“I do not.”
“Is there even space up there for someone to stand?”
“Only one way to find out.” He gives me a push, his hand at the small of my back. “I don’t have time to stand here arguing with you about your sleeping arrangements. I have some mattersto attend to—pressing ones. I’ll be back in a few hours to bring you to dinner. In the meantime, do not leave the tower. There are eyes everywhere in this palace.”
“Your sister’s spies?”
“Spies, courtiers. Call them what you like. Her glittering posse loves nothing more than gossip, and your arrival has stirred up a storm of it. They will be eager to corner you alone. Try not to give them an opportunity.” He pauses, lips twitching up at one side. “Though it might be amusing to see you go up against them. A fledgling owl loosed among a pride of preening peacocks.”
At that, he turns and leaves me alone. I wait until the door closes behind him before I heave a sigh and climb up the ladder, into the spire.
Chapter
Twenty
Full night has fallen by the time a fist pounds at the door to the tower. My heart skips a beat at the sound. I scurry down from the spire—which, upon exploration, is actually quite cozy despite the pitched ceilings and lack of windows—and practically fly across the chamber. But when I open the door to Penn, I instead find Jac standing there on the threshold, holding familiar saddlebags in one hand, an unfamiliar satchel in the other.
“Special delivery,” he says, thrusting both bundles into my arms. “Courtesy of the royal dressmakers. You’re to change into something suitable for dinner, then I’m to escort you to the Great Hall.”
I glance down at my weather-beaten red muslin. Admittedly, it’s seen better days.
“How long does it take to make yourself pretty?” Jac asks, a teasing lilt to his words. “I’m guessing a while…”
I roll my eyes. “Where’s Penn?”
“Busy.”
“Doing?”
“Princely things, one can only assume.” He looks pointedly at the bags in my grip. “Time is ticking. Queen Vanora isunpleasant even when she’s in a good mood. If we show up tardy to her table, she willnotbe in a good mood, Ace.”
“Are you to watch me undress or can I have a moment of privacy?”
“I’ll be right outside. Growing older by the second. Do try to hurry.”
I slam the door in his grinning face.
My hair is still damp from my bath. I’ve already made use of the screened area, which houses a porcelain basin for bathing, a simple pull-cord toilet, and a time-warped looking glass that casts distorted reflections. The pipes had groaned in protest as I turned on the tap, but after a few moments of sputtering, warm water had streamed into the tub. It was glorious to scrub all traces of road dust from my skin with lemony soap; a luxury to comb through my hair with a serum that smelled of jasmine. I feel properly clean for the first time in ages.
In the satchel, I discover a neatly folded dress the dull shade of dung, along with a matching pair of satin slippers. With a high neckline and a boxy cut, it is not half as pretty as the blue gossamer gown still tucked in the depths of the saddlebag, but I know better than to even consider wearing the colors of Llyr while traversing Dyved’s royal palace. I quickly tug it on, tie my damp waves back with a simple ivory ribbon, slip into the toe-pinching slippers, and head for the door.
Jac is leaning back against the stone wall of the stairwell. He whistles when he sees me. “You look nice, Ace.”
“You’re quite dashing yourself.” I tilt my head, examining his fine maroon shirt, dark fitted breeches, and stiff white collar. “You should bathe more often. You’re almost tolerable to stand near.”
“Don’t you go falling in love with me,” he warns, eyes crinkled with amusement as he extends his arm. “Milady.”
“Good sir.”
We joke and laugh all the way to the Great Hall, which is already brimming with people. Every seat on the main floor appears full. Jac makes several inappropriate comments as we weave through clusters of tables occupied by soldiers and courtiers, distracting me from the inquisitive stares that follow my every step across the shiny marble.
My stomach flips when I realize we are headed for the raised dais that runs the length of the room. The banquet table that sits atop it is large enough to seat thirty, and already crowded with favored courtiers. The queen’s inner circle. They are even more ridiculously bejeweled than they were in the courtyard this afternoon. Vanora herself is not yet in attendance; the ornate chair at the head of the table sits empty.
We aren’t late.
That is a relief, as is the sight of several high-ranking members of the Ember Guild occupying seats at the opposite end. I see several faces I recognize—Penn among them. He’s seated at the table’s foot, looking astonishingly at ease with a cup of wine clasped in the circle of his hand. The light from the flickering candelabra in front of him plays across his sharp features. His hair is still wet from a bath, and he’s wearing elegantly tailored clothes I’ve never seen before. For the first time since we met, it is not hard to reconcile him with royalty. He looks every inch a crown prince.
He does not even spare me a glance as Jac and I squeeze onto seats next to Uther somewhere near the middle of the table, entirely absorbed in conversation with Cadogan.