Chapter 16

Chapter 16

AMALIA

I t was raining. Amalia could hear the gentle percussion of the raindrops hitting her bedroom window.

She had no idea what time it was. Her curtains were closed tight enough to not let in any light, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d bothered to open them. It could be morning outside. It could be the middle of the night or the middle of the day, she didn’t know. Not that it mattered.

She should take a bath, Amalia thought to herself. Something smelled sour in her room, and she guessed it might be her. Either that or the long white nightgown she wore. Amalia couldn’t remember the last time it had been washed.

She should take a bath, but… the rain sounded so comforting, tapping rhythmically against the glass. She could bathe later, couldn’t she? The sounds of the rain made her tired again, and even though she’d been sleeping all day—or night, or whatever time it was out there—Amalia decided she just might fall back asleep and let the sounds of the rain carry her away.

A light knock on her door pulled Amalia from her haze, and she scrambled to sit up, rubbing her eyes.

“Linh?” she asked hopefully as the door opened .

Linh had visited every day after her mother’s death, assuring her that justice would be done, that the crown would rise again, that the council would fail, and she would be queen. Amalia had never cared about being queen, not really. But she’d enjoyed the company, enjoyed the attention. Enjoyed having someone to talk to, even if Linh was much better at talking than she was at listening.

But over time, Linh’s visits dropped to once a week. Then once a month. And, eventually, her visits stopped altogether.

Amalia didn’t blame her. She didn’t have the energy to blame her, or anyone else who had forgotten about her. Back when her mother was still alive, even she seemed to forget that Amalia existed, so that wasn’t anything new. Sometimes Amalia felt like a little trinket her mother kept in storage. Every now and then she’d take her out, put her in a pretty dress, and prop her up next to her on a child-sized throne to show her off. Then, back in her box she’d go until the next time her mother wanted to show her off again.

You get used to it.

But it wasn’t Linh who entered her room. It was another High Priestess, Leandra, the head of the Fire Coven. Amalia’s heart fell, but she tried not to let it show on her face. Her mother had told her once that she wore her heart on her sleeve and her emotions plain on her face. The way she said it made it clear to Amalia that it wasn’t a good thing, and since then she had tried as best as she could to keep her heart and emotions to herself, hidden away.

In the doorway, Leandra paused, frowning.

“I’m sorry, child,” she said sadly. “High Priestess Linh remains too sick to visit the palace. Perhaps, you would like to visit her…?”

“No,” Amalia answered, a little too quickly. She swallowed, and straightened her back, sitting up in bed with her shoulders back and head high, just as her mother had taught her. “No, thank you, Priestess. I am sure she will visit when she is able. It would be best not to disturb her rest.”

She didn’t want to see Linh and didn’t want to bother her when she was sick. When Linh was better, she would come and visit again. Amalia knew she would. Had to believe she would.

“I thought you and I might go to the kitchens and have a small meal together,” Leandra said, giving Amalia what she guessed was meant to be a friendly smile. It looked a little too stretched on the Priestess’s face, a little too forced. “Your handmaids informed me you didn’t eat your dinner tonight. Perhaps you are hungry now?”

Amalia frowned. Had she not eaten dinner? She couldn’t remember. She didn’t even remember anyone bringing her food. When was the last time she’d eaten, anyway?

She did feel empty, she realized. Perhaps she was hungry. She almost said yes, almost let Leandra take her out of her room—the room she’d spent the last several weeks in, leaving only to use the toilet and bathe—but something stopped her. When she opened her mouth to accept the invitation, Amalia’s gaze fell on Leandra’s shawl, and any hunger she felt disappeared.

Her mother had ordered the White Priestesses to give any powerful Witch they identified at their Awakening Allium, to keep them from getting strong enough to challenge their family line. Strong enough to challenge the throne. Leandra had been one of those Witches. And now, on the red shawl that marked her as a Priestess of the Fire Coven, she had two more colors embroidered there. Blue for water, and yellow for Air.

Leandra was another Witch her mother had hurt. Another Witch who had reason to hate her.

Amalia swallowed her words and chose new ones, instead. “Thank you, but no. I find myself with little appetite these days.”

Leandra looked concerned, and Amalia supposed the Priestess must be a wonderful actress to make it look so real. Her mother could do that, too. She could smile, laugh, and look at the men in her life like they meant the world to her. But it was a lie, and the moment they were alone, all those emotions vanished.

“Have you been feeling ill, child?” Leandra asked, taking a step further into the room. She raised her hand, coming forward as though to feel Amalia’s forehead and check for a temperature.

Amalia’s heartbeat rose so quickly she felt dizzy. She didn’t want someone near her, didn’t want someone touching her. She was dirty, and that sour smell in the room was surely her and her unwashed night clothes. The last thing she wanted was someone touching her .

It was the last thing she wanted and yet, inexplicably, she wanted it more than anything. Wanted someone to hold her, to hug her, if only for a moment.

“Stop!” she cried out, and Leandra stopped mid-step. Amalia was breathing too quickly. She felt she might faint. “I’m fine. I have no fever, no sickness. Truly.”

The Priestess lowered her hand slowly, still looking concerned.

Leandra had come by after her mother’s death, too, just as Linh had. But she hadn’t talked about revenge and reinstating the Crown. She hadn’t talked about making Amalia queen and making the Witches who had killed her mother pay. No. She’d talked about healing. About forgiveness and growth.

She’d talked about Fey. About how the woman who’d murdered her parents was now working for the Palace, helping all those Witches her mother had hurt. It made Amalia’s heart feel like it was being squeezed in a vise to hear it.

“You may leave,” Amalia said, putting as much of her mother’s voice into her words as she could. It must have worked, because Leandra bowed and retreated.

“Of course, Princess,” she said, softly. “Perhaps next time, then.”

Amalia didn’t want to think about next time. She didn’t want to think about why Leandra sounded so sad. She just wanted to listen to the rain and go back to sleep.

After Leandra left, that’s exactly what she did.