“You mean opening that silver box of yours,” Naomi pointed out the real reason the elf was so keen on going to some ghost-infested ruin.
“And why you now stand draped in an Elvan cloak,” Serenthel pointed out in return.
Naomi blinked, having almost forgotten the strange garment Adibe had pulled seemingly from thin air to drape around her shoulders before shoving her onto Forfolyn’s back. She fingered the edge, its dark green fabric softer than wool, lighter than silk and embroidered with what she thought may be actual silver thread. The cloak looked a lot like the one Serenthel wore, but something told her it had been made a much longer time ago.
“Come, my lady,” Serenthel called to her, having moved unnoticed back to wait next to Forfolyn. He stood, poised and patient with hand outstretched. “I swear this to you: I will find a way for you to return to your home once I have kept my promise to Adibe of keeping you safe and searching D’nas Glas for answers.”
Naomi thought he looked the role of some prince, making a foolish declaration like that. As his appointed guide to this world, the first thing she’d have to teach him would be that making promises was a good way to get yourself into trouble. If left alone, the poor sharp-eared boy would likely get himself robbed, killed or enslaved within a week. With a huff and an exaggerated dragging of her feet, she picked up her bag and walked to the elk.
Serenthel’s lips formed a victorious smile as he gracefully mounted the back of Forfolyn. With no stirrups, or even a real saddle, Naomi was forced to accept Serenthel’s assistance up to ride behind him. She was also forced to wrap her arms back around Serenthel’s waist for fear of falling off the elk as he began trotting down the road.
“Hold fast, my lady,” Serenthel said as he leaned forward into the elk’s quickening pace.
“Naomi,” she corrected as her grip tightened. “Just Naomi. I’ve been many things, Serenthel, but I’ve never been a lady.”
As Forfolyn’s trot broke into a run and left the road to race through a field, Naomi swore she could hear Serenthel’s laugh carried on the wind.
42
‘You must go to the Red City, to uncover the truth hidden within a kingdom of lies.’
Whispers from the dark recesses of a night without sleep brought Dnara to sit upright in bed amongst an overabundance of silk sheets, downy comforters and feather pillows. Her body turned, her legs left the blankets and her bare feet touched the carpeted floor. These movements were not her own, though for the first time since placing the collar around her neck, she experienced them with unhindered clarity.
She’d been brought to this room by the king’s servants, a room more opulent than any she had ever imagined. It spoke of wealth and power beyond even that of Keeper Ishkar’s grand study. Pure white marble and carved dark wood with gilded embellishments served as a foundation to this bedroom, its stone floors lined with soft crimson carpet on all but the very edges. Pillars held up a vaulted ceiling, every surface painted with all manner of scenes from deer in flowered meadows to lords and ladies dancing across the walls. If ever there were a concrete vision of royalty, this room and its decor would serve as a proper backdrop to the lives of kings and queens.
Why she had been afforded such luxury, she now had the clear minded ability to question. The only answer she had, frightened her. This gilded marble cage had indeed been intended for a queen, even if that queen had no desire to marry the king.
Lelandis had said he did not wish to force her, but his words brought little comfort. In her short span of freedom, Dnara had seen how desperation made short work of good intentions and could turn wishes into nightmares. Desperation had led to a bad deal with a raven and a false hope that she could be mother to a reborn god. Was this the truth that Ishkar had wanted her to see? Dnara couldn’t answer that question with certainty, and despite being able to think more clearly, she lacked the will to do anything other than watch as the world around her moved.
The king’s servants had bathed her, dressed her, brought to her a meal on a silver cart then left her there alone to rest. The meal, a roasted hen and colorful vegetables, remained uneaten, because they had neglected to tell her to do so. The bath had left her skin too fragrant and slick with oils. The dress, a heavy nightgown, impractical and overwrought with intricate lace and gold embroidery. It weighed down her steps as she shuffled across the room in the lethargic movements of one body being moved by another’s will.
Moonlight spilled onto the blood red carpet from large closed windows, illuminating the path on which she walked. Unexpectedly, her body paused by the silver cart, tore a leg from the hen and ate. Though not enjoying being a passenger in her own body, she relished the small relief to a hunger she’d been numb to earlier. After eating half the hen and downing a goblet of spiced honey water, she wiped her hands on a silk napkin then started back on her walk to an unknown destination.
Her body walked itself to the door she’d been ushered into hours earlier. The collar around her neck hummed and sent a shiver down her spine and back up again, as if being called. Her feet slid into silk slippers as embroidered as her gown, all of it a light lavender
