a crow’s next, though at least the ends of her mangled braid were no longer matted with dried blood. Still, she stared on, a slow smile tugging up at the corners of her mouth. Lilac liked the look of being pretty, but it wasn’t anything like the glow of being ravaged by the forest that had swallowed her whole, then spat her back out. She was a survivor, and she’d wear ugly like a minx shawl if that meant letting it show.
Lilac barely managed to mumble one-word answers as the silver-haired maids awkwardly inquired about her wellbeing. The only thing she cared to speak up about was her dagger, insisting that they wrap it carefully in its original leather shawl and place back in her bedside drawer. They then coaxed her into the tub and washed her hair, scrubbing vigorously at her fingernails and tear- and grime-streaked cheeks.
Once upon a time, the warm water and lavender suds would have soothed all off her woes. But her mind was back in Garin’s cell, banging against the bars of regret as he lay motionless beside her. In her mangled desperation to convince Sinclair to believe the lies she’d fed him, she’d consumed her only bottle of Adelaide’s draught without a second thought or moment to prepare. Had it even worked? She couldn’t force her brain to form any words in the Darkling Tongue on demand, but instead of taking that as confirmation the potion had done its job, she realized dispassionately that she no longer cared.
All she could focus on was Garin.
As time passed, Lilac’s stomach knotted further. How much longer until daybreak? What were her options? Were there even any options left? Could the witch help him—would she? Oddly, her disdain toward Adelaide slowly disintegrated, as she hoped with all her heart the witch would find it in hers to help the creature she so despised.
After squeezing Lilac into a laced bodice, the maids helped her into a sweeping white and gold gown, complete with diamonds around her neck and topaz on her ears. It seemed an eerie ode to the canary yellow dress she’d worn on her birthday so long ago. One maid held out a dainty white pillow with her tiara, gold with emerald and pearl trimmings, resting on top. With a prolonged sigh, she picked up the symbol of all she was about to surrender—and all she would obtain.
No.
Suddenly, she pulled away from the bewildered maid, who was in the middle of braiding her hair, and strode out onto her balcony with the train of her dress sweeping out behind her.
“Your Highness!” the maids squeaked in unison. The plumper one rushed out after her, peeking anxiously at the ground below as she clutched her bonnet, hooked nose wrinkling with concern. “Be careful, please. Your guests are filling in across the bridge. No one should see you before the ceremony.”
Lilac ignored this, her eyes glued to the horizon. The tip of the sun was visible, but not quite over the trees yet. I
t wouldn’t be long now. It would rise enough to char him, inch by excruciating inch.
No, she thought again firmly, this time using the rising hysteria to her advantage. Of course, there was something she could do. Even if it was something as miniscule as providing a distraction for the guards, just long enough for her to make a last dash for Garin and Ophelia. She’d find the extra ring of cell keys buried somewhere in the dungeon, or she’d coax them off a guard.
She bit her lip.
“Ladies,” she called out, letting the tightness in her throat cinch her voice. “I’m feeling rather ill.”
“Your Highness,” one trilled from behind her, while the other nearly tripped over her own curtsey. “Would you fancy a cup of tea?
“Or something to eat? You must be famish—”
“No,” Lilac snapped poshly. “I’d like the both of you to leave me be until after the ceremony; your overbearing urge to please me only nauseates me further. And don’t,” she added, feeling more horrible with every poisonous word, “do not wait on me from outside my door. It’s stifling in here. I need some room to breathe.”
Following an impressive double curtsey, Lilac waited until the door shut behind them before rushing over to her knapsack. She made a note to apologize to them later, but only after everything was said and done.
When she’d found what she needed and stowed it away in her bosom, she hiked up the ends of her gilded dress and