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“Things like what happened yesterday? In the West Wing?” I prod.
If I expect her to lie or hedge, she surprises me by doing neither.
“Yes,” she says simply, her tone more accented than usual. “Things like that. I must get to them as well, Mistress, unless there is another things you need.”
There is nothing I can think of that wouldn’t be childish, and I can see I won’t get any more answers from her. So, I shake my head.
“I won’t keep you.” The words have less warmth than I mean for them to, but Sigrid doesn’t bristle.
If anything, she practically deflates on her way out the door, as though she’s exhausted and disappointed all at the same time.
That makes two of us.
I lived most of my life in Madame’s household, where it went without saying that someone was hurting at any given moment. It’s no different here. Still, people suffer, and I am helpless to stop it.
I don’t even know whatitis.
I shouldn’t be so concerned. That’s not why I’m here, but I can’t seem to help myself.
I had assumed Madame chose this kingdom because Einar is the only unmarried king this side of the Cerulean Sea, the quickest route to a throne. But perhaps it was more than that. Did she know they were weakened from within?
I heave a frustrated sigh.
It’s clear no one else is going to give me any answers today, so I’ll have to find them myself. Though only a handful of days have passed since my arrival here, it feels like a lifetime. It feels like more than long enough to live in a castle where I can’t see another human face, save for that of the indecipherable king.
This has gone on long enough.
I dress in one of my many impractical gowns, this one a pale shade of yellow with sheer sleeves that drag along the stone floors, and I don my usual array of head jewels before leaving. Khijhana is at my feet, as impatient to escape this room as I am.
After yesterday, I wonder how the guards outside my door will react, but I stride out of my room without giving them a chance to doubt my right to be there. They let me pass, following behind me on eerily soundless footfalls.
I wonder if the guards rotate, if these could be the same ones I encountered yesterday. I only have small cues to go by when their faces are covered by the beaked masks, but I’m fairly certain they are different. One of their builds is a mite too thin, and the other seems an inch or two shorter.
My confidence in that assessment leads me to the West Wing, where I hope they won’t know I’m not allowed.
It’s a feeble hope, and one that I am rid of as soon as I spot the massive staircase with two frustratingly familiar guards posted at either side. They stand a little straighter when they see me, and I stop in my tracks.
“Are you lost, milady?” This from one of the two following me.
I never get lost, but I don’t tell them that. Instead, I continue past the staircase like I had always planned on going this way.
Before I know it, I find myself nearing the room I had been drawn to on my first tour of the castle. The study is smaller than the other rooms I’ve seen here, the ceilings not quite as cavernous, allowing the roaring hearth to actually inject some heat into the area. The deep brown panels of the walls are as appealing today as they were the first time, and there are a number of plushy chairs situated in small clusters to allow for conversation, if I was not the only one present.
What calls me here, though, are the windows. High, curved structures that span nearly the entire height and width of the outward-facing wall, they overlook the back end of the estate where deep green, snow-capped cedars stretch as far as the eye can see. Beyond the trees are mountains that dwarf even the massive, imposing structure we are in.
I can imagine running through those woods, tiny glistening snowflakes settling in my eyelashes. The sight is so much freer than I will ever be, and I allow myself to sink into that feeling while I stand here, surrounded by the rare warmth of the crackling flames.
For the first time since I arrived at this place, I feel like I can breathe.
It’s not a feeling I’m eager to let go of, so I search the room for something to pass the time until dinner. The far side of the study holds a small collection of books, but it’s nothing I have any use for.
There are playing cards and wooden puzzles on a few of the tables, showing an interesting amount of use considering the vacant state of the room. There is even a small wooden chess board, pieces frozen in place halfway through a game. Finally, my eyes settle on an ornate grand piano in the corner.
My heart falters for a beat.
It’s not my instrument. It never has been.
But it was my sister’s.
