Chapter 3

Chapter

Three

TRESSYA

"Your father has summoned you," Radnisa exclaimed, bursting into my bathing room. The water was already cold because I had spent more time staring out of my small window at the clouds than bathing myself.

These past three days, I had felt sluggish, dragging my body from bed long after the sun had risen. All I wanted to do was curl into a ball and sleep, which made completing my menial tasks challenging.

I was certain my lethargy had something to do with the wound and whatever infection the Mother had placed inside of me. Whatever she had placed upon me, I would endure. I had to. All who belonged to the Sisterhood offered sacrifice without question, and I was born into it. The Mother was my mother, and her word was my law.

This meant my question would forever remain unasked. What the Mother had done to me, placing a mysterious misty black substance inside of me, seemed like magic, but the Sistern weren't magic wielders beyond soul voice, so how had the Mother managed to do what she did?

I dropped my soapy cloth. "Now?" I hadn't seen the king in four days and wasn't supposed to for another three days, according to his meticulous schedule.

"I know you're an imbecile, but it's time you stopped showing it. Stop gaping and gawking and do as I say." She threw a dry cloth at me without aim, so it landed in the soapy tub water.

Radnisa rolled her eyes as if it were my fault the cloth ended in the water, then spun on her heels and left. I eased slowly up from the tub, expecting a twinge from the ache in my side, only to find my bath had soothed the stiffness. I curled my toes on the cold wood floor and hurried to retrieve another dry cloth neatly folded on a stool.

Radnisa waited on my bed, arms folded across her chest, a rich deep red gown, more suited to a ball, spread beside her. Her shrewd eyes followed me across the floor. Avoiding her intense gaze, I headed for the pile of folded undergarments on the other side of the bed. Any minute, she would decide on the perfect remark, something disparaging, provocative, or penal, so I prepared myself by taking slow, methodical breaths and concentrating on dressing.

Once dressed, and with no sharp words forthcoming from Radnisa, I walked around to stand beside her and picked up the yards of silk, lace, and finery. I didn't bother to ask Radnisa why she had insisted on a gown so clearly unsuitable for an ordinary morning summons from my father instead of the many more appropriate daywear gowns available. Radnisa's ridiculous choice of dress likely had something to do with my father's mood, which was erratic at best.

The long gown cascaded down to the floor, accompanied by multiple layers of petticoats I struggled to navigate on my own. I fumbled through the layers as Radnisa rose from the bed and strode toward the door.

She yanked it open and stepped out. "You," she shouted moments later, while I continued gathering all the skirts.

A young girl, dressed in the beige apron of a house servant, entered the room, casting timid glances between Radnisa and me.

"Your Highness," she bowed to me, then startled when Radnisa slammed the door shut behind her.

"Tend to her," Radnisa barked.

The young girl glanced at Radnisa. "You... I'm..." Her words faltered, her round eyes flickering between us both.

"Blessed Mother, just do as I say," Radnisa snapped, pushing the girl toward me.

"You may lace me up." I smiled at her, attempting to ease her confusion as I pulled one sleeve of my dress over my shoulder. Lucia, my lady's maid, was usually the one to assist me with dressing. Radnisa would never offer a helping hand, and given the king's impromptu summons, she wasn't willing to wait for Lucia to arrive.

The servant girl hurried over while Radnisa marched behind, once again folding her arms across her chest. She slowed her pace, her eyes dropping to the ugly mark above my left breast. Three days had passed, and the wound no longer appeared angry. Nevertheless, it would likely fuel gossip and raise questions, so I pulled up the front of the dress to conceal it, then turned around, presenting my back to the girl.

"Tighter," Radnisa barked from behind. "Her waist must be thinner than my wrist."

The bones of the corset lodged into my ribs, pinching my skin. I pressed my lips together and took a deep breath, feeling the twinge from my wound as a reminder that I had to train harder. I'd reworked every move I'd made from the fight and saw my mistakes. Misjudging, mistiming, acting with impatience or fury, becoming overly confident, failing to study my opponent, these were lessons I had to learn to perfect my skill.

"That will do," Radnisa snapped. "Do you know anything about hair? Never mind. Of course, you don't. Go."

The girl responded to Radnisa's harsh remark with hurried footsteps, disappearing out of my room like a frightened mouse.

"Sit. I'll have to do it myself," Radnisa sighed.

I complied, knowing I would discover the reason for all this fuss once I was standing in front of the king. However, if I arrived forewarned, I could adjust my approach accordingly.

Asking direct questions would only invite Radnisa's venom, and I would gain nothing but a verbal lashing. Instead, I would have to be discreet.

"Is Edilene to meet with the king?" I eased down before my mirror.

I was rarely invited to the other side of the castle, the places within Aldorr reserved for the king's legitimate children, so it wasn't uncommon for weeks to pass before I saw either of my half-siblings, and rumors never made their way this far into the west wing.

Radnisa dragged the brush through my hair, not bothering to ease out the knots. "Edilene is none of your concern."

I took that as a no.

There was no way he would know about Carlin. I stared at my reflection, seeing the pink in my cheeks fade with the growing pace of my heartbeat. We had been too careful. Was the dress an attempt to appease him or soften his anger upon learning that his daughter was no longer a suitable commodity for a strategic marriage?

The tight bodice restricted my calming breaths, but I was more interested in Radnisa's motivations for dressing me this way than in worrying about my inability to breathe.

"What about Prince Arnaud?"

"Care more about your own fate than that of his."

A yes, I was sure. He would preside with the king. And that was a sign she knew what fate I faced. It didn't sound promising.

Brushed free of knots, Radnisa yanked my hair into an elaborate knot reserved only for balls. She aimed to ensure I arrived before the king as visually pleasing as possible, despite my plainness. This could only mean the king was furious. She had never cared how my father treated me before, so why did she bother now? Unless it was under the Mother's directives?

In recent years, Arnaud stayed by the king's side during all matters of grave concern to the kingdom, whether significant or, more often lately, otherwise. The king's age had slowed his judgment, but not his anger or resentment. What the king wanted to say had nothing to do with my lack of competence in my lessons or duties, which were regularly reported to the king. Arnaud didn't need to be present for such a discussion.

Curses, this was serious. I pressed my palms flat against the bureau, feeling the cold on my clammy palms, and stared at my trembling hands, then gazed into Radnisa's eyes through the mirror.

It made no sense that after all this time Radnisa would expose my secret. Her loyalty to the Mother ran as deep as mine. There was no purpose served in locking me under house arrest and subjecting me to a whipping for tarnishing my virtue with a commoner. Edilene's ties to the Sisterhood were equally strong, but her animosity toward me could run even deeper. Could it be she was the one who revealed Carlin and my secret? There was no other reason for my father to deviate from his usual schedule and arrange a meeting that required Arnaud's presence as well.

"When will the Mother depart?"

The temple of the Divine Order was located on a small, isolated island off the coast of Merania. The Sistern made sure to extend their influence far and wide across the nearby realms, wherever they deemed it important to exert control. However, no uninvited person ever journeyed to their island.

I hoped she would provide guidance and perhaps reprimand Edilene in the process.

"The Mother's movements hold no significance for you."

I swallowed hard, already caught in my father's trap. I would have to find my way out of it or hope the Mother had other plans for me beyond imprisonment.

Silence had always been my best defense. It allowed me to listen, learn, and strategize. So I swallowed the rest of my questions. I already knew things were dire for me.

"As unfortunate as your appearance may be, there is little more I can do for you," she declared, throwing down the hairbrush.

I stood, relieved to be free of her and her rough hands. "Am I to meet the king in his office?"

"The council hall."

The council hall. A public humiliation, then. This had to be at Arnaud's insistence. Yet why tarnish my virtue publicly, allowing rumors to spread far and wide across the kingdoms. The corset constricting my waist already made breathing difficult, but the horror welling within me suffocated me.

Remembering who I was with, I dipped my head so Radnisa couldn't read my expression in the mirror. Why give her any more pleasure than she had already derived from me so far? I focused on finding my calming breaths. Panic was a curse, but fear was a weapon. I would find a way out of this.

Stepping into the corridor, I was relieved to escape both my room and Radnisa. Two servant women slowed to curtsy as I passed, their eyes flicking to my chest before lowering their heads to stare at the ground. Unsurprisingly, news of my ugly wound had already traveled through the dim halls of Aldorr. Gossip within the castle spread faster than the king's favorite falcon. Many would feel sorry for me, believing the king or Arnaud responsible. Little did they realize neither man could deliver half the pain that any disciple of the Sistern could, both to my body and to my heart.

Once in the west wing, I passed courtiers strolling through the long hallways for exercise, the inclement weather keeping them indoors. Unlike the servants, those of noble birth made little effort to conceal their contempt. They feigned the slightest curtsey as I passed or didn't bother at all. I paid them no attention. Instead, I kept my eyes on the history of Merania's rulers displayed on the wall of the corridor—a line of grim-faced males painted in all their finery.

Father had commissioned his own portrait long ago, ensuring they captured him in his youthful splendor. Since then, the king added more, depicting the trappings of the family. Those paintings hung on the opposite wall. I would never find myself among them.

The council hall was on the other side of Aldorr, and by the time I arrived, I had grown accustomed to my fate.

At the entrance to the council hall, I paused to steady my nerves, leaving the palace guards to stare at me, then at each other, unsure of what to do. Whatever awaited me beyond these doors, I was strong enough to endure. Blessed be the Mother. I would get through this.

What if they hunted Carlin down? The thought stalled me a few steps from the doors. The guards, who'd leaped for the doorhandles, froze, staring at me like I'd lost my mind. I wouldn't put it past Arnaud to weave a false tale and turn Carlin into the villain, using rape as the perfect accusation, leading to a judgment severe enough for a beheading. Filled with a sudden defense for Carlin, I strode forward, forcing the guards to scurry open the doors, and came to a sudden halt. The king sat regally on his throne, with Arnaud on his right side, but what had stopped me was the stranger seated uncomfortably in a high-backed chair just below the king.

The stranger's presence at the king's feet indicated his higher status among common folk. His jacket, made of fine cotton woven by skilled artisans, shone in the color of gold. It boasted winged shoulders, pickadils, and a ruff extending up to his chin.

Coming to stand before my father, I curtsied, attempting to display the grace that apparently eluded me.

"Your Majesty," I said, stumbling over my words as I tried to place the stranger in my punishment.

The stranger examined me with his close-set eyes.

"Stand straight. Let us see you," commanded my father, curling a finger at me.

I moved toward the foot of the dais, feeling the stranger's sharp beady eyes roaming over my body. I turned to look at him, questioning who he was to dare ogle me so brazenly in front of the king.

"She is only half as beautiful," he declared, his cropped beard disappearing beneath the fastenings of his ruff as he spoke. He raised an eyebrow as he met my unwavering gaze.

I was mistaken. His gaze wasn't lustful but assessing, and from the slight twitch of his upper lip, I would say he found me lacking. I found him repulsive, including his overpowering scent—an excessive application of the odent flower favored by the aristocracy—which suffocated the air.

"The agreement was for the eldest," he stated, dabbing the corner of his nose with a handkerchief as if I emitted an unpleasant odor.

"She's spoken for," snapped Arnaud.

I tore my eyes away from the pompous man and directed my attention to Father. His expression remained as stony as ever. I lowered my head, shifting my gaze to the floor. Panic welled within me, breaching the tight control I had forced upon my emotions, and a whirlwind of unsettling possibilities raced through my mind.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty, I mean no disrespect, but the esteemed King Henricus is expecting me to return with the agreed-upon daughter…" He turned his gaze back to me. "Not an unsuitable substitute."

Blessed Mother, the implications behind his words constricted my throat.

"The king will have to be content with what I send. My eldest is no longer with us. She now belongs to King Rennard. She is Prince Guillenet's wife."

The clammy feel of my hands mirrored the sickening dread enveloping my heart, pulling it down like a wild animal ensnared in a trap. I straightened my posture, lifted my head, and fixed my gaze on the sniveling emissary, all the while counting the pounding beats of my heart.

This had nothing to do with Carlin.

"Sire," the emissary exclaimed, springing to his feet, and thrusting out his protruding belly for all to see. "If you had indeed signed a treaty with your eastern neighbor?—"

"I did no such thing. The princess's disappearance was not my choice."

"Your Majesty, forgive my confusion, but what exactly are you saying?"

"The affairs of Merania are none of your concern," interjected my brother, his voice laced with indignation.

"Forgive me, Sire," the man bowed. "I must return with a justifiable reason for—" He gestured toward me. "This. She was not part of the agreement. The portrait sent was of your eldest. There is hardly any comparison to be made between the two."

His demeaning words failed to penetrate my skin. He was right. There was little resemblance between Edilene and me. In appearance, she was day, while I was night; she a dove, and I an eagle. The austerity of her beauty bestowed upon her the air of an untouchable queen, for that was her destined role under the guidance of her guardians within the king's household and under the strict tutelage of the Mother. While Father ensured I received an adequate education to mitigate the disgrace of my birth, a nobleman with an insignificant title was all I had thought father would bother to arrange for me.

"The daughter your king expects was forcefully taken from my household and compelled into marriage. There is no reason to retrieve her now."

Meaning King Rennard held enough power to jeopardize Merania's stability if he disputed the loss of his eldest daughter. Yet something didn't feel right. If Edilene had been taken, there would be whispers. The servants knew everything; their knowledge of my wound confirmed that. I would have heard something of Edilene being gone.

My eyes narrowed at the floor. I doubted Edilene's disappearance had anything to do with abduction and forced marriage. Rather, she had escaped in secret under the Mother's orders to clear the path for me. This was the destiny Edilene had accused me of stealing.

"Indeed, grave news, Your Majesty. You can trust in my discretion. King Henricus extends his sympathies."

His insincere platitudes faded into the background as my fate crystallized before my eyes.

I could imagine the king's fury at losing his prized daughter for a strategic alliance with the powerful Tarragonans. After all, he'd ensured her education covered the language and political dynamics of the region. I wasn't sure if a marriage to the Tarragonan prince was what he'd had in mind, but Edilene was the perfect daughter for such a union. Curiously, the Mother had ensured from a young age I, too, learned to speak fluent Tarragonanese. The Mother's intervention had thwarted Father's plans, yet he would never know who was truly responsible or why, as was the way of the Sistern.

Why send Edilene to marry the prince of a kingdom far less strategic than Tarragona? Why intervene in favor of me?

Blessed Mother, I didn't want this. I always knew Father would force a disagreeable marriage on me, but not so far away.

I swallowed the sinking realization of my duty—not to the king, but to the Mother, the only person to whom I pledged my allegiance. It mattered little what I thought; what truly mattered was what I did. I exhaled and held my head straight. For the Mother's will, I would endure. I had to.

Sensing his power to negotiate had waned, the emissary shifted his attention to me, scrutinizing me from head to toes as he circled like I was livestock. His gaze dismissed my face but roamed every inch of my body.

Outwardly, I remained motionless. Inwardly, I directed my awareness toward him, activating the part of my mind honed through rigorous training and discipline by the Sistern. I delved into his essence while I listened to the sharp thuds of his boots circling me. I sought to gather the fragments of his soul, the parts of him that would assist me in understanding him, allowing me to mold those pieces into a very special word—his soul word.

Yet I was not Edilene, Radnisa, or any of the other disciples whose training came effortlessly. The soul voice remained beyond my grasp. I couldn't piece together his soul word. Nonetheless, I persisted in my practice.

By now, the emissary stood before me. Though short in stature, we locked eyes at the same level, neither of us flinching.

"It appears Crown Prince Juel receives second best," he remarked.

"Nevertheless, she is still a woman. A woman signifies a womb. That is all your king requires? Your crown prince need only plant his seed, then he is free to take his pleasure elsewhere if she's not to his liking," my father retorted.

My father's words held as much importance to me as he did, which was none. I touched the spot above my left breast where the ugly scar remained hidden. What were the Mother's intentions? Not for the first time, I yearned to ask her. There were many things I wished existed between us. My foolish childhood heart had wanted her to love me. A part of me was still that young girl, still hoping for her love, even though I knew it was impossible. But she had chosen me to marry the prince instead of Edilene. A prince. A match I had always thought beyond a bastard. And the heir to the Tarragona throne. I couldn't fail in this duty. Perhaps the Mother would view me more favorably.

"Malicious rumors claim she is a bastard."

I kept myself from recoiling at the word, but just barely. The word never failed to reverberate in my ears.

"A bastard will still breed. She carries my bloodline. What does it matter who the mother was?"

Making no progress, I withdrew my probing mind from within his soul and shifted the focus of my gaze, looking at the emissary with fresh eyes. Instead of directly at him, my gaze darted around him, searching for his death echo—the essence of his life on the precipice before it plunged into eternal slumber.

Even though the death arts of spiritseeing and spiritweaving, were hereditary traits passed through the House of Whelin, the talent had faded over the centuries. Spiritseeing was rare, spiritweaving rarer still. The last spiritweaver within the Whelin line died over four hundred years ago. Edilene inherited nothing of the Whelin ability. Both Arnaud and I saw death echoes, but neither of us had inherited the more powerful talents of spiritseeing and spiritweaving.

I didn't always see people's death echoes, though. It required concentration and a shift in my vision. Deep hues of burnt honey enveloped him, a man with many years left to live. More's the pity.

Father rose from his throne and descended the dais. He was a tall man, towering over the emissary, so his head reached the small knot in the king's throat.

He took great pride in his physique, maintaining fitness through regular sports, such as hunting and jousting. Arnaud, on the other hand, had grown lethargic, showing little regard for his own health, and rarely engaged in any physical activities.

"What is your response?" Father inquired, peering down at the man.

The emissary cast a brief glance at me. "King Henricus expects me to return with a bride. Your Majesty leaves me with little choice. She fulfills the requirements."

"A wise decision. The woman is educated, though not enough to pose a threat to a king. She is not dumb but knows when to hold her tongue. I believe your prince will find her compliant. Perhaps that will compensate for her lack of beauty and grace."

"Of course, Sire, her education was never in question." He dabbed at his nose with his kerchief, sneaking a lecherous gaze in my direction, openly ogling my chest for the first time. I thanked the Mother my bodice pressed my breasts flat, concealing them from his greedy eyes.

"Now we have our alliance, come," Father beckoned, gesturing for the man to follow behind him. "Let us engage in more pleasant pursuits. You may leave." With a casual flick of his hand, he dismissed me as an afterthought.

He half-turned to Arnaud. "Attend to the arrangements." Then, without even glancing at me, he strode away, the emissary scurrying after him.