: Chapter 13

For once in my life, my head is so full of my own storming feelings that I’m only faintly aware of the emotions surging in the atmosphere around me.

Aurae gives me the strongest impression. My youngest sister holds my hand tight, and ripples of concern and care and love communicate directly from her palm into mine. Lyria, walking ahead of me, gives off a faint buzz, but whatever she’s feeling is not strong enough for me to discern with any clarity. I’m glad. I can’t bear to deal with other people’s emotions just now.

We make our way back through the garden paths, leaving the sacred grove behind. Vor and his people will take different paths to make certain we do not meet one another. It is against the sacred laws for him to see his heartfasted bride until the Claiming. The vows we’ve spoken are still too new and need time to solidify.

Only, how can they ever be strong enough when Ilsevel neither spoke nor received those vows in person? The sigil of heartfasting doesn’t even now burn upon her breast along with the memory of Vor’s touch.

I close my eyes, allowing Aurae to guide me for several paces. Gods on high, when I agreed to stand in as blood substitute, I hadn’t realized just how painful, how confusing, how glorious it would be! I never should have agreed to it.

My mother stands at the top of the garden, flanked by three of her own ladies-in-waiting. She watches our approach with a cool, calculating gaze. She didn’t observe the heartfasting herself, for which I am thankful. “Is it done?” she asks as we draw near and genuflect before her.

I cannot bring myself to answer. Mother will recognize my voice no matter how I try to disguise it. I can only stand there, letting the awkward silence grow.

Aurae finally steps in to save me. “It is done, Mother,” she says, her voice clear and innocent.

Mother narrows her eyes. For a terrible moment, I fear her gaze will burn right through my veil. She knows Ilsevel well enough to be suspicious. Ilsevel would never ordinarily allow anyone to speak for her. At last, however, she says simply, “Gods be with you on your Maiden’s Journey, Ilsevel.” With that and nothing more, the queen turns and retreats into the castle, trailed by her three ladies. She’s never been much of a one for shows of maternal affection.

“Ilsie?” Aurae asks softly. “Are you all right?”

Hastily, I nod and squeeze Aurae’s hand. Reassured, my sister leads me into the castle and down the passage toward Ilsevel’s set of rooms. When we reach the stair, however, I stop. Leaning close to Aurae, I whisper in her ear, “Send the others away. Tell them to finish whatever preparations they need for the journey. I want to stop in Faraine’s room before it’s time to leave, and I don’t want them with me.”

Aurae starts. Her eyes widen. I stare at her through swirls of gold lace and beads, watching her expression, fearing she’s about to speak out and reveal my identity.

To my relief, however, she gives a little nod. Then she turns to the others, speaking a few swift commands. Lyria looks closely from Aurae to me, and I can almost hear my half-sister’s shrewd mind making connections, drawing conclusions. Whatever she thinks she knows, she merely curtsies and departs with the other ladies.

When it’s just the two of us again, Aurae turns to me. “Ilsie? Is that . . . is that you?”

“Go with the others, Aurae,” I whisper. “The company will depart on time, I swear. But I need to go to Faraine’s room now.”

Aurae presses her lips in a line. Then she nods. “Please be sure Ilsevel is ready to ride,” she says softly and slips away before I can respond.

I breathe a little easier now that I’m on my own. Gathering handfuls of white skirts, I turn to the stair and climb swiftly. I make it up two flights before I’m out of breath and pause to lean against the rail. Squeezing my eyes shut, I touch the place on my bared breast where Vor’s fingers had lingered. That place where even now I feel the invisible sigil burning. In my mind’s eye, I can see him as he stood before me, his shirt open, his broad, muscular chest displayed to full advantage. He was so great, so intimidating, so . . . so . . .

I bite my lower lip. This man—this king—is pledged to my sister. It doesn’t matter which one of us stood before him receiving those solemn words. It was Ilsevel’s name he spoke and to Ilsevel he vowed. He is hers now, body and soul.

Drawing a sharp breath through my nostrils, I grip the stair rail and climb again, faster. I reach the floor of my own room and all but run to the door. It’s locked, but when I knock in the signal we pre-arranged, Ilsevel opens it. She steps back, allowing me to hurtle through, and shuts the door behind me, dropping the bolt into place once more.

“Fairie?” she asks, her voice small and a little tight. “Did you do it?”

I turn to her, throwing back the veil and gazing into her pale, drawn face. “It’s done. I . . . I don’t think anyone guessed.”

Ilsevel nods. She grips her own upper arms tight, as though she’s trying to hold herself together. “Out of the dress then,” she says. “I’ve got to put that awful thing on before I head downstairs. Father’s probably already raging at my tardiness.”

I hastily yank the veil from my head, followed by the cape and then the revealing, low-cut gown. I shimmy out of it, leaving it in a puddle on the floor, and hastily wrap a dressing gown around my body. I’ll dress properly later, but first I need to help Ilsevel back into her ceremonial finery. I tie the laces of the gown, button the cape over her shoulders, stuff her dark locks into the gold hairnet. Last of all, I drop the veil over her head.

Ilsevel lifts the edge of the veil. Her eyes swim with tears as she looks at me. “I’m never going to see you again, am I, Fairie.”

It’s true. This moment, right here and now, is probably the last we will spend in each other’s company. The Maiden’s Journey will end when Ilsevel reaches the Between Gate and meets her betrothed. From there she will travel into his world. The likelihood of her returning is small. Even if she does, she won’t be traveling out to remote Nornala Convent to visit me in my seclusion.

“I’ll write to you,” I say in lieu of an answer. “Every day.”

Ilsevel’s laugh is thin and brittle. “And how will you come by a post rider willing to journey to Mythanar? Or perhaps you hope to outfit someone with a morleth to go back and forth between worlds.”

“I’ll send my letters to Beldroth. Surely there will be concourse between Mythanar and Gavaria following the marriage. You should prepare yourself to receive a whole satchel full of letters in one fell swoop.”

Ilsevel laughs again. “A whole satchel full? How in the gods’ seven names will you find so much to write about from that frozen convent of yours?” I can see regret in her face the moment the words leave her mouth. “I’m sorry, Fairie,” she says at once, her brow puckering. “I didn’t mean—”

“No, no.” I hold up a hand. “Don’t apologize, darling. It’s true! But I’m sure I can eavesdrop on enough nuns’ gossip to make for a handful of interesting pages anyway.”

Ilsevel shoots me a weak smile, holding the veil up out of her face. “I’ll enjoy every word.”

She looks so desperate. So lost and forlorn. So little like my spirited sister, as though that veil on her head weighs a thousand pounds and will surely crush her. I take a quick step forward and wrap my arms around her. She squeezes me back, hard. Her lips graze my cheek ever so briefly, and I wince at the shock of pain such a touch inevitably brings me. This time, the pain isn’t fear, however. It’s sorrow. Real sorrow. For perhaps the first time, I realize just how much my sister loves me. Part of me believed our bond had faded over the last few years since my sickness grew so bad and drove me to avoid both her and Aurae. But no; the old ties are still there. Ilsevel still sees me as her older sister, her protector, her shield—though Ilsevel herself is far braver than I could ever be.

Her sorrow and her love stab me like a knife through the temple. But I hold on just a little longer. If only I could take this moment and bottle it up, keep it forever. Instead, I let out a breath and step back two paces. “Go,” I say, holding my sister’s gaze. “Find love. Find life. Find adventure.”

She chuckles tearfully. “Careful what you wish for!”