dress.
It’s risky, however, since wearing black signals someone in mourning, not to mention that black was the queen’s colour of choice. Wearing this will make a statement.
I look at myself in the mirror as Jayne passes me the silver cuffs. The jewellery covers my slave marks whilst looking like a fashion accessory, but I feel the weight of them today, like they are shackling me just as much as my chains did.
A knock at the door has Jayne bustling over to open it, and I know it’s Grayson before I even turn around. Nodding, I give him permission to enter, that pull lessening the closer he gets, easing the small ache in my chest that’s always present. It’s like the draw I feel towards Vaeril and Tor, but I don’t want to think about that right now. Shaking my head, I stare at my reflection in the mirror once again. I barely recognise myself, especially as the sticky feeling of magic settles over me and my long, black hair becomes golden, curling ringlets.
Grayson appears behind me, his expression sombre as he sees what I’m wearing. For a second, I think he’s going to tell me to take off the cloak, but he just nods and holds out a hand to me, reminding me of the same gesture he made last night. Accepting his hand, I link my arm with his as we leave the room, Jayne following along behind us. We leave Grayson’s quarters, entering the corridor, and start the trek to the great hall. We walk in silence, but the questions I have are burning in my chest and I have to know the answers.
“What happened in the meeting after I left?” I keep my voice low so no one else can overhear us, but he still stiffens at the question, his eyes flicking around the hallway, noting the few people making the same journey as us.
Last night after Grayson had offered me his hand, he led me from the room, explaining that they needed to have a private meeting to discuss their plan, and that they were going to use magic to speak with the other high magicians. I’m not going to pretend that I wasn’t hurt…or curious.
“I can’t say much,” he replies, glancing over at me and seeing my hard expression. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. You know I would tell you if I could,” he retorts, and I know he means it. However, that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I remain silent, looking away from him and focusing on the corridor before us. I hear him sigh, and as his steps slow, he pulls me closer, his voice nearly whisper. “We need to see how much sway the priests have over the royal family, so for now, we just observe.”
I’m aware of eyes watching us, so I simply nod as we resume our stroll. I see a few people I know and recognise the closer we get to the great hall.
“Clarissa!” a voice shouts, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps running towards me. Spinning, I just see a flash of dark blue before Wilson throws himself at me, his arms wrapping around me tightly. I choke out a shocked laugh as my arms are trapped against my body, so I am unable return his hug.
“I was so worried about you,” he mumbles into my hair, his body stiff with tension. “When I saw you in the courtyard between those guards without your glamour, I knew something bad was happening. When the queen was killed and they lined up those slaves—” His voice breaks and I feel my heart shatter. “I thought you were next, then they dragged you away. I couldn’t stop them, and everyone in the courtyard was trying to escape, people were getting crushed, so I was helping—” His voice goes high as he rambles, so I pull away from him and cut him off, resting both hands against his cheeks, cradling his face.
“Wilson. It’s okay, I understand.” I don’t explain or mince my words, and I wait for them to sink in. His eyes well up and he pulls me back into a hug, this one much more gentle than the first. I feel bad that I hadn’t thought to seek him out after everything had happened. “I’m a terrible friend, I’m sorry I didn’t come and find you.”
“I love you,” is all he replies with. The words are soft, whispered just for me, but I know Grayson