I didn’t want to survive. I wanted to thrive. I wanted to do so far away. Find the cure, and you will, I promised myself, and pretended not to see the strain around Aino’s face as she pushed the screen aside and began to sort through my gold and diamonds.
“I have brought in doctors from the city,” Eirhan continued as Aino slid jewelry through the holes in my earlobes and draped it around my neck. “They’ll be of great help to Minister Farhod, I’m sure.”
Doctors. Under Eirhan’s pay, no doubt, who would report findings to him.
The door to my antechamber opened. “I am ready to try more terrible fish foods,” Inkar called from the other side. I buried my smile before Eirhan or Aino could scold me for it.
Eirhan rose. “Are you ready?”
“Nearly.” Aino pulled my braid back. “One last time, Ekata. Von der Pahlen,” she said.
“From Birustra. Wearing red and silver. Tall, pale, and old.”
She tugged gently on my braid in approval. “Arlendt.”
“Natterdalen. Wearing blue and yellow. Pale hair, enormous nose, and old.”
“Good,” Eirhan said. “Ngamo?”
“Osethi. Very tall. Bards probably sing about his mustache. Old.” I turned my head up to stick my tongue out at Aino. She pushed me straight again, but not before I caught her smile.
“Triadus?” Aino prompted.
“Um…” I wrinkled my nose as she finished lacing up my back. “This is a trick one, isn’t it?”
“No. He’s a cousin,” she said.
“The one who paid for the ring wall.”
“No.”
“The one who married the second Prince of Anbertane and is living in exile in Trollundheim?” I guessed.
She sighed. “He’s your grandfather’s nephew, and he’s representing Bruxon.”
“Is it really my fault for not remembering my dozens of family members?” I said. “They’re all the same. They come from all the neighboring kingdoms, they all disapprove of me, and they’re all old. Why are they all old?”
“Because all the young ones came to be brideshow candidates,” she replied. “Do try to think of something nice to say to each of them.” She sounded as though it were a prayer more than a directive.
“Can I tell them how distinguished they look?” I asked.
“None of them will take that as a compliment. Don’t.” She slid the last pin into my hair and pointed me toward the mirror.
I looked grand and cold and regal. My gray eyes lacked color, and white powder had been swept over my cheeks to erase what little pink I had in them. I adjusted the diamond tiara that sat on my blonde hair. More diamonds spread across my chest like a constellation of stars, held in place by a web of thin gold. I drew myself up tall, and something of the movement reminded me of my mother. I forced myself straighter. It would be better for people to see her, not me.
Aino’s smile seemed bittersweet. “You look beautiful,” she said, and I wondered if she was reminded of Mother, too.
I squeezed her hand and led the way to the antechamber. Inkar stood by the fire, admiring the winter roses. She shook her head and adjusted her sapphire ring. “They are still amazing, even though I cannot touch them,” she said. She wore a sumptuous green-and-silver overcoat that someone had found to make her vest and trousers a little more celebratory. Her hair had been pinned up as well. The small ruby studs in her ears made her brown eyes richer—or perhaps that was the reflection of the fire. I could smell the sharp tang of sweat on her, and it wasn’t the worst thing I’d smelled today.
“I hope Your Grace has had a pleasant afternoon?” Eirhan said to her.
“You do not know what I was doing?” Inkar asked him. “I thought the servants following me were yours.”
Eirhan coughed. Was that a hint of a blush I saw on his cheeks? “They were there for your protection and comfort, not to satisfy my own curiosity.”
“I did have a pleasant afternoon,” Inkar said. “You have a dedicated and enthusiastic guard. I also spoke to your minister of fishing. He does not believe he has anything less disgusting to serve us for dinner.”
“Your Grace will simply have something to look forward to for the next fifty years,” Eirhan suggested.
The reception before dinner was worse than the first. As we approached the hall, we could hear the murmur of voices, a torrent that dropped to nothing the moment the doors were opened. From Reko’s expression, I knew what they’d been talking about.
The people knelt. None of them would look at me. I tightened my grip on Inkar’s arm and bid them rise, and the second night’s festivities began.
Delegates swirled around me like a current. I spent most of my time trying to remember Eirhan’s list of don’ts and despairing at my inability to keep Inkar in check.
She seemed to have a magical touch. She told the Prince of Genobia that his national dish was the worst thing she’d ever tasted, and she made him laugh. She mocked the horsemanship of the Natterdales to Arlendt’s face, and in return she got a compliment. She challenged another delegate to a shooting contest—a rematch, by the sound of things—and scheduled it for the morning. Inkar shone.
Resentment warred admiration within me. Half of me wanted to take notes and beg her to teach me later. The other half simmered with bitterness—at her effortlessness, at my hopelessness. My father had never let anyone outshine him. And if Inkar brought all the charm to our union, what would happen when she broke off the marriage? There would be just one more aspect of ruling I couldn’t handle.
As a determined-looking Rafyet approached, I detached myself from Inkar, who was too busy arguing the merits of Stenobian steel with a count to even register my departure. Remembering Eirhan’s warning to avoid Rafyet, I gestured to Viljo, who stomped over with his usual tactlessness. “I need you to pretend to be telling me something important.”
“What? I mean, I beg Your Grace’s pardon?”
“Minister, will you give us a moment?” I said, and Rafyet bowed and fell back. I strode across the floor with Viljo trailing behind. The ruse worked: People cleared my path, bowing as I passed. Maybe this was how my father had managed to look so polished all the time. Even though I wasn’t sure where I was going or what I’d do when I got there, striding with purpose fooled everyone.
I went up an ice staircase at the end of the audience hall that led to a mezzanine, dark and quiet. I pushed through a pair of doors onto an empty balcony. Snow had drifted up against the side of the palace, and I kicked through soft powder as I approached the balcony’s edge.
I wanted to hit something, perhaps myself. I would be more useful doing anything than struggling to keep up with gossip on policy I didn’t understand. Maybe that was why Eirhan had insisted I attend. So he could show everyone how terrible I was.
I fought to calm myself. Nasal, premaxilla, maxilla. Reciting the bones was a familiar rhythm—I was clever, I was an Avenko, I could do this. Checking that Viljo still stood by the balcony door, I put my hands inside my sleeves and leaned out over the edge. Cold stung the tip of my nose and the tops of my cheeks. Beneath me, snow flurried in the halo of light surrounding the lamps that dotted the palace wall. The noises of the city were muffled. I felt so gloriously alone.