All the Tides of Fate (All the Stars and Teeth #2) - Adalyn Grace Page 0,1
we hit the shore, my crew spurs into action. Some focus on righting the anchors and dropping the sails while others toss themselves upon the shore to secure the ship. They lower the ramp onto sand red as blood, where Mira, my lady-in-waiting, stands in a thick black cape with a collar of white wolf fur that stretches to her modest chin, tight and suffocating. Her matching gloved hands are folded before her, eyes narrowed with the perpetual worry I’ve grown accustomed to.
“You’re late.” Her breath steams the air, creating whorls that shroud the faces of royal staff who straighten as I approach. Two of them hold a plush sapphire pillow with elegant silver-and-gold embroidery, and balanced atop it sits my crown—the head of a giant Valuna eel, its mouth open and waiting to sit upon my head and clamp around my jaw. Waiting to devour me.
The gem-encrusted spine glistens from the dampness of the fog, making my throat thick as I consider how natural this false crown looked on Father. It’s a crown made for imposters, and as it’s fitted swiftly upon my head, I can’t help but think how natural it must look on me now, too.
“I’m never late.” I fasten my sapphire coat tight and straighten my crown as the eel’s jagged teeth graze my jaw and temples. “I’m the queen.”
I’m quick to match the smile Mira flashes at me, though our playfulness is nothing but a farce. This is a game we’ve played since summer, one that’s expected by my kingdom. They smile and I smile back, no questions asked. I’m their queen now, and despite all that’s happened, I’m meant to show my people that we’re still strong. That while Visidia has suffered loss, we will unite to surpass our hardships and restore the kingdom.
“Tell that to everyone waiting. It’s your first advisory meeting as Visidia’s queen; you ought to make a better impression.” Mira’s tired eyes roll; it’s something she never would have done before last summer, before she was nearly killed during Kaven’s attack on Arida. Now though, she’s relaxed, willing to tell anyone what’s on her mind—including me.
I’m glad for it. I’m glad for the color in her cheeks and the energy in her step. I’m glad that she’s alive. Not everyone was so lucky.
“The queen dowager is waiting with the advisers in the throne room,” Mira begins, but those words ignite a wicked chill within me. It blossoms in my stomach and wraps claws around my throat.
“Don’t call her that.” Dowager. I practically hiss at the title, not needing an additional reminder that Father is dead, the remnants of his charred body feeding the fish as he rests at the bottom of the sea. “When you’re in my presence, call her by her name.”
Mira’s cheeks flush, and I try not to let the embarrassment from my outburst show. When she opens her mouth, I wave her words away, not wanting the apology that lingers on her tongue. The last thing I need is more people tiptoeing around me—especially when they’ve no idea what really happened the night Father died. That if I’d been able to stop Kaven before he reached Arida, Father would still be alive. I’d be the princess, and my soul would still be in one piece.
But that’s far from the fate the gods cursed me with.
I shove my hands deep into my coat pockets before anyone can see how fiercely they tremble, and raise my chin high for those watching. “Take me to the advisers.”
CHAPTER TWO
The throne room falls silent when I enter, the last tendrils of conversation evaporating like smoke as the heels of my boots snap against the marble floor.
Bitter air and the prickle of ghosts brushing against my skin welcome me into a room I’ve not stepped foot in since I fought Kaven here last summer. It’s one that no longer shows signs of the fire that destroyed it, or even a drop of the blood I remember flowing so freely from Father’s corpse when he drove a sword through his own stomach to sever his connection to Kaven and give Bastian and me the ability to fight him.
I don’t stop to observe the advisers who stand and bow their heads until after I’ve taken a seat at the head of an oversize black quartz table, rubbing my fingers over the charred bones of my throne—freshly lacquered since the fire so that it’s sturdy enough to sit upon.