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A Full Day. Aimar Rollan. A Fun Thing. Her Majesty studies me with narrowed dark eyes, her rosy face stern. Her rich navy gown drapes about her mildly-bulging form like a velvet curtain, edged with golden embroidery. Her caramel hair piles on her head in upswept coils. Prince Aidan leaves us with a spindly grey-haired man who looks like he spends all his time in libraries. Her Majesty takes my narrow chin in her palm and examines my face. She nods and releases me, but she keeps hold of one of my curls, the color of bitter chocolate. Carling forced me to wear my hair up after she knew it upset me.
The tips of my ears burn as embarrassment heats me. Where is she? Father and my half-siblings did. The king moves closer to me.
I try to hide my discomfort. Her Majesty glances at him with a scowl.
Are you certain? We will respect the dead. Her Majesty glances at me. I stare at it. Mother would have sooner been whipped than wait for Father. I flinch, take the ornate porcelain thing carefully, and follow her. We can hear their coy laughter from here.
I jump, and some of the lukewarm tea sloshes from the cup. I gulp. Father would lash me for such a thing. My back stings in memory. My back spasms; my hands slip. I need very little to survive. Too little. Still, I flinch when the queen yells at me. She hardly meant to break it. You must be hungry. Why did he expect my answer? King Aldrik leaves his wife at her rooms with a kiss more passionate than I expected. She accepts and returns it, which startles me.
She glances at me for all of a second. Tweak some ears for more. His Majesty nods at the girl. He talks too informally to this Silva for her to be a servant, unless…. She might be like me. Silva is definitely older than Prince Aidan. I wonder if she ever had any brothers. I did, for a few hours, before Father found and killed him.
Silva pries a hunk of bread off a loaf and slaps honey on it. She hands me the result. You need it. She quickly tidies up this kitchen. She grins, a dimple pinching her right cheek. Only a large bucket of suds remains out of place. When I swallow the last of my bit of bread, she studies me sidelong for a moment, then dumps the bucket over my head. Her chatter continues while she takes me to one of the buildings outside the palace but within the walls, this one on the southeast side, closest to the nearby river between this palace and the nearby city.
I clutch it tightly as I follow.
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Red confirms women; blue, men. Ten lashings for putting that one up without cause. I stop in the doorway, seeing the fair soft skin and elaborate hair of the women in the humid room. She tugs me by the arm towards the gaggle of highborn girls who pointedly ignore our intrusion.
Ignoring the highborn with a self-assurance that further evidences whose daughter she likely is, Silva lets her own rough overdress fall to the floor and strips my wrap and rags from me before I can protest. I squeak and dive in the washing pool by our feet to hide myself. Someone might realize what I am. She gives Silva a worried look. My stomach lurches, and the ice of terror and flame of embarrassment war to overwhelm me. I do not want to know which member of the royal family takes both a grown man and a young woman to bed. She drops the clothing on a bench and quickly fingers through to a walnut green blouse and oak brown pinafore.
I blink at the blueberry blue panel centered in her charcoal-colored overdress.
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Lallie quickly hides her grin and nod behind a cough. Her brown eyes shine when she smiles. I shiver and turn away. Elves embroider. It shows in my technique. I don the blouse and pinafore. Lallie scoops up the pile of dresses that remains—my shoulder twinges in sympathy—and nods at Silva. Other girls and ladies eye me, some warily.
Others twitter and give me food. Someone hands me a bitter tea that soothes my lungs. Silva nods and continues my tour. A cloud of flour greets us in the dessert kitchen. She sneezes. A girl of about my age but half again my size sticks out her tongue at Silva as she slaps some sticky dough. She grabs a few logs off the stack for more fuel. Ebooka przeczytasz w aplikacjach Legimi na: Androidzie. Windows Windows Phone.
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I flinched. My mother and I had barely seated ourselves when King Barnett of Grehafen entered. My father. I cringed. He swallowed. After two hundred years? Someone knows what happened to it. Not us. My mother stared at her hand that held the Bynd. Remember this. I cough. The bad muscle in my back pulls. I bite back a whimper. I close my eyes. The ground vibrates as other horses near us. Fear makes sand of my muscles. Do I really look elfin? I frown and eye Kitra sidelong. Mother was an air.
What does loose hair mean in this realm? She shoots him a sour look. King Aldrik sighs. Fetch it, girl. Both monarchs freeze. I study the ground. Her Majesty gasps again when her cup shatters. I stare at my feet. Were you ever schooled? His Majesty takes me directly to what must be a secondary kitchen, from the size. He talks too informally to this Silva for her to be a servant, unless… She might be like me. Silva sighs. I hope. I bite my lip while I look at them. Projekt Legimi wielkim wydarzeniem.
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