Theia led us down the hall. Our steps were loud—mine heeled, Faun’s booted—but Theia’s were soft, unassuming. Faun had warned me of this—that a handmaiden would escort or follow me everywhere outside my chambers with one ear always bent toward me.
Theia took us on a winding path of turns, stairs, and halls. I had no memory of any of this, despite yesterday’s tour. This castle was its own maze.
We arrived before a door, and Theia knocked three times quick.
“Enter,” came Liora’s musical voice, but pitched lower than yesterday.
Theia opened the door; a rectangle of intense light flooded through, and she stepped into it. “Queen Eurydice, Your Grace.”
Your Grace.Rhiannon had hated that term.
“See her in.”
Theia stepped aside for me with a soft gesture of the hand.
Faun let go of my arm, but not before she squeezed it. “I’ll remain outside.” Her vigilance was impeccable.
I closed my eyes, took a breath. When I stepped into the light, my eyes were overcome. I squinted and raised a shielding hand to my brow.
“Good morning, my young queen.” Liora’s voice came from somewhere inside that brilliance. “A marvelous dawn, is it not?”
Light poured through a stained-glass window on the far wall, so bright it took a moment for the rest of the room to exist. The panes were tall as temple windows—like the shrine to Arxius I’d peered inside once or twice as a girl.
This felt religious, too. The dawn hawk’s wings spread through the stained glass, yellow on white, black eyes open.
Beneath that window sat Liora, in a pale yellow dress fitted to her slender frame with tailored precision. High lace covered her chest where the bodice did not, almost to her throat. She sat back straight, hands in lap, before a round dining table much smaller than what I’d expected. The dark wood had four chairs around it, with only one occupied.
One lace-gloved hand rose, her elbow found the table, and her chin rested atop that hand. “Aren’t you a picture.”
Around Liora, the room bore decadence. A dark-wood credenza against one wall, the golden sculpture of an arch-backed naked woman atop it. A sideboard groaned with pastries, fruits, and meats enough to feed a southern district family for a month. Golden platters. Silver tongs. A single pat of butter shaped like a swan.
The door shut behind me. We were enclosed.
“Sit,” Liora said. “Unless you prefer to stand.”
Faun’s instructions about etiquette surged to mind, all of them blended—greetings, chairs, utensils, phrases.
Instead, I did what Eury would do: the first thing that felt right. I approached, pulled out the chair closest to me, and sat. An empty lace placemat lay in front of me.
“Thank you for the invitation to break my fast with you, Your Grace.”
Liora studied me, then gestured with an upraised finger. A handmaiden I hadn’t noticed materialized from her spot against the wall, only to open a side door and disappear through it.
Moments later, trays clinked. A plate of food was set before me,and an array of utensils laid on either side of it. Pale liquid was poured into a cup. Liora’s eyes didn’t leave mine, even as the handmaiden’s arm sometimes blocked her view.
Before me sat a round dish with a crisp brown top. Steam rose from it; the smell was sweet and divine. When the course was laid out, Liora said to the woman, “Leave us.”
The handmaiden curtseyed and disappeared through the side door. We were alone, truly this time.
Liora lifted a small spoon, the first on her left. She tapped the top of the dish. “What do you think of bread pudding?”
I followed her motions. My spoon broke through the surface of the dish, revealing a creamy, sweeter-smelling center. Mirek would have advised me to say I adored it. “I’ve never tried it.”
One eyebrow canted. “It’s my favorite.” She placed a spoonful in her mouth. Her blue eyes speared me again. “Even though it’s considered crude.”
I took a bite. The taste was exquisite—raisins and cream and bread. The mycelial knot didn’t so much as twitch.She wouldn’t poison you at breakfast.“Crude?”
“It’s a simple dish often made by the lowborn. Which I was, in another life.”