AllFreeNovel
Share Us
My grandmother.
My heart gave another start, ice and fire twisting alongside the quickly forming knot in my gut.
“Kryamri,” Tilny’s was firm, the snap echoing along with the waves. The girl stiffened at the word, turning to her mother slowly. “Tell Caspyn what your name means.”
Ri’s usual grin was a shadow as she turned back to me. The dice slipped from her fingers to land against the wooden floor with a thud.
“Fate.”
Chapter 7
Elara
Batian would take care of it, he would fix everything.
I had seen it in his eyes as I had been dragged from the throne room. I knew he would. Batian was good at things like that, he was diplomatic, fair, and caring. He would make a good Ramal. But that was also part of the problem, he wasn’t Ramal yet and was still wrapped around our mother’s pinky tightly.
If I wanted to be present at his wedding I was going to have to take things into my own hands, at least a little bit.
It also meant I needed to swallow my pride and give in to my mother’s will. I didn’t want to, not because I didn’t like her, because I didn’t, but because it wasn’t who I was. For Batian, and to be at his wedding, however, it was worth it.
I would do this.
“I can do this,” I whispered the pep talk to myself as I stood, facing the door to my closet as I steeled myself for what I was about to do. It had been two days, Aeinya and her entourage were due soon, and I hadn’t heard from Batian.
I was running out of time, which meant I had to do this.
“You have to do this.” I sounded more like I was in pain than trying to convince myself to go through with this. Maybe I was. It was going to hurt, after all.
I was very good at giving myself pep talks.
I exhaled slowly and opened the door, the small room a void from the lack of light. Grabbing my lantern I took two steps into the room, the furthest I usually walked into this room, and then took two more.
At least twenty dresses hung shimmering on hangers, all of the silks and satins grouped by color and shade. All of the stays and stockings and underpinnings that I had never touched were in the tall bureau on the other side of the room. They were probably as covered in dust as these satin gowns were. It was the first few dresses in the closet that I was familiar with, the dirt streaked cottons and heavy wool petticoats, the same ones that I had worn for the last six years, if not more.
But these…
The soft satins and silks were shimmering in blues and purples, the colors usually seen in the guards of the Ramal. I was never allowed to wear bright clothes like Batian, my mother, or everyone else in the court. I had when I was younger, but that was something else I had lost.
Exhaling yet again, I ran my freshly scrubbed hand over the fabric. If I was going to do this, I was going all in. I had drawn myself a bath, scrubbed away the dirt in the lukewarm water, washed and tried to arrange my hair in something that was less curly and wild, now all that was left was the clothes.
I pulled the dress in the lightest shade of blue down, the color shimmering in the lantern light. It was huge, and I was sure it would make me look like the puffed-up flowers that covered the garden in spring. The expensive embroidering and gems that covered it were going to make me a fancy flower. I tried not to drag it on the floor, but there was enough fabric to make at least 3 of my other dresses.
“Maybe I’ll look like a pillow and take a nap on myself.”
Dress, stays, silk petticoats and stockings laid out on my bed, I put my hands on my hips, willing myself to accomplish this impossible feat.
“This is going to be amazing.” Or, at least I hoped it would be.
Twenty minutes later, I was thoroughly convinced that this was the worst idea I had ever had and nothing about this was amazing. My rib cage was in a vice that I couldn’t breathe through, my feet bound into shoes that were far too small and the dress was, in fact, big enough to house a small army.
At one point in my attempt to find my way through the yards of fabric, I shrieked, fell over and knocked over the pile of books on my nightstand, which had freaked out the Boy who had begun banging on the door in a panic. I had assured him I was fine, but he wasn’t having it. It was five minutes later and he was still knocking.
“I promise I’m not being assassinated,” I called again, straightening my skirts and contemplating this plan for the hundredth time.
I looked worse than a flower, I looked like some kind of dessert.
The Boy responded with impatient clicks from his side of the door and I exhaled, pushing some of the hair that had come loose from whatever updo I had attempted behind my ear. I was sure more than that one strand was flying away, but I wasn’t going to try to fix it. That curly, tangled mess was a lost cause.
