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If mates of the heart were something more than legend, then I believed that was what my mother and father had been to one another.
A heaviness settled in my chest, cold and aching. Sometimes, I also wondered if my mother blamed me for his death. Maybe if he’d fathered a son. If he had, would he still be alive? Instead, he was gone, and I didn’t care what the Priests of the Primal of Life may believe or claim. He had to be in the Vale, finding whatever peace he hadn’t been able to attain in life.
In the center of the aching coldness was a spark of heat—anger. That was another reason it was so hard to look upon him. I didn’t want to be angry because it seemed wrong to feel that, but he’d left me before I even had a chance to know him.
The doors to the sitting room suddenly creaked, causing my stomach to drop. I spun, knowing there was no way I could make it to the servants’ door in time. Any hope that it would be one of my mother’s Ladies vanished at the sound of her voice. A storm of emotions whipped through me. Dread over how she’d respond to finding me here. Hope that she wouldn’t take issue with my presence. Bitterness that warned I was foolish to hold onto such hope. I locked up as the Queen of Lasania swept inside, a force of flowing lilac skirts and sparkling gems. Behind her, Lady Kala and a seamstress stood, the latter clutching a gown.
I couldn’t help but stare at my mother. I hadn’t seen her since the night the Vodina Isles Lords had rejected the offer of allegiance. Did she look different? The creases at the corners of her eyes appeared deeper. She looked slimmer, and I wondered if it was the gown or if she struggled with her appetite. If she were ill…
“Thank you so much for finishing the gown—” My mother drew up short, the yellow-jeweled comb pinning her curls in place glittering in the lamplight. Her gaze landed on me, widening slightly and then narrowing. My shoulders straightened as I braced myself. “What are you doing in here?” she demanded.
I opened my mouth, but any ability to form words left me as she stalked forward, leaving Lady Kala and the seamstress by the door.
She stopped several feet from me, her chest rising sharply. Tension bracketed the Queen’s lips as she turned away from me. “I’m sorry, Andreia,” she said, speaking to the seamstress. Andreia. I thought I’d recognized her. Joanis was her last name. She had a clothing shop in Stonehill frequented by many of the noblemen and women. “I know your time is very valuable. I wasn’t aware that my handmaiden would be here.”
Handmaiden.
Lady Kala’s gaze dropped to the floor as the seamstress shook her head. “It is fine, Your Grace. I will just go ahead and get set up.”
My focus shifted from my mother to the seamstress. Andreia had dark shadows under her eyes, and stray brown hairs escaped the neat bun at her neck. I was willing to bet she had spent many long nights finishing the froth of ivory silk and pearls she carried. A muscle ticked at the corner of my mouth as I thought of how many coins that gown must’ve cost. Andreia’s services didn’t come cheap. Meanwhile, thousands—if not more—were starving.
But my mother needed a new gown that could feed dozens of families or the entire orphanage for months—if not longer.
“I’m not sure why you’re in here,” the Queen advised under her breath, having drifted closer to me in that often-eerie, silent way of hers while I watched the seamstress hang the gown from a hook on the wall. “But quite honestly, at this moment, I do not care.”
I looked at her, not even bothering to search for any glint of warmth in her features. That brief glimmer of hope was already long gone. “I did not expect you to be here.”
“For some reason, I feel as if that is a lie, and you’re here just to be a disturbance.” The creases at the corners of her eyes were far more noticeable now as she too, watched Andreia root around in the bag she’d brought with her. “After all, I am sure the seamstress is currently questioning why a handmaiden would be dressed as a stable hand while in one of my private quarters. This possible catastrophe has your name written all over it, having willed it into being.”
I stared at her, stuck between disbelief and amusement. “If I had the ability to will things into being, it would not be this.”
“No, I suppose you’re right,” she remarked in a flat, icy tone I’d never heard her use with anyone else. “You would use that gift for something far more harmful.”
