The Commander of the Rising Wave could not have been burned with flare fire, then. Unless General Ru was pretending he was still alive.
But, no. Rangar was a liar. And she would not believe he had killed Luc and her other friends. She simply would not.
“So, was the queen was taken by surprise about the flares?” Ava looked Herron directly in the eyes. “You in trouble, cousin?”
He struck out at her.
A backhanded arc from left to right.
The collar and cuffs of her shirt warmed slightly and she dropped to the side, flat on the seat, and at the same time, the coach seemed to lurch, as if it had gone over a stone.
He hit the wall near the window instead of her, and she rose up slowly as he sucked on his bruised fingers.
“Probably better this way. She might not take well to any marks on you. She wants to see you as soon as possible.” He leaned back in his seat. “We’ll have to clean you up a bit first.”
That might mean having to remove her shirt, and she didn’t want to be stripped of her only remaining protection.
“Why not take me straight away? Show her you can follow orders.”
He shot her a nasty smile. “I’d love to drag you into the throne room looking like a half-dead peasant, but our aunt might take it into her head that I had something to do with it. And I am, as you’ve surmised, in enough trouble already.”
She said nothing more as the coach rumbled over the flagstones. She hadn’t been to Fernwell in more than twelve years, and she tried to see out between the gaps as the blinds swung with the rocking motion of the coach.
She caught glimpses of house-lined streets and trees.
The briny smell of the ocean was everywhere, even in the cell she’d been held in, and if you listened carefully, no matter where you were, you could hear the crash and retreat of the waves on the city walls.
The coach slowed as it turned, and then the going was a lot smoother for a short distance.
It came to a stop and the door opened instantly.
A man looked in. He was familiar, Ava realized, and had probably been here the last time she was in Fernwell with her parents.
“The princess’s hands are bound.” The man looked from Ava to Herron with distaste.
“I must have forgotten to unlock them, Balrick.” Herron lifted up the key as if taunting the man. “Would you like to keep her restrained until she’s inside?”
“If Her Highness discovers that her niece was brought into the palace in restraints, I assure you, she will not be happy.” Balrick stared Herron down. “And she will discover it. I’ll make sure of that.”
There was no love lost between these two. Ava wondered if Balrick had an escape plan for when her cousin became king, because he would need one.
She rubbed at her wrists as the metal shackles fell to her lap, and then stepped out of the coach.
The palace rose up above her, the peach marble catching the light in a way that was meant to delight.
It had always captivated her.
Just beyond the wall she could hear the sea, and she remembered the time she was last here with her mother and father. Her father had been sick with anger and outrage. He had learned about the Chosen camps, although they been going for nearly a year already by the time he’d gotten word, and he had come to beg his half-sister, the queen, to close them down and release the children.
Her aunt had refused, and they never came back to Fernwell again.
“Do you remember me?” Balrick asked.
She hadn’t remembered his name, but Ava did remember his face. She nodded.
“Good. Come with me.”
She followed him, not looking back at her cousin, but he caught up to them, clamped a hand on her shoulder.
Balrick turned, his eyes narrowed.
“I’m warning you now, Balrick. Do not let her have anything. Not a thing.”
“She will have the clothing appropriate for an audience with the queen.” Balrick’s nostrils flared, and his lips thinned.
“Nothing else. Not a piece of paper, not even a length of thread.”
So he hadn’t told her aunt what she could do. Ava had always wondered. And he was trying to keep it that way.
Of course, he still thought she had to use black silk thread, or her own hair, which was also dark, for her embroidery to be dangerous, but he couldn’t be so specific without looking like he was hiding something.
Ava laughed, looked at her cousin sidelong. “Not even a needle and thread to darn my socks?”
“Nothing.” He took a step closer. “I’m warning you, Balrick, be careful or you will regret it.” For the first time, he looked a little unhinged, a little out of control.
She had seen him that way before, up at the fortress, and she guessed it was his true self, covered over by a loose grasp of manners and some veneer of civility.
But it was so easily cracked.
She was led up to a suite of rooms more suited to a guest than a prisoner, but she didn’t doubt her aunt would change her status in the blink of an eye, if she wanted to.
A bath had already been drawn for her, and she undressed behind a screen and sank into it, taking her shirt with her to wash it as well as keep it safe.
She wouldn’t put it past Balrick to burn everything she had on.
She wasn’t given long. A woman in the gray and white uniform she remembered from her last visit came in to hurry her up, and took the wet shirt from Ava’s hand with a shake of her head.
“I’ll hang it to dry. It looks well enough, I suppose.”
“It’s my favorite shirt, I don’t want to lose it.”
The woman sniffed, but she seemed willing to do as Ava asked, and that was as much as she could hope for.
The clothing set out for her on the bed was a dress, silk embroidered with flowers, birds and leaves.
Ava smiled, tracing the design with a finger, looking carefully at the stitching. She had told Catja she was going to do something like this for her cloak. At the time, she’d been lying, making excuses for why she wasn’t embroidering the outside of her cloak, but this was beautiful enough she might consider it.
She wondered what would happen if she wore the spell workings of another spell caster like herself. She felt no danger from the dress, though, although she was in nothing but a towel. She had no way to tell whether it was dangerous or not.
“What are you doing?” The woman who’d taken her shirt away came back, wringing her hands. “Don’t look at it, put it on.”
Ava had no choice, so she stepped into it and the woman tugged on the lacing at the back to make it fit snugly.
“Where did you get such a beautiful dress so quickly?” Ava asked, smoothing the skirt with her hand.
“It was left behind by one of the queen’s guests a few years ago. I thought it was too beautiful to throw away, and that turned out to be a good decision.” The woman shrugged. “Do the slippers fit?”
Ava slid them on. “Slightly too big, but good enough.”
The woman gave a nod of relief. “You’re due immediately in the throne room.” She led the way out, and the two guards who’d followed her and Balrick up, fell in behind her as she was led down the stairs.
Balrick was waiting for her outside the door to the throne room, and he gave the woman a nod.
“In the time you had, this is good work, Lucinde.”