Rook and Shadow (Salarian Chronicles Book 1) Page 4

  “You don’t think the current batch has potential?”

  “I think they have rich fathers.”

  She laughed, snapped me into a blue gown, and picked up a silver necklace.

  “Let me try!”

  I snapped my fingers. The necklace remained in her hand. Lady Alma sighed and fastened it around my neck.

  “You know you can’t do magic, Princess.”

  “If you would teach me, maybe I could!”

  She shook her head.

  “Your technique looks fine, but magic just doesn’t click for some people.”

  “Then teach me Castanian style magic. That’s different, isn’t it?”

  Her eyes flashed.

  “Absolutely not.”

  “I’ll work hard! At least let me try it.”

  “Out of the question.”

  I crossed my arms, crumpling the front of my gown.

  “You don’t know what it’s like, not being able to work magic.”

  “I do. And you don’t need it.”

  Lady Alma piled my hair on top of my head and placed a diamond ship on top. She coated my arms in flecks of salt enchanted to sparkle like diamonds. The salt activated a charm built into the dress, and the skirt billowed like ocean waves.

  “Is the ship really necessary?” I asked.

  “You would prefer the rose?”

  “They’re already going to compare my hair to the Ghone. Putting a ship there just makes it obvious.”

  She smirked.

  “Would you rather dress up as a snowflake again? Your mother wanted to save the costume for the opera, but I suppose she would make an exception.”

  She pulled the round silver hat out of a drawer.

  “No need,” I said. “Who doesn’t love a good Ghone metaphor?”

  Lady Alma nodded.

  “You’d better go. They’ll be ready for you.”

  The dining hall was empty when we entered it. I took my place on an elevated throne, ignoring the smells of the feast I wouldn’t get to eat. Lady Alma arranged my skirt so the waves would billow around my chair. I sat tall, but far enough back in the seat that I could lean against the back. I knew all too well how tiring it was to sit properly all night.

  Lady Alma stepped off the platform and signaled to a pair of footmen. They swung the doors open, and dinner guests filed into the ballroom. Most of them wore red. Trying to stay on trend no doubt. But the red breakfast gown had been this morning. Those who had fast enough seamstresses wore yellow, to match the gown I had worn at lunch.

  Only one noblewoman wore blue, and her dress was too light to match mine. I smiled at all of them as they walked past me. Those who lived in the palace smiled back. First time guests whispered and pointed.

  After everyone found their seats, Mother and Father entered and sat at the head table. Servants in the corners of the room worked a spell to dim the candles in the chandeliers.

  The candles by me brightened. A tilted row of mirrors behind me reflected the colors of my hair onto the ceiling. Every time I moved, the lights flickered through the room. I shook my head and watched the colors dance. Guests gasped in delight.

  Seda, who had a bad habit of stealing food from people’s plates, remained in my room for the evening.

  A set of doors at the other end of the room swung open. The Minister of Poetry, Sir Quill, entered. His apprentice Sir Inkling followed so close behind him he stepped on his foot. A dozen other poets, still in training at the Royal Academy of Poetry, trailed behind them. Sir Gilbert stood in the middle. He winked at me. A smile spread across my face.

  The poets gasped when they saw it. In unison, they pulled their feather quills from their inkwell hats and began to write.

  Chapter 4

  Sir Gilbert did not wear the traditional garb of a poet. In fact, he did not even carry a quill. He simply looked at me, taking in every detail. I watched him. The rest of the room faded away.

  Servants brought out plates of food, and the guests ate. Normally musicians played at dinner parties, but the poets demanded absolute silence. People tried not to clink their silverware. I had already eaten, but smelling the feast made me hungry again. And the food kept coming. I had heard rumors they had a special surprise for the end of the meal. Maybe someone would think to bring me a plate of it.

  The poets gathered in a semicircle around my stage. Sir Quill stood in the center. As the head poet, he had the right to the best view. Apprentices and students fell into place behind him based on their order of importance.

  Sir Inkling, the chief apprentice, walked past Sir Quill. He stepped up onto the raised platform and examined my face. He drew so close I could smell his breath.

  “Remarkable,” he said.

  I looked down at Sir Quill. Surely he did not want his apprentice getting the best view. But Sir Quill smiled at his protégé and continued to write.

  Sir Inkling walked around, examining me from every angle. His footsteps echoed through the silent ballroom.

  I stared straight ahead, gripping the armrests of my chair. I didn’t dare meet Sir Gilbert’s eyes and bit my lip to keep from speaking.

  Sir Inkling raised a hand and stroked my hair. Then my forehead. He reached for my eyes. I closed them automatically and felt him stroke my eyelashes.

  An ode to my hair, perhaps?

  My eyes were watering by the time he stopped. I resisted the urge to brush away a tear. It rolled down my cheek and dripped off my chin.

  I lowered my eyes. Sir Gilbert caught my gaze and raised an eyebrow. I shook my head slightly.

  Sir Inkling’s breath smelled terrible. He leaned even closer, staring at my eyes. I stared into his nostrils. I could count the hairs.

  The nostrils flared, blowing a puff of air into my face, and Sir Inkling stepped back.

  Sir Gilbert’s hand rested on his shoulder.

  “Excuse me,” he said, “but you are blocking my view.”

  Sir Inkling frowned.

  “Student poets must take whatever view they can get. I am a knighted apprentice.”

  “And apprentices should stand behind their masters.”

  They stared at each other appraisingly.

  Lady Alma hopped onto the platform, sensing a quarrel.

  “This is unacceptable, gentlemen,” she said. “You have not written a word yet, either of you. Please step back so Princess Salara can inspire you with her enchanted voice.”

  Sir Inkling stalked away. Sir Gilbert walked behind him.

  Lady Alma rearranged my hair and stepped back.

  I sang. For poetry sessions, I never had instruments to accompany me. Sir Quill said they distracted from the true beauty of my voice.

  My voice echoed through the enormous room. Courtiers put down their forks and listened. Servants stopped bustling through the room and stood at attention.

  When Lady Alma nodded at me, I stopped. The echoes carried on a moment longer. Clapping would upset the poet’s inspiration, so the guests turned silently back to their plates. A faint hum of voices rose above the silence as guests whispered to their neighbors.

  Sir Quill joined me on the stage and addressed the crowd.

  “We are honored to celebrate the Princess Salara’s birthday with you. Words prevail where images fail. An image alone can never capture the true beauty of our Princess. With the exception of Her Majesty’s work, of course. Your Salara paintings make me believe there is hope for humanity yet.”

  He bowed to Mother. She returned his salute with a nod. Behind her, Sir Bristle rolled his eyes and sketched the scene.

  “I thank you all for coming. Princess Salara is our greatest treasure, and we poets are lucky to have such a muse walking amongst us. Most of my work honoring the event of her birthday will be performed tomorrow night in the opera, and the Queen thought it best not to spoil it.”

  Spoiler, I play the fairy snow and am compared to the Ghone.

  “We will begin with two brief poems from our top students at the Royal Academy of Poe
try. Students, you may each read two lines.”

  Two students gathered by the platform, eager to share their work. I nodded to the first as he stood beside me and read:

  Roses are red, and so are your lips.

  The sight of them makes my heart do flips.

  My rose red lips twitched, but I managed to keep my composure. The poet stepped down, and his classmate took the stage and recited:

  Your eyes are so dark, and your skin so light.

  Just seeing you gives my heart delight.

  He looked nervous enough to faint.

  Sir Inkling stepped onto the stage and recited his poem. He spoke it to me, yelling into my face so the audience could hear.

  Ebony pools, so dark, yet bright,

  Like stars in sky of darkest night.

  Two gems displayed on cloth of white.

  There never was a better sight

  Under the sun’s summer light

  Than ebony pools, so dark, yet bright.

  Listen, I’ll not tell you lies.

  Listen to my words so wise.

  These pools are Salara’s eyes.

  With beauty no one can disguise.

  At least his uncalled for staring into my eyes had produced this masterpiece. I struggled to maintain a pleasant expression on my face.

  Sir Inkling did not move. He stared at me, waiting.

  For what?

  The courtiers at the front tables fidgeted. I took a deep breath.

  “I thank you, Sir Inkling.”

  He bowed and left the stage. My face burned bright red. Sir Quill stepped beside me and recited.

  Like the Ghone in constant motion,

  Winding through the river banks

  Salara’s hair is like the ocean,

  Cascading in midnight waves.

  Everyone applauded.

  “Beautiful imagery,” someone whispered loud enough for their words to echo through the ballroom.

  My hair had a ship in it. It hardly took imagination to picture it as water.

  Sir Quill took my hand, and I stood. The crowd applauded again. Servants cleared food from the tables and brought out a giant silver ship. It took six of them to carry the tray. The head chef bowed to my parents and snapped his fingers. The ship dissolved into smaller vessels that sailed around the room. One landed on each diner’s plate.

  I didn’t have a plate, so I didn't get one. I watched the guests eat. It looked delicious.

  When they finished dessert, everyone stood. Servants moved the tables. The guests would dance now, but I would not participate. Like Sir Quill’s poetry, my dancing was to be saved for the opera.

  It was a shame. I would have loved to dance with Sir Gilbert.

  Courtiers surrounded the poets to congratulate them on their latest works. I stayed on the platform out of reach.

  “You made an excellent choice in your chief apprentice, Sir Quill,” Mother said. “He is so dedicated to his work. To stand so close and capture my daughter’s eyes in such detail! I am very pleased with your performance tonight, young man.”

  She patted Sir Inkling on the shoulder. He bowed low to her.

  “Being an artist is not enough, Your Highness,” Sir Quill said. “A true master knows he must pass on his skills to create a legacy.”

  He shot a very pointed glance at Sir Bristle, who was sketching a close-up of me for Mother to paint later.

  “That is true,” Mother said. “Not every artist is talented enough to capture my daughter’s beauty.”

  She also glanced at Sir Bristle. He turned to them and bowed.

  “This year’s class at the Royal Academy of Painting shows great promise, Your Highness. I hope to find a suitable apprentice among them.”

  “Well, I hope they’re better than this year’s class. You should have seen the nose one of them painted today.”

  She laughed. The poets joined her. Sir Bristle clenched his fist around his pencil and bowed again.

  “I only hope you are pleased with my full work at the opera premiere tomorrow,” Sir Quill said. “Your revisions have led me to produce enough poetry for three volumes.”

  “Excellent! We must send them to the museum without delay!”

  Musicians played the royal fanfare. Everyone stopped talking and turned to stare at me. I descended the steps from my stage slowly, making every movement as graceful as possible. Mother and Father took my arms and led me across the room. Courtiers bowed and applauded as I left. I nodded to them, waited for the door to close, and collapsed against the wall in the hallway.

  The door opened, and I jumped. Sir Gilbert slipped through the door and closed it behind him.

  “Something for you, Princess.”

  He handed me a plate with a tiny silver ship on it.

  “You brought me one!”

  I examined it and found a perfect replica of the Navy ships I watched from my tower. I popped it into my mouth. It dissolved into sugar flavored with strawberries.

  “Thank you, Sir Gilbert.”

  “I hope you do not mind if I escort you to your room, Princess?”

  “Not at all.”

  He offered me his arm, and I slipped my hand over it.

  “I apologize if I was out of line this evening, but Sir Inkling seemed to be making you uncomfortable. We do not have poetry sessions in the colonies.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, you were the only one in line. Did you not prepare a poem?”

  He laughed.

  “I did, but seeing you in person made me realize how inadequate it was. Besides, I think I used my turn on the stage getting Sir Inkling off it.”

  Too soon, we reached my room.

  “Thank you again,” I said.

  Sir Gilbert pressed my hand to his lips and turned to go.

  “I would rather stay in your charming company,” he said. “But I am here to represent the interests of New Salaria. I’d best make sure no one is plotting against us.”

  “Gossiping against you, most likely.”

  Seda attacked my skirt when I entered the room. I trailed the fabric from one of my sleeves along the floor so he could play with it.

  Lady Alma entered.

  “Princess Salara!” she said. “He is ruining your gown!”

  “I won’t wear it again. Why does it matter?”

  “And you have been instructed numerous times to wait for an escort before leaving parties!”

  “I had an escort. Sir Gilbert walked with me.”

  Lady Alma bristled.

  “Why don’t you like him?”

  “He is a stranger to the court.”

  “He is the ambassador from our colonies. If he is not to be trusted, perhaps we should rethink this treaty.”

  “That is not your concern.”

  “It is my concern! As heir to the throne, it is very much my concern!”

  Lady Alma snapped her fingers. The gown, jewels, and ship disappeared. My nightgown replaced them. The same one I had worn last night. The sleeves and hem were frayed from Seda’s playing with them in the tunnel that morning.

  “Shouldn’t I have a new nightgown? Has the Shadow so depleted your fabric supply that you can’t even make such a simple garment?”

  “Goodnight, Princess Salara.”

  She slammed the door on her way out.

  I lay on my bed and picked at my frayed sleeves. Music from the ball drifted up to my room. Would it really spoil the opera if I danced? I came of age tomorrow. I would officially be named heir to the throne. But I was still sent to bed early like a child.

  I remembered Sir Inkling touching my eyelashes and rubbed away angry tears. Seda curled up on my chest, and I stroked his fur as I fell asleep.

  Chapter 5

  A dark shape hovered over me. The Shadow. He reached his inky hands forward and covered my face. I couldn’t breathe. I tried to push him away, but my arms were tied down. I gasped one last time, desperate for air.

  And inhaled cat hair. I coughed and opened my eyes. Seda sat on my f
ace, flicking his tail. I untangled my arms from the blankets and pushed him off the bed. Ignoring his protesting yowls, I stared at the stars through my window.

  My birthday. Would Divinia come?

  At least Sir Gilbert had prepared a surprise for me.

  I smiled and shut my eyes.

  A single violin woke me. I waited for the rest of the quartet to join him, but they didn’t. When I opened my eyes, only Mother, Lady Alma, and Sir Inkling greeted me. No courtiers. A single musician. Lady Alma held my opera costume from the third revision when I had been a shepherdess in disguise, a pink and beige confection covered with bows. In keeping with typical peasant immodesty, the skirt was short enough to show my ankles.

  Mother held long boots.

  “I name thee Salara, Salarian princess. Born to be queen of them all,” she said.

  I waited for Sir Inkling to speak, but he just dipped his quill into his inkwell hat and took notes.

  Mother put down the boots and pulled back my blanket herself.

  “Where is everyone else?” I whispered.

  “I thought an intimate celebration of your birthday would be best. Of course your father couldn’t make it.”

  I walked to the center of the room. Lady Alma snapped me into the boots and shepherdess costume.

  “No painters?” I said. "No birthday morning poem?”

  “You’re not disappointed are you? We have something very special planned. Full of symbolism.”

  Sir Gilbert’s surprise.

  “This dress isn’t a breakfast gown.”

  Lady Alma rolled her eyes. She wore a green wig covered in bows shaped like miniature trees.

  “We’re not having breakfast in the usual place today,” Mother said.

  I followed her down the hallway. We walked past the empty breakfast room and kept going until we reached our largest courtyard. The scene of my fairy blessing. Courtiers and musicians surrounded us. They sang as I walked through the crowd.