Chapter 31

O lly never showed up for our lesson yesterday. While it doesn't surprise me in the slightest, I do regret hauling myself out of bed. The bitter morning nipped at my toes as I waited on the roof for a man who was surely fast asleep in a hungover daze. It was his loss, though. He missed one of the most beautiful sunrises I've ever seen.

When I returned to my room, I discovered the joke Landers played as the flowers reeked of death and decay. I tossed them over the balcony without another thought, refusing to grant Landers even an ounce of satisfaction.

I need to focus on the ball tonight. With so much riding on it, I'm wound tighter than a spring. Only one week remains until I must make my choice.

Gemma and Viola arrived in the early afternoon to begin preparing me. I wasn't aware that my appearance was so slovenly that it required six hours to repair, but here we are. We started with a lavender-scented bath, where the twins scrubbed every inch of my body. I felt ridiculous and demanded to do it myself, but they wouldn't have it. Then Viola painted my nails with a color so faint that it looked like I was wearing no color at all, making me question why it was necessary in the first place. Gemma rolled my hair into curlers, which, when unspooled, left my hair flowing down my back in smooth, bouncy curls. It was all so over the top, but apparently, they were following the queen's explicit orders.

When they both deemed me presentable, they brought out the gown. That beautiful, perfect, all-too-stunning gown. As I step into it, I nearly faint. It's like a painting come to life. I never considered myself to be taken by vanity, but this dress is divine. I can't believe that I get to wear it.

However, when the twins pull the laces of the corset top so tight that breathing becomes a labor, I start to lose faith in its perfection. I suck in breath as my ribs are cinched tighter and tighter together. "Could we perhaps loosen it a tiny bit?"

"Oh, shush. You look gorgeous." Viola tugs the laces again.

"It's not my looks that I'm worried about – ahh!" I scream as Viola gives one final tug for good measure. "Just a little room to breathe would be nice, that's all."

"Sorry, Radya. Blame the dress, not us," Gemma says with a conciliatory smile.

"We're all done now!" Viola takes a step back to survey her work, appearing quite pleased as a satisfied smile creeps to her lips. "Come on, take a look."

The skirt's many layers drag behind me as I walk toward the mirror. And when I look at the reflection staring back at me, I hardly recognize myself. Even though I know that these are my features - my arms, my neck, my hair, and my mother's eyes – the girl who grew up in a one-bedroom cottage in an isolated village is nowhere to be found. The image of a princess stands before me, painted and preened.

The twins peer into the mirror from behind me as they eagerly await my approval. But I can't give them the reaction they're seeking. Beneath all of this carefully crafted beauty, all I see is an imposter. Every layer of added effect – the crown, the gown, the jewelry, the makeup – is merely an act, a facade. Everyone will see right through me.

On the inside, I feel rotten. Like they took all of the dirty, mucky bits of me and stuffed them into my belly. And where there is no muck, there is a hollow void.

I fake a smile, if only for their sake. It's not their fault that they were saddled with such a phony.

Finding Guylita is my only hope.

"Viola, would you mind getting me a glass of bubbly? I want to loosen up a little before Olly gets here." The request, while partially true, is an excuse to force Viola out of the room.

"Didn't you hear? Olly left for the border early this morning. He won't be in attendance tonight," she says.

My mind begins spinning in disbelief. How could he abandon me on a night like this? Sure, it might make slipping away easier, but it feels like a betrayal. This ball is meant to honor me. How could he leave me alone for it?

"I hadn't heard." I try to mask the hurt in my voice, but the softening in Viola's eyes tells me that I failed.

"I'll go get you that bottle now, huh?" She flashes me a sympathetic smile that meets the broken part of me like a hug.

"Thank you," I tell her, nodding. It makes me sad to know that we're deceiving her, or at least excluding her. She does nothing but help, time and time again. But it's for her safety. I can't forget that. Gemma and I are heading down a dangerous path and bringing her with us would be selfish.

Of course, involving Gemma was pretty selfish, too.

Gods, that void inside me is growing deeper by the minute.

Once the door shuts behind Viola, I quickly scan the room for any sign of the invisibles. Fortunately, they appear to be absent. I wait a minute to ensure our privacy before turning to Gemma. "Guylita will be here tonight, right?"

"That is the plan, yes." Her wings start to flutter. Is she as nervous as I am?

"Great." I try to inhale, but the movement causes the corset to jab my ribs. I wince and, for a moment, worry that I might faint.

"Are you familiar with the tripudio?"

"The what?"

"It's a traditional dance. The king and queen will give a speech to thank everyone for coming and then the tripudio will begin." I raise my eyebrow in question, so she continues, "It's a traditional dance that forces partners to change every ten seconds. It's fast-paced and continues until only one couple remains. It's an absolute frenzy, but it will allow you to slip away and meet with Guylita while the dance serves as a distraction. Just be quick about it."

"What if they don't begin the dance right after the speech? How will I know when it's time?" How am I to know the difference between a regular dance and a tripudio?

"Trust me, you'll know," she assures me.

"And how will I recognize Guylita?" Surely there will be hundreds of people in attendance tonight. How do you recognize a stranger in a sea of masked bodies?

"She might… stick out. Guylita isn't one for grand occasions, but I gave her a doll's mask to wear tonight." The space between us closes as she holds my hand, squeezing it with gentle reassurance. "You will get the answers you need, and it will all go just swimmingly."

"Thank you. I couldn't have done this without –"

The door creaks open as Viola returns with a bottle in one hand and three glasses carefully held in the other. "Snagged this off a servant headed to the ball." She freezes when she sees us holding hands, and her eyes flit between us. The tension blooms so thick that it's palpable. "What's going on?"

"I'm nervous about tonight." The lie floats off my tongue a little too naturally, but I can feel the tug of appreciation from Gemma. "Shall we drink?"

Viola skeptically smiles but shakes it off to turn her efforts toward the bottle, concentrating hard. "Alright, here we go." She slips a knife out of her pocket and positions it to the side of the bottle. As if she were preparing for a fight, she shifts her weight from foot to foot, fixating on the cork. Then in one swift motion, she slices the knife upward. The cork shoots across the room and slams into the wall. Bubbling liquid explodes over the side like a festive fount.

"I've always wanted to do that!" Viola bounces up and down cheerily before pouring the liquid into glasses.

"Masterful! Genius! You're a bottle-opening prodigy!" Gemma claps while nearly doubling over with laughter.

Viola curtsies and takes a sip with her pinky in the air.

"Should we toast?" The thought strikes me that I've never had anyone to toast with. Sure, Oren and I drank together, but there was always a somber air to our nights together. Those nights provided a temporary patch to the dark hole inside of me, but we never laughed like this. Sitting here with Gemma and Viola, laughing over a bottle of bubbly, makes me feel at home.

"Yes, let's!" Gemma raises her glass and clears her throat. "Let us toast to new friends and dancing until our feet fall off. Cheers!"

"Not fair! If your feet get tired, you have your wings to lift you!"

But that single word – friends – strikes a chord in me.

We clink our glasses together, and I find myself smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. Who knew that such a tiny word, a simple gesture, could make me feel so much less alone?

Maybe I could accept the arrangement to stay with them?

As we continue to laugh and play together, a heavy knock sounds at the door like metal tapping on wood. Had I not known that Olly was at the border, I would have expected it to be him standing on the other side of the door. Instead, it is Liliana who greets us. A silver cane with intricately carved snakes winding up the length of it rests under her gloved right hand, bearing a portion of her weight.

"Am I too early?" She asks, grinning widely beneath a black feathered mask.

"Liliana," I say, confused. "What are you doing here?"

"Prince Allwyn requested that I escort you to the ball tonight, given his regrettable absence. He so desperately wished to be here, but the safety of this kingdom will forever be his priority."

Liliana's entrance deflated the energy in the room. Gemma and Viola set down their glasses and busy themselves by cleaning up the room, starting with the puddle of spilled bubbly.

"What was so important that he couldn't wait until tomorrow to leave?" I'm unfairly directing my frustration toward her, and I know it. It is Olly that I'm frustrated with, not her. Still, my words are hitting a hard edge.

Truth be told, I don't know if I can trust her fully. She's a smart and power-hungry woman. I knew as much from the beginning. But I wonder how much of her kindness toward me is a mask crafted for her gain?

She looks at each of the twins before saying, "Shouldn't you two be getting ready? I wouldn't want you to miss out on this very special evening."

They nod in agreement, looking slightly abashed.

"You look stunning, Radya." Viola waves as she shuffles out of the room.

"We'll see you tonight," Gemma adds, falling in line behind her sister.

Once we're alone, uneasiness creeps up my throat. I'd be a fool to think Liliana wasn't judging my every word, waiting for me to slip up in some way. What if I say the wrong thing or come off in the wrong way? My whole body tightens with that fear.

"Now, to answer your question, trouble is closer than we feared." My lungs deflate as the gravity of her words compresses the air around us. "The western army is moving toward the border by the thousands. I believe that capturing the men in Carcera acted as kindling to a long-dormant fire."

Are we on the brink of war?

Through the fearful fluttering in my chest, I ask, "How long until they reach Mendacia?"

"That's hard to say. But even if they reach the border, we are prepared to fight back. Prince Allwyn is making sure of that. If you thought that Carcera was impenetrable, just wait until you see the spells cast on our border." She reaches for the bottle of bubbly and takes a swig, not bothering to use a glass. "Plus, any foreign magic cast within our land will be immediately detected. And once detected, the praecians are rearing and ready to go."

"I did think that the barrier surrounding Carcera was impenetrable… until those men, well, penetrated it." The words sound awkward on my tongue, but the question looming in the back of my mind erodes all confidence in protective spells. "If they broke the spell once, who's to say they can't do it again?"

"We learned from our weaknesses and improved upon them." She rolls her shoulders back and tilts her chin up to the ceiling. "You've been taking lessons with the prince, correct?"

"Well, sort of. He didn't show up for our last lesson, and we've only covered the basics." I can barely do a push-up. How could I fight in a war?

"You would do well to start practicing on your own time. Even the slightest increase in strength could change the outcome when a knife is held against your throat. And remember, if anyone does find a way to capture you, they will try to fool you. Whatever they say, don't believe them. The Umbrians are feral liars. And gods help you if the Mad King gets his hands on you. He will manipulate you in ways that you never imagined possible. Promise me, girl, that you won't listen to them." She sighs and shifts her weight as if the right leg is causing her pain.

Nausea turns in my stomach.

If the Mad King gets his hands on me, it's not the lies or manipulation that I fear…

No, I can't think about that right now.

Liliana limps toward the chair in the corner and shakily lowers herself into it. The same chair that Olly sat in the first time we met. I find myself facing a pinch of annoyance at the memory.

"Did something happen to your leg? You don't normally use a cane." It strikes me then that I have no idea what Liliana does. She vaguely told me about being a businesswoman, but did I ever ask what that business entailed? Could she have injured her leg while working?

"Just a little slip. Nothing to worry about, dear." She starts to add something, but instead snaps her mouth shut and claps her hands together. "That's enough of the serious talk for tonight. The rest of this evening should be fun. You are the belle of the ball! All eyes will be on you!"

That is the exact opposite of what I want to hear.

Liliana takes a swig from the bottle but the carbonation bubbles up to the surface too quickly, spilling all over her gloves. "Gods be," she laughs.

As she removes the glove on her left hand, I notice something strange. I discreetly step closer to get a better look. Clouds begin to storm in my mind, swirling with confusion.

How is this possible?

The mark on her hand bears a striking resemblance to my birthmark.

"What is that on your hand?" I do my best to mask my alarm.

"Just a tattoo." She quickly wipes the glove on a linen cloth beside the chair and then slips it back on as if nothing ever happened.

Then another similarity strikes me, another odd coincidence.

"You're from Umbra, right?" When both the prowlers back in Carcera and the lady at the market noticed my birthmark, they asked me the same question. I don't know what that means, but there must be some significance.

"Yes, once upon a time, in a life that I've long forgotten, I lived in Umbra," she says dismissively.

Suddenly, all sense of reservation flees from my body as I forcefully ask, "What does the tattoo mean?"

"It's an Umbrian symbol of womanhood," she says, carefully cutting each word.

But that explanation doesn't make sense. "How could I have an identical marking on my hand that's been there since birth if it's a symbol of womanhood?" I stare at my hand and the labyrinth of swirls and cascading lines that stretch up to my fingers. There may be small differences in the paths of the lines on her hand, but the overall effect is the same. Neither appears to be crafted from ink and needle. They look like poorly healed scars embedded into our skin.

Her lips quirk. "Curious, isn't it?" She turns her shoulders to peer out the window like she's no longer interested in the question. "It's time. Shall we go?"

Curious doesn't begin to cover it.

She doesn't wait for me to press the issue further. Instead, she stands with the assistance of her cane and ambles out of the room. The clacks of her cane against the floor grow quieter as she moves further down the hall. Unless I want to go stag to the ball, I have no choice but to follow her.

I decide to drop the question for now, but only until the timing is right. Tonight, all of my focus needs to be on getting answers from Guylita. Climb one mountain at a time.

I try to contain my smile as I pass the invisibles stationed outside of my door, for they are no longer invisible to me.