Emberhawk - Jamie Foley Page 0,39
remained as motionless as possible against the jostling and bouncing of the carriage. She might as well have tried to stay still while tumbling down a mountain.
Her makeup artist, Juli, muttered under her breath and rubbed at Vylia’s eyebrow. “The heat of this accursed place will be the death of me. Half of my paint will melt off in an hour, and your face will look like a child’s watercolor.”
Vylia chuckled and dared to peek an eye open. The carriage’s cramped, scarlet-covered cabin could barely contain Juli’s collection of scattered clays, powders, oils, and paints. “Then just don’t worry about it.” She adjusted her tiara, annoyed for the thousandth time at the metal divot above her right ear that jabbed her skull. “The locals don’t know what I’m supposed to look like, anyway.”
“Precisely why you should look your best.” Juli flicked her thin brush at Vylia’s lashes until Vylia closed her eye again. “These country folk have probably never even seen a noble. You’re here to impress them, yes?”
Vylia released a careful breath as Juli’s wet brush graced her skin. She didn’t know what her father actually wanted her to do in Navarro.
A bump in the road caused Juli’s brush to jolt upward. “Ah!”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Vylia said. “Just make it even.”
Juli sighed. “Yes, Your Vyness.”
Vylia rolled her closed eyes but couldn’t stop a smirk as Juli dabbed a wet cloth on her eyelid.
Vylia opened the carriage’s small window and peeked out. Amber plains gave way to sparse trees—shorter and paler than those back home—with tiny little leaves and not a blossom in sight.
She leaned closer and peered in the direction her caravan headed. Her updo bumped against something, and she ignored Juli’s protest as wooden walls and a tower’s spire appeared.
Excitement blossomed inside her. The lack of extravagance in Navarro’s gate didn’t surprise her, and yet the different style of roofs that poked above the walls was intriguing. Not curved and ornate like those in the royal grounds, nor made of thatch and clay like those in the poorer Malaano villages. These appeared to be shingled from glazed wood, with some sort of hole on either side. Perhaps to combat the heat somehow?
And beyond, a towering, dark forest loomed on the horizon.
She couldn’t imagine living out here. Everything was so different and bland, and the climate was miserable. And could she ever feel safe enough to sleep with the uncivilized tribes at her back?
Only the brave and the fools fraternize with the children of Phoera.
Vylia jolted, knocking her crown against the cabin wall as the voice rang through her head again.
Juli paused the organizing of her makeup to give a quizzical look. “Careful or you’ll mess up your hair again.”
Vylia cleared her throat and forced a smile, then looked back out the window. Lillian? Can you hear me?
No response.
The oppressive heat seemed to double. The voice had responded to her the first time. And now it sounded louder and clearer than before. Perhaps she needed to speak out loud?
If only Juli weren’t here! If the voice truly were the water goddess, she had so many things to ask. Was the creator dead—had the four primary elementals really killed him? And the afterlife—was the spiritual realm of kai’lani a real place? Or Zoth, the place of punishment for rebel angels? Where was she destined if she didn’t make it back home?
Melodic laughter flitted through Vylia’s mind. You look troubled, little minnow. Don’t fret. Just remember that these people are pagans and savages. Their blood smells of burn and rot, and they make peace with no one—not even their own brethren.
“I will make peace with them,” Vylia murmured.
Juli put her hand on Vylia’s knee, where her kimono’s pattern swirled into a violet lily. “If anyone can, it’s you.” Her smile warmed as she winked.
Vylia swallowed and nodded.
The voice didn’t respond.
She stared out the window and sighed. Uma would want to know more about the voice. Vylia knew she should tell her mentor. But then the old wavesinger might take the stone back. And if she wasn’t strong enough to pass the trials on her own, what would happen if she were faced with a real storm? She needed its power, or the people she loved could be in danger. Because of her.
Guilt squirmed through her chest. She’d cheated. But she hadn’t wanted to. She wouldn’t have . . . if she’d known . . .
“Your Highness.”
Vylia jerked back as Sousuke’s chiseled face appeared in her small window. A new speckling of