“Well, I’m not a guest and you’re not a queen, so . . .”
“If only your brain were as quick as your mouth,” she snaps back.
The Red woman blinks rapidly, flinching like our words might hurt her. Actually, they might, and I resolve to be less stupid. I bite my lip to keep more foolish thoughts from spilling out, letting the two Red servants work. The man attends to my hair, brushing it through and coiling it into a spiral, while she does up my face. No Silver paint, but she uses blush, a bit of black to line my eyes, and striking red for my lips. A garish sight.
“That will do,” Elane says from her back. The Reds are quick to pull away, dropping their hands to their sides and bowing their heads. “We can’t have her looking too well treated. The princes won’t understand it.”
My eyes widen. Princes. Guests. Who am I being paraded in front of now?
Evangeline notices. She huffs aloud, flicking a bronze flower at Elane. It embeds in the wall above her head, but Elane doesn’t seem to mind. She only sighs dreamily.
“Mind what you say, Elane.”
“She’ll find out in a few moments, my dear. What’s the harm?” She gets up from her pillows, extending long limbs that glow with her ability. Evangeline’s eyes track her every movement, sharpening when Elane crosses the room to my side.
She joins me at the mirror, looking into my face. “You’ll behave today, won’t you?”
I wonder how quickly Evangeline would skin me if I slammed my elbow into Elane’s perfect teeth.
“I’ll behave.”
“Good.”
And then she disappears, wiped from sight but not sensation. I still feel her hand on my shoulder. A warning.
I look through where Elane’s body was, back to Evangeline. She gets up from the floor, her dress pooling around her, fluid as mercury. It very well could be.
When she strides toward me, I can’t help but recoil. But Elane’s hand keeps me from moving, forcing me to stand up straight and allow Evangeline to lean over me. A corner of her mouth lifts. She likes seeing me afraid. When she raises a hand and I flinch, she smiles openly. But instead of striking me, she tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Make no mistake, this is all for my benefit,” she says. “Not yours.”
I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I nod along anyway.
Evangeline doesn’t lead us to the throne room, but to Maven’s private council chambers. The Sentinels guarding the doors look more imposing than usual. When I enter, I realize they’re even manning the windows. An extra precaution after Nanny’s infiltration.
The last time I passed through, the room was empty save for Jon. He’s still here, quiet in the corner, unassuming next to the half-dozen others around the room. I shiver at the sight of Volo Samos, a quiet spider in black with his son, Ptolemus, at his side. Of course, Samson Merandus is here too. He leers at me and I lower my eyes, avoiding his gaze as if I can shield myself from the memory of him crawling into my brain.
I expect to see Maven seated alone at the far end of the marble table, but instead, two men flank him closely. Both are draped in heavy furs and soft suede, dressed to withstand arctic cold even though we are well sheltered from the winter. They have deep, blue-black skin like polished stone. The one on the right has bits of gold and turquoise beaded into the intricate whorls of his braids, while the one on the left settles for long, gleaming locks topped by a crown of blossoms hewn from white quartz. Royalty, clearly. But not ours. Not from Norta.
Maven raises a hand, gesturing to Evangeline as she approaches. In the light of a winter sun, she gleams. “My betrothed, Lady Evangeline of House Samos,” he says. “She was integral to the capture of Mare Barrow, the lightning girl and the leader of the Scarlet Guard.”
Evangeline plays her part, bowing before the two. They bow their heads in turn, their motions long and fluid.
“Our congratulations, Lady Evangeline,” the one with the crown says. He even extends a hand, gesturing for her own. She lets him kiss her knuckles, beaming at the attention.
When she glares at me, I realize Evangeline means for me to join her. I do so reluctantly. I intrigue the two newcomers, and they watch me in fascination. I refuse to so much as nod my head.
“This is the lightning girl?” the other prince says. His teeth flash moon white against night-dark skin. “This is the one giving you so much trouble? And you let her live?”
“Of course he did,” his compatriot crows. He gets to his feet, and I realize he must be almost seven feet tall. “She’s marvelous bait. Though I’m surprised her terrorists haven’t attempted a real rescue, if she’s as important as you say.”