those my dresses from Madame Clothilde? Thank goodness,” Sophie said, sweeping out of the bathroom in a pink robe, a towel turbaned around her head, as she barely gave Hort a glance. “Madame Clothilde Von Zarachin is the empress of fashion in the Woods. All the best princesses are wearing her clothes. Madame Clothilde even designed Evelyn Sader’s gown, you know, the one made out of those spying blue butterflies. Nearly killed us all our second year, but c’est magnifique, wasn’t it? Last night I wrote Madame in a panic, begging her to send me something to wear for the Blessing, and given my new position, she naturally obliged. She warned it would be prohibitively expensive, but I told her Rhian would pay, whatever the cost. He and his brother have lost all right to clothe me after last night. Not just because the dress they gave me was gruesome (though I certainly made it more chic), but because it gave me hives, Hort. As soon as I got back to my room, it started burning my skin like it was made of fire ants. You know how allergic I am to cheap fabric. In any case, I got the dress off before it did any real damage and smoked it to a crisp.” She watched the last shreds of it smolder in the fireplace. “No, no, no, I won’t wear anything of their mother’s ever again. They needn’t even bring up the idea. Is that clear? Hort?”
She glared at Hort for the first time.
Hort blinked. “Um.”
Only now he saw that Sophie wasn’t glaring at him, but at the scim on his neck, as if her entire monologue had been delivered for its benefit. She fluttered over to the settee. “Now let’s find something appropriate for church—”
Hort stepped in her path. “Sophie. What am I doing here?”
Sophie locked eyes with him. “First of all, it’s ‘Mistress’ Sophie, since you are my steward now. Second, I don’t know what you are ‘doing’ other than idling about in poor-fitting pajamas and smelling like a gorilla, but what you are supposed to be doing is helping me prepare for my first wedding event.”
“Look, no one’s here—get this thing off me—” Hort demanded, pointing at his scim.
“Help me open boxes . . . I’m going to be late . . . ,” Sophie puffed.
“I don’t care! Sophie, you need to—”
Sophie shot a pink spark past Hort’s ear with her lit finger and the scim on his neck swiveled towards the door, just long enough for Sophie to mouth at Hort: “IT CAN HEAR.”
Hort swallowed.
“How about this?” Sophie said brightly, holding up a brilliant blue sari, stitched with peacock feathers. “It’ll make the Blessing feel more worldly—”
Eight gold scims tore through it like arrows, ripping it to shreds.
Sophie and Hort spun to see Japeth enter in the gold-and-blue suit he’d worn at Rhian’s coronation, before the eight gold scims circled back and fused into his suit. Rhian’s twin had a black eye, gashes in his forehead and cheeks, and there were several rips in his shirt, bloody skin exposed underneath.
“That is what you will be wearing to the Blessing,” he said to Sophie.
Sophie followed his eyes to the fireplace . . .
. . . where a prim, ruffled white frock lay over the cold coals.
Sophie recoiled in shock.
“That is what you will wear every day,” said Japeth. “That is your uniform. And if you choose to desecrate my mother’s dress again, I will desecrate you in precisely the same manner.”
Sophie’s eyes were still on the dress. “B-b-but I burnt it! To ashes, right there. There was nothing left . . . How can it be back . . .”
Meanwhile, Hort was gawking at Japeth, who looked like he’d been mauled by a tiger. Japeth returned a glare and morphed into his black Snake suit, the skintight scims revealing even more clearly the bloody rips in his armor.
“Protests to support Tedros,” he explained. “Put up a fight, those dogs. Could have used the king’s help, but he was too busy making deals to let prisoners free.” He wiped blood from his lip. “Didn’t matter in the end. There was nothing left of ’em.” He peered down at his own battered body . . . then turned to Sophie, who was still gazing at the fireplace. Japeth’s eyes sparked ominously.
“Like it never happened . . . ,” he said.
He made a sharp move for the princess. Sophie saw him coming.
“Don’t touch her!” Hort yelled, streaking for the