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“It cannot possibly be more than five in the morning,” I groused, trying to slide back into the silken sheets. Pleasant warmth had been trapped between, and I was loath to let it go to waste.
“Early start,” Cryssa repeated, withdrawing a formal tunic from the depths of the closet. Light fell on the acanthus carving at the crest of the large closet, the leafy ornament painted in luminous gold. “We’re due to meet your council members in an hour.”
“How are they awake after all the wine that flowed through the ball last night?” I groaned, flipping the quilt over my head for blissful darkness.
In the very next moment, bliss was snatched away. Cryssa peered down at me, concern knitting her brows.
“You’re not usually one to lay abed,” she chided, clicking her tongue. “And we don’t have time to linger, I’m afraid.”
She offered a hand, pulling me away from my cocoon of warmth.
“I’ve advised the butler to send our garments back to Summerstream Fortress, since we won’t be able to take them ourselves.”
I slid my feet into a pair of waiting slippers, watching Cryssa as she flit about the room. Like me, she hadn’t gone to bed until well past midnight, yet she seemed to have an abundance of energy as she moved from the vanity to the closet and the side table again.
“Here,” she said, thrusting a warm mug of tea in my hands. “Drink up.”
I glanced down at the steam that rose from the surface of the light herbal tea, still struggling to blink away the lingering cobwebs of sleep.
“Is there a reason we’re rushing?” I asked, rising with an audible creak of weary limbs. “It’s too early to rush.”
Cryssa pulled out a binder from a satchel that had been set near the doorway—I couldn’t help but notice that it was in a prime position to facilitate a quick and easy departure.
“The council has put together some talking points for your visit to the borders today,” she explained. “You asked to see them before we met with local dignitaries.”
“Well, yes, but not at the crack of dawn,” I protested, stifling a yawn.
“We’ve scheduled a meeting in Boroville in three hours, and it takes almost two to travel to the borders.” Cryssa peered into the vanity mirror, adjusting the fit of her dress. “Your mother has agreed to stay behind to say a formal goodbye to the Highblades.”
I flipped through the binder, scanning the copious amount of detail for keywords. I’d told the council time and again to include bullet point summaries that would be easier to read on-the-go. But they always insisted I wouldn't be able to get the full picture with bullet points alone.
As Cryssa milled about the room, I tilted the binder toward the light, reading the itinerary breakdown for today. True enough, the meeting with Boroville dignitaries was scheduled bright and early at eight in the morning, with a briefing session led by Haladay and Coman—our most seasoned council members—on the hovercraft ride to the borders.
What an efficient use of time,I mulled grouchily, flipping the page. They had included images of the people I would be meeting today, with brief descriptions of their role and influence in the district.
The dignitary in charge of Boroville was a fire sorcerer—or at least descended from a line of fire sorcerers. Typically, one could decipher clan loyalties from last names, and his was Almanera, which meant beacon of fire in an Old Earth language. That wasn’t unusual. The borders featured a mix of people—earth enchanters, fire sorcerers, and neomen alike—and was one of the most complicated places to govern, given its cultural nuances.
Attached to the binder were letters Almanera had written to the council over the years. There were almost ten of them, each one thick in their envelopes. Before I could pull open the first letter, Cryssa stopped me with a hand on the page.
“Bath first, read later,” she stipulated. “We’re running late as it is.”
I obliged, glancing at the clock on the vanity. It was fifteen minutes past five, and the atrocity of the early hour almost drew another groan from my throat.
But I pushed forth, forcing myself into a tub and rinsing away the last of yesterday’s odd twists and turns. When I emerged from the bath, Cryssa had a spread of pastries and fruit waiting in front of the rekindled fire.
As I dressed, I watched her nibble on the edge of a buttered roll, barely biting into it. She glanced at the clock every few minutes, and I got the distinct impression that she was anxious to get going.
Butwhy?
The question lingered in my mind as I secured the emerald tunic with a chestnut leather belt. My braids were still presentable, slicked down with gel by the maid’s firm hands. They would remain neat for another day at least. I was all too grateful tonothave to deal with them this morning.
“Ready?” Cryssa asked as she watched me cinch the belt.
I nodded, unable to find the forbearance for conversation this morning. But Cryssa had no such challenge.
She stopped me with a palm on my waist, her touch lingering with the intimacy of our lengthy betrothal.
“Olympia.”
