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Her attention was pointed straight. She could not allow herself to look over and see the sickly green of his face. It bothered her the first time and it bothered her every time after that. Burke had been to war. They’d both seen death dealt with no remorse in the most sickening of ways. It was one thing to watch someone die on a battlefield and another to watch her parents rot.
God given magic could do a lot of things, yet Queen Idalia was not able to raise the dead with her staff. Nor could she slow the decomposition of their bodies more than giving them the right kind of atmosphere to slow it down and treating the peeling flesh with tonics and herbs. Even spells cast by the warlocks helped but only minimally.
“Good,” she said. They turned down a hall avoiding a maid who’d begun making her way toward them. “There are only a few more steps before all my hard work finally comes together.” The pair slowed to a stop outside a closed door and she lowered her voice. “Keep playing your part.”
His eyes trailed to her lips, hovering expectantly. The space between them lessened as the queen leaned forward. Her nose teased the tip of his, drawing a breathy smile to his face before she turned the doorknob and straightened. The flash of his teeth was gone as his face fell back into neutrality.
Drapes were closed and no lanterns lit. The only light inside the room came from a small fire in the hearth. Idalia noted the red roses on the table that she herself had not sent and wondered if perhaps Burke was playing his part a little too well. While he practically begged for every kiss, every touch, every moment of her time, he’d never once given her flowers.
A shadow stretched across the floor, unmoving. Idalia followed the line of darkness to the figure propped in a chair with a quilt thrown across her lap. Ambrose’s hair had been braided back into two thick braids, per Idalia’s request, though a few tiny strands still poked out around her temples and at her neck. Her gown was simple but still well enough for a queen so none of the staff would so much as question her.
She was the same. Mostly.
Her large eyes stared endlessly into the fire. They shifted back and forth rapidly as if she was following a ball as it was tossed between two people. Even as Burke closed the door with a loud thud, she didn’t blink.
“Hello, Ambrose. How are you feeling?” Idalia asked.
The tips of her fingers brushed against the ruby necklace that sat against her neck. She blinked, her hand lowering to touch the white scar on her chest.
Idalia frowned. “Didn’t I ask the servants to dress her in such a way that the scar would not be visible?”
“I’ll have a talk with them.” Burke walked to Ambrose with heavy steps. His boots squeaked as he lowered into a squat next to her seat. “Ambrose?”
She blinked once.
Idalia sighed, drumming her fingers against the staff. “Why isn’t she talking?”
“Just give her more time. She just died and was resurrected.”
Was Burke scolding her? His brows pulled together and his mouth dipped into a frown. She stared as he intertwined his fingers with Ambrose. She couldn’t count the number of times he’d held her hand that way. This felt different than how he touched her though. This felt intimate, as if she should be the one to leave the room.
The euphoric burst of power she got from death was still active in her veins. Ambrose was wrecking that mood though, bringing her down far faster than she’d have liked. Carefully, she set her staff to balance against the wall before bringing herself to Ambrose’s other side.
“Ambrose, honey.” Idalia pinched her chin, turning her face this way and that. With still no answer and her sister’s eyes glazed and distant, she shook her gently and snapped, “Ambrose!”
Those once deep brown eyes, now an angry reddish-orange color, slowly lifted to meet Idalia’s gaze. When Ambrose was finally steady enough to leave this room she’d have to have a warlock come and make sure they stayed brown while she was out. A simple fix.
“Idalia,” Ambrose rasped.
The way she dragged her name out, catching on the ‘a and l’ sent a shiver running down Idalia’s spine.
“Yes, yes, it’s me.”
“The voices.” Ambrose paused, the seconds stretching. “The voices are much worse. They are… at war in my head.”
That’s not good.
“Hmm, I’ll read up on it. I’ll get it fixed don’t you worry,” Idalia said though she wasn’t certain Ambrose had even heard her. The life that had been behind her gaze for the briefest of moments was gone again, her body like an empty shell.
Idalia took her time making her way over to the bed, to sit on its perfectly made covers. Had Ambrose even slept yet? She lowered herself to the comforter, aware that she might be the first one to crinkle the bedding.
She was well trained in keeping her expressions neutral and hiding what might truly be happening within the walls of her mind, yet she found it difficult not to frown when she turned to watch Burke stroke Ambrose’s skin. His large scarred hands petted at Ambrose’s hands, then arms, then on up to her cheek and her hair. The urge was harder to contain as Ambrose herself leaned into the touch.
She needed to…distract herself.
She focused on her magic, on the one thing she was sure she had honed above her sisters.
Use me, be rewarded.Idalia swore the staff sang—subtle and mischievous.
