I didn’t know Julian had friends beyond me and his books, but I don’t question him.
When Maven slips back into the room a few moments later, I’ve managed to clean my face properly, though it still feels sticky and swollen. I’ll have a few bruises to hide tomorrow, and I don’t even want to know what my back looks like now. Gingerly, I touch the growing lump where Evangeline punched me.
“Sara’s not . . .” Maven pauses, mulling over the words. “She’s not who I would have chosen for this.”
Before I can ask why, the door opens, revealing the woman I assume is Sara. She enters silently, barely raising her eyes. Unlike the others, the Blonos blood healers, her age is displayed proudly on her face, in every wrinkle and her sunken, hollow cheeks. She looks to be about Julian’s age, but her shoulders droop in a way that tells me her life has felt far longer than his.
“Nice to meet you, Lady Skonos.” My voice is calm, like I’m asking about the weather. It seems my Protocol lessons might be sinking in after all.
But Sara doesn’t respond. Instead, she drops to her knees in front of my chair and takes my face in her rough hands. Her touch is cool, like water on a sunburn, and her fingers trail over the gash on my cheek with surprising gentleness. She works diligently, healing over the other bruises on my face. Before I can mention my back, she slips a hand down to the injury, and something like soothing ice bleeds through the pain. It’s all over in a few moments, and I feel like I did when I first came here. Better, in fact. My old aches and bruises are completely gone.
“Thank you,” I say, but again, I get no response.
“Thank you, Sara,” Julian breathes, and her eyes dart to his in a flash of gray color. Her head bows slightly, in the tiniest nod. He reaches forward, a hand brushing her arm as he helps her to her feet. The two of them move like partners in a dance, listening to music no one else can hear.
Maven’s voice shatters their silence. “That will be all, Skonos.”
Sara’s quiet calm melts into barely concealed anger as she spins out of Julian’s grip, scrambling for the door like a wounded animal. The door shuts behind her with a slam, shaking the framed maps in their glass prisons. Even Julian’s hands shake, trembling long after she’s gone, like he can still feel her.
He tries to hide it, but not well: Julian was in love with her once, and maybe even still is. He looks at the door like a man haunted, waiting for her to come back.
“Julian?”
“The longer you’re gone, the more people will start to talk,” he mutters, gesturing for us to leave.
“I agree.” Maven moves to the door, ready to open it and shove me back out.
“Are you sure no one saw?” My hand moves to my cheek, now smooth and clean.
Maven pauses, thinking. “No one who would say anything.”
“Secrets don’t stay secrets here,” Julian mutters. His voice quivers with rare anger. “You know that, Your Highness.”
“You should know the difference between secrets,” Maven snaps, “and lies.”
His hand closes around my wrist, pulling me back out into the hall before I can bother to ask what’s going on. We don’t make it far before a familiar figure stops us.
“Trouble, dear?”
Queen Elara, a vision in silk, addresses Maven. Strangely, she’s alone, with no Sentinels to guard her. Her eyes linger on his hand still in mine. For once, I don’t feel her try to push her way into my thoughts. She’s in Maven’s head right now, not mine.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” Maven says, tightening his grip on me like I’m some kind of anchor.
She raises an eyebrow, not believing a word he says, but doesn’t question him. I doubt she really questions anyone; she knows all the answers.
“Best hurry up, Lady Mareena, or you’ll be late for luncheon,” she purrs, finally turning her ghostly eyes on me. And then it’s my turn to hold on to Maven. “And take a little more care in your Training sessions. Red blood is just so hard to clean up.”
“You would know,” I snap, remembering Shade. “Because no matter how hard you try to hide it, I see it all over your hands.”
Her eyes widen, surprised at my outburst. I don’t think anyone’s ever spoken to her this way, and it makes me feel like a conqueror. But it doesn’t last long.
Suddenly my body twitches backward, throwing itself into the passage wall with a resounding smack. She makes me dance like a puppet on violent strings. Every bone rattles and my neck cracks, slamming my head back until I see icy blue stars.
No, not stars. Eyes. Her eyes.
“Mother!” Maven shouts, but his voice sounds far away. “Mother, stop!”
A hand closes around my throat, holding me in place as control of my own body ebbs away. Her breath is sweet on my face, too sweet to stand.
“You will not speak to me like that again.” Elara says, too angry to bother whispering in my head. Her grip tightens and I couldn’t even agree with her if I wanted to.
Why doesn’t she just kill me? I wonder as I gasp for breath. If I’m such a burden, such a problem, why doesn’t she just kill me?
“That’s enough!” Maven roars, the heat of his anger pulsing through the passage. Even through the hazy darkness eating at my vision, I see him pull her off me with surprising strength and boldness.
Her ability’s hold on me breaks, letting me slump against the wall. Elara almost stumbles herself, reeling with shock. Now her glare turns on Maven, on her own son standing against her.
“Return to your schedule, Mare.” He seethes, not breaking eye contact with his mother. I don’t doubt she’s screaming in his head, scolding him for protecting me. “Go!”
Heat crackles all around, radiating off his skin, and for a moment I’m reminded of Cal’s guarded temper. It seems Maven hides a fire as well, an even stronger one, and I don’t want to be around when it explodes.
As I scramble away, trying to put as much distance as I can between myself and the queen, I can’t help but look back at them. They stare at each other, two pieces squaring off in a game I don’t understand.
Back in my room, the maids wait silently, another gilded dress laid across their arms. While one slips me into the spectacle of silk and purple gemstones, the others fix my hair and makeup. As usual, they don’t say a word, even though I look frantic and harried after such a morning.
Lunch is a mixed affair. Usually the women eat together to discuss the upcoming weddings and all the silly things rich ladies talk about, but today is different. We’re back on the terrace overlooking the river, the red uniforms of servants floating through the crowd, but there are far more military uniforms than ever before. It seems like we’re dining with a full legion.