After a long and uncomfortable silence, Annika says, “I truly relished the look of misery upon Saoirse’s face.”
“You don’t like her either?”
“I dislike her more than I dislike you, if that says anything.” Her attention skims over the gauzy cream gown Corrin fished from my closet and paired with the capelet Dagny delivered yesterday. I’m beginning to see that lady maid’s insistence on dressing me is a matter of pride rather than chore.
“Wow.” I grimace. “That bad, huh?”
Annika’s unexpectedly deep, husky laughter carries along the stone path, and I could swear the nearby blooms pivot toward her. “Your act with Lord Adley left my brother more conflicted than I have ever seen him.” Her blue eyes twinkle with delight. “He didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. I was waiting for smoke to drift from his ears. Right, Elisaf?”
“The vein in his forehead was pulsating, Your Highness.”
She cackles again.
That they are finding amusement at Zander’s expense is oddly comforting. “I thought he hid it well.” Until we were in private.
“Zander is not used to people ignoring his demands. He was born to be king, after all.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know if his efforts are worth it. Though, if this traitor among us was bold enough to betray us once, there is nothing to stop them from betraying us a second time.”
“That’s what I told him.”
“At least no one else seemed to notice my brother’s annoyance. They were all too enthralled by this new, feisty Princess Romeria of Ybaris. That’s all I’ve heard about through the court. Well, that and Lord Quill’s unfortunate departure.” If she’s bothered by the murder, she doesn’t show it. Annika could challenge Sofie in the “impossible to read” department.
“Who do they think did it?”
“The court? No one has outwardly accused anyone yet, but there are plenty of murmurs.” She shoots a knowing look my way, and I know at least some of the murmurs are directed at me. It’s to be expected, I guess.
“What else did you hear?”
“Mostly gossip about you two. That you weren’t as friendly with each other as you once were.”
“We spent the entire time attached.” Whispering about scheming noblemen and setting fire to things, but they wouldn’t know that.
“Yes, but they’re used to seeing you cling to him like a second skin.”
An odd flutter stirs in my chest at the thought of getting even closer to Zander than I already have. “So, they’re not buying his declaration that I’m innocent?”
She shrugs. “Some say you are guilty of every suggested crime against you, but that you’ve somehow conned Zander. Others think he’s forcing you to marry him as punishment. The most prevalent rumor, though, is that he was bewitched by the casters to fall all over himself for you.”
My jaw drops. “Do you mean like some sort of love spell?”
“Consumed by your beauty and blind to your treachery.”
“Can they do that with caster magic?”
“Not with caster magic. Something like that would require a summons, and Neilina collars her fates to ensure that does not happen.”
“Unless she had one of their collars removed and demanded they summon the fates on her behalf.” As Isla and Ailill once did. “Would she do that?”
“It would go against everything the Ybarisans have stood behind for two thousand years, her most of all. But we don’t know Neilina. Not like you do. Or did. So, who knows? Regardless, none of those scenarios reflect well on Zander as a ruler, making sound decisions for his people. And I’m certain Saoirse is behind the one that marks him as under a Ybarisan spell. I do not know what advantage she seeks to achieve in stoking that rumor, other than in hopes of it getting inside Zander’s head. She’s constantly scheming to get her bony behind seated on the throne and her spindly legs wrapped around my brother. It will never happen. Zander will never marry her.”
Not based on what Zander has told me of Kettling. But if her father is behind Quill’s death, then I can assume she has influential allies in her corner, working to make this happen. “What’s her affinity?”
“To Aoife, like yourself, though nowhere near as powerful. Another burn of jealousy, I’m sure.”
And yet, with these cuffs on my wrists and my complete ignorance of what this body can do, I’d say Saoirse has the advantage.
Patrons mill the royal grounds today as if the murder never happened. If anything, they seem energized, either by the perceived threat or the swirl of gossip. A couple bow before us, and I note how their reverence is no longer centered on Annika. Their greetings are aimed at me. I want to tell them to stop.
Farther down the path, a sparkle catches my eye, drawing my focus to our left to where the gardens part and the sun shimmers off a small lake. A family of swans float on the water’s surface.
“Your Highness?” Elisaf prompts. “Is something the matter?”
I realize I’ve stopped dead. “Wendeline said the nymphaeum was by the lake.” I look around me. “Is this it?” I see nothing but trees and cutting gardens and hedge. There are no statues or stones. Nothing that appears sacred. I don’t know what nymphs look like, but I don’t see anything that might hint at them.
“Here?” Annika laughs. “No. It’s up ahead. Come. I will show you.” She beckons with a nod. “This way.”
We continue along the cobbled path, and I struggle to contain my exhilaration. It comes with a pinch of trepidation. “Can you read me like Zander does? My pulse, I mean.” Can Elisaf?
“He’s finally told you about that.” She twists a fat corkscrew curl between her fingertips. “Interpreting a Ybarisan immortal’s pulse is particularly difficult for our kind, nowhere near as easy as reading a human. I cannot read you. That my brother can, though … that is something peculiar.” She smiles secretly, as if she has thoughts on that but either doesn’t want to share or isn’t permitted to. “Did you know that my mother arranged a marriage for me as well?”
Her words temporarily distract me from the topic of reading pulses. “I didn’t.”
“Yes. I fought with her about it, many times. The last conversation I had with her, we argued.” Annika’s eyebrows gather, the only sign that she is bothered.
“Who are you supposed to marry?”
“A human prince from Skatrana.”
“And that’s bad?”
She sneers. “Their lands are nothing but an abyss of trees and mountains and frigid temperatures. Their capital city, Shadowhelm, is built within caves. Caves! Me, with my affinity to this”—she casts her hands toward the hedges and flowers—“living in a cave with those primitive mongrels.”
“Have you met any of these Skatranans?” I didn’t think there was much travel between the countries.
“Well, no, but I’ve heard about them. Did you ever meet anyone from Skatrana in your sails as a Seacadorian, Elisaf?” She doesn’t look back. She assumes he’s listening.
“I did sail that way once, yes. We docked in Westport, Your Highness.”