I catch myself before I can smile. It wouldn’t do for Lady Arryn to be seen smiling as she makes her very slow way to the Shrine to pray for our dear prince. Still, my hands linger on the place where my dagger hides, just waiting to jump out and destroy something.

Mother will be furious if I destroy the dress, but what if I also emerge from the Barrier Mountains hand-in-hand with Prince Folwynn, my beloved, and with an actual betrothal as well? Because who could deny that the woman willing to risk everything to rescue the prince should wear his wedding band?

Stars, I am smiling. I raise my hand to cover my mouth and then wipe my eyes as though brushing away delicate, ladylike tears.