The Essence
Page 51
Or maybe say that I was slow-witted.
Anything.
Instead he just stood there, looking stoic and guardly. I wanted to pinch him.
Looking at Queen Neva was like gazing at a snowflake. She was draped, from neck to toe, in a fabric so delicate it was virtually sheer, and her skin beneath was nearly as diaphanous. She was almost as pale as the frost that coated nearly every surface of her queendom, including the snow. Her limbs were long, and even while she was sitting, I could see that she was tall and willowy. She reminded me of the dancers in the clubs Brook and I used to frequent. Elegant and sparkling and lithe.
But it was her eyes that held me, practically as light as her skin. Not in the way Sabara’s had been—milky and hazed with age. Queen Neva’s were like staring into clouds of spun silver. It was as if tiny filaments of metal had coiled together to create something both soft and hard, impenetrable yet vulnerable.
She rose, looking the way I wished I looked: simultaneously graceful, commanding, and feminine. Like a true queen.
“Don’t be sorry,” she said in her throaty voice as she took a step closer. Her lips pursed into what could have passed for a smile. “And don’t worry. You’ll be fine, my dear.” She tipped her head closer, as if telling me a secret meant for just the two of us, even though—aside from our guards—it was only the two of us in the oversize throne room. “A simple kiss will do,” she explained, not lowering her voice at all. “On each cheek. And it’s entirely unnecessary.” She looped one arm through mine like we were old friends, and her touch, too, had that same duality. That same double-edge of dominance and fragility. She led me with a feather touch, walking me across the massive room. “If anyone should curtsy, it should be me bowing to you.”
I glanced up at her, my eyes wide. “Why ever would you do that?” It was the most intelligible thing I’d spoken since my arrival, which was pathetic at best.
“Because you,” she answered, without glancing down at me, “have taken Sabara’s throne, something no one else has been able to do. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
I smiled at that. “What makes you think I don’t give myself credit?”
Her lips parted into a cool grin, and I felt as if she were looking into my soul . . . reading my thoughts. “You deserve this. You, Charlaina, belong here.”
We reached the door and I glanced over my shoulder, only to find Zafir mutely at our heels. Unlike at the entrance, where it took two men to open the enormous, two-story doors, there was only one girl holding the door for us. As we passed, she stepped aside, dropping one leg behind her and tipping into a perfectly executed curtsy.
I silently memorized the girl’s form, grateful Xander hadn’t been there to witness my disastrous greeting.
We stopped at the base of a curving staircase with serpentine balusters forged from black iron that stretched as far as I could see, disappearing into the upper floors. Its black marble steps matched that of Queen Neva’s throne, as did the flooring we stood on. Ebony crystals dripped from the chandeliers overhead.
For all that Queen Neva was light, the interior of her palace was dark and foreboding. Everything about her was a contrast of sorts.
“Your rooms have been readied, and your wardrobe has been”—she paused thoughtfully—“replenished.”
“How did you—”
She held up her hand and wispy fabric revealed wrists so slender they should have been skeletal. Instead I could see lean muscles flexing beneath her skin. “Communication here is better than that in Ludania. We got word of your detour almost immediately. Preparations have been made ever since.” She smiled then, a real smile. “There’s much we can teach you. Much we have to offer. You and I will be great allies, I think.”
I tried to imagine the level of communication that could work at that speed, and could only guess at how it might benefit my people. Suddenly it didn’t matter that I’d made a fool of myself, or that I was nervous. I remembered exactly why I’d come. “I appreciate that, Your Majesty.”
“Neva. Just call me Neva,” she said, releasing my arm and waving over a footman who was dressed in all black. I wondered how Brooklynn had felt, seeing that her uniform matched those of the palace staff. “Show Queen Charlaina to her rooms.” She turned to me then, her expression brightening. “I’ll have dinner sent up to your room. Get some rest, dear. The other delegations will be eager to meet you tomorrow.”
Neva hadn’t lied when she’d said she’d sent up clothing, and not just for me, but for Brook, too. Even Zafir had something to change into.
I had no idea how she’d guessed our sizes, or whose clothes we actually wore, but it felt like heaven to strip out of my dirty riding gear and slip into something clean and soft. Something that didn’t smell like horses and sweat.
The only thing better would have been a bath, but I knew there’d be time for that after we filled our stomachs.
We ate in almost total silence, just the three of us: Brook, Zafir, and me.
I didn’t eat slowly, as a queen probably should. Instead I couldn’t chew fast enough, and I practically shoveled the food into my mouth. Food that hadn’t just been hunted and skinned. The meat—whatever it was—was perfectly sauced and seasoned and was probably the best dish I’d ever eaten. It had only been a few days, but it felt more like a lifetime since I hadn’t had to choke down something scavenged or moldering.
Anything.
Instead he just stood there, looking stoic and guardly. I wanted to pinch him.
Looking at Queen Neva was like gazing at a snowflake. She was draped, from neck to toe, in a fabric so delicate it was virtually sheer, and her skin beneath was nearly as diaphanous. She was almost as pale as the frost that coated nearly every surface of her queendom, including the snow. Her limbs were long, and even while she was sitting, I could see that she was tall and willowy. She reminded me of the dancers in the clubs Brook and I used to frequent. Elegant and sparkling and lithe.
But it was her eyes that held me, practically as light as her skin. Not in the way Sabara’s had been—milky and hazed with age. Queen Neva’s were like staring into clouds of spun silver. It was as if tiny filaments of metal had coiled together to create something both soft and hard, impenetrable yet vulnerable.
She rose, looking the way I wished I looked: simultaneously graceful, commanding, and feminine. Like a true queen.
“Don’t be sorry,” she said in her throaty voice as she took a step closer. Her lips pursed into what could have passed for a smile. “And don’t worry. You’ll be fine, my dear.” She tipped her head closer, as if telling me a secret meant for just the two of us, even though—aside from our guards—it was only the two of us in the oversize throne room. “A simple kiss will do,” she explained, not lowering her voice at all. “On each cheek. And it’s entirely unnecessary.” She looped one arm through mine like we were old friends, and her touch, too, had that same duality. That same double-edge of dominance and fragility. She led me with a feather touch, walking me across the massive room. “If anyone should curtsy, it should be me bowing to you.”
I glanced up at her, my eyes wide. “Why ever would you do that?” It was the most intelligible thing I’d spoken since my arrival, which was pathetic at best.
“Because you,” she answered, without glancing down at me, “have taken Sabara’s throne, something no one else has been able to do. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
I smiled at that. “What makes you think I don’t give myself credit?”
Her lips parted into a cool grin, and I felt as if she were looking into my soul . . . reading my thoughts. “You deserve this. You, Charlaina, belong here.”
We reached the door and I glanced over my shoulder, only to find Zafir mutely at our heels. Unlike at the entrance, where it took two men to open the enormous, two-story doors, there was only one girl holding the door for us. As we passed, she stepped aside, dropping one leg behind her and tipping into a perfectly executed curtsy.
I silently memorized the girl’s form, grateful Xander hadn’t been there to witness my disastrous greeting.
We stopped at the base of a curving staircase with serpentine balusters forged from black iron that stretched as far as I could see, disappearing into the upper floors. Its black marble steps matched that of Queen Neva’s throne, as did the flooring we stood on. Ebony crystals dripped from the chandeliers overhead.
For all that Queen Neva was light, the interior of her palace was dark and foreboding. Everything about her was a contrast of sorts.
“Your rooms have been readied, and your wardrobe has been”—she paused thoughtfully—“replenished.”
“How did you—”
She held up her hand and wispy fabric revealed wrists so slender they should have been skeletal. Instead I could see lean muscles flexing beneath her skin. “Communication here is better than that in Ludania. We got word of your detour almost immediately. Preparations have been made ever since.” She smiled then, a real smile. “There’s much we can teach you. Much we have to offer. You and I will be great allies, I think.”
I tried to imagine the level of communication that could work at that speed, and could only guess at how it might benefit my people. Suddenly it didn’t matter that I’d made a fool of myself, or that I was nervous. I remembered exactly why I’d come. “I appreciate that, Your Majesty.”
“Neva. Just call me Neva,” she said, releasing my arm and waving over a footman who was dressed in all black. I wondered how Brooklynn had felt, seeing that her uniform matched those of the palace staff. “Show Queen Charlaina to her rooms.” She turned to me then, her expression brightening. “I’ll have dinner sent up to your room. Get some rest, dear. The other delegations will be eager to meet you tomorrow.”
Neva hadn’t lied when she’d said she’d sent up clothing, and not just for me, but for Brook, too. Even Zafir had something to change into.
I had no idea how she’d guessed our sizes, or whose clothes we actually wore, but it felt like heaven to strip out of my dirty riding gear and slip into something clean and soft. Something that didn’t smell like horses and sweat.
The only thing better would have been a bath, but I knew there’d be time for that after we filled our stomachs.
We ate in almost total silence, just the three of us: Brook, Zafir, and me.
I didn’t eat slowly, as a queen probably should. Instead I couldn’t chew fast enough, and I practically shoveled the food into my mouth. Food that hadn’t just been hunted and skinned. The meat—whatever it was—was perfectly sauced and seasoned and was probably the best dish I’d ever eaten. It had only been a few days, but it felt more like a lifetime since I hadn’t had to choke down something scavenged or moldering.
