For now, her attention was pulled toward the sole occupant in the room, a young woman with hair braided around the crown of her head and down one shoulder, the color so fair it was almost white, and eyes such a pale blue that they were nearly silver. She wore an outfit similar to Madam Merit’s — a black dress, hers with laces up the chest, and a blood-red apron strapped to her waist.
“Lady Corentine,” the young woman said in a thick Mirravish accent, approaching Kiva and ducking into a curtsey. “It’s an honor to serve you.”
Kiva barely managed to hide her flinch at the title.
“This is Brynn, your lady’s maid,” Madam Merit said. “She’ll see to your needs here at Blackmount.” The housekeeper turned to the younger woman and ordered, “Prepare her for the king, then deliver her to his receiving room on the ground floor.”
Brynn bobbed another curtsey. “As you wish, madam.”
Without another word, Merit strode back out the door, closing it behind her.
Something eased within Kiva at the departure of the strict older woman, but then Brynn approached, and she braced all over again.
“Come, my lady,” the maid said, placing a gentle hand on Kiva’s arm and drawing her toward another door off to the side of the room. “We’d best not keep the king waiting.”
Kiva followed without protest. “Please, call me Kiva. I’m not a lady. And I’m definitely not Lady Corentine.”
Brynn blinked, a hint of surprise touching her features. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but you’re royalty.”
“I’m not,” Kiva said quickly as they entered a lavish bathing chamber, the dark, claw-foot bathtub already full of steaming water. “My ancestor was, a long time ago, but he rightfully lost that title when he stopped serving his people and started hurting them.”
The maid’s surprise only deepened. “But your sister is the queen of —”
“She stole what was no longer ours to claim,” Kiva cut Brynn off. She then dropped her shoulders and said, “It’s a long story, and none of it is enjoyable to relive. So please, just . . . if you don’t mind, I’d really prefer it if you call me Kiva.”
Brynn’s silvery eyes locked with Kiva’s for a long time — much longer than Kiva would have thought normal for a submissive maid, especially one at a place like Blackmount — but then a strange light crept into her features, a mixture of wonder and respect, with no small amount of curiosity.
“Very well, Kiva,” Brynn said, prompting a faint smile from Kiva — her first since leaving Cresta twelve days earlier. “Now, please disrobe and get in the bath.”
It was only when Kiva was soaking in the tub a few minutes later, allowing the hot water to ease her travel-stiff body, that she dared ask, “Will I be seeing my sister tonight? Before the king? I’d really — it would be good if I can speak with her first.” Quickly, she added, “Even better, do you know if my brother is here? Torell?” Did he even know where Kiva was — and where she’d been?
Brynn paused her scrubbing of Kiva’s fingernails. “I’ve been ordered not to answer your questions until Navok has had a chance to speak with you.”
Raising a brow, Kiva repeated, “Navok?”
“King Navok,” Brynn said quickly. “Forgive me.”
Kiva let the maid’s informality slide. “Can you at least tell me when their wedding is?”
There was another pause, before Brynn bit her lip and said, “I’m sorry Lady — uh, Kiva. I don’t wish to speak out of turn.”
Disappointment flooded Kiva, but she understood the maid’s reticence. “Never mind,” she muttered. “I’ll wait and ask the king.”
That wasn’t something Kiva looked forward to, but she hadn’t traveled this far just to hide in her — admittedly opulent — bathroom.
As soon as Brynn dubbed Kiva clean enough, the maid helped her into a gown made of crimson silk, the outfit much more formal than anything Kiva had worn at the River Palace, aside from the night of the masquerade. Both the front and back dipped daringly low, and the split up her leg went nearly to her hip, making her itch to hold the two sides together.
“Is there a cloak I can wear over this?” Kiva asked, indicating the amount of bosom and leg on display. Under her breath, she muttered, “You can see the whole of Wenderall in this thing.”
Her last wasn’t said quietly enough, and Brynn coughed to hide her laugh, her silvery eyes dancing. But then she sobered and said, “I’m sorry. His Majesty requested you wear this.”
The look on her face told Kiva everything she needed to know about the maid’s feelings toward the king, and how he would react if his orders were disobeyed. Despite Kiva’s discomfort, she didn’t want Brynn to get in trouble for something as trivial as a dress, so she adjusted her amulet as best as she could over her cleavage — drawing a curious look from Brynn, who clearly wanted to ask about the Vallentis crest but managed to hold her tongue — and allowed her hair to be styled until it flowed in waves down her back.
Only then did Brynn step back and say, “Beautiful.”
Kiva didn’t feel beautiful. She felt like a spectacle — a barely clothed spectacle — but she nodded her thanks, wanting to get the meeting with Navok over with so she could return to her room and plan her next steps.
Declaring Kiva ready, Brynn led the way out into the castle corridors, beginning a downward spiral. They passed only a handful of people, other maids and manservants dressed in similar black-and-red attire to Brynn, as well as gray-clad soldiers patrolling various hallways or standing at attention beside closed doors. It was only when they reached a quiet stretch with no one in sight that Brynn spoke.
“Can I ask — that is, if you don’t mind —” she started, then stopped.
“Go ahead,” Kiva invited.
“It’s just — months ago, word traveled around that you survived the Trial by Ordeal and then escaped Zalindov prison,” Brynn said haltingly.
“I did,” Kiva confirmed, “but only because I had help.”
“So — I’m sorry, but how —” Brynn cleared her throat, seeming embarrassed. “I heard that the Gray Guards were sent to retrieve you from there. Is that true?”
The Gray Guards — a fitting name for Navok’s soldiers, Kiva thought.
“It is,” Kiva said. She then answered what Brynn was struggling to ask. “I’m not sure how much you know about what happened in Evalon, but the night my sister stole the throne, there was a lot of collateral damage. She knew I didn’t approve of her actions and that I would do whatever it took to set things right again, so she and Mirryn Vallentis drugged me and secretly shipped me off in a prison wagon to keep me from helping my friends reclaim their kingdom.”
Brynn’s eyes were wide with shock, and she repeated in question, “Your friends?”
“Jaren Vallentis — Prince Deverick, I mean,” Kiva corrected, her heart hurting just saying his name, “and his cousin, Caldon. Among others.”
There was a long pause as they descended another flight of obsidian stairs, until Brynn asked, “Doesn’t being friends with the princes go against everything your family stands for? The Corentine-Vallentis feud is legendary.”