Palace of Silver (The Nissera Chronicles #3) - Hannah West Page 0,25
his hands and dried blood under his fingernails. Back home, noblemen did their own hunting as a matter of sport and status while their servants performed the dirty work of field dressing their kills, but perhaps the lords of Perispos hired commoners to do both.
“I would expect nothing less of the royal huntsman,” Ambrosine replied in an oily tone, as though she loved nothing more than lavishing praise upon this handsome yet prickly fellow. He stalked away to untether the bloody packs, saying nothing more.
“Where is King Myron?” I asked Ambrosine.
“And the princess?” Perennia couldn’t bring herself to say “your stepdaughter.” Judging by her recent conduct, Ambrosine was in no condition to care for anyone other than herself. But surely Princess Navara did not require my sister’s care anyway, not with her flocks of maids and tutors. From her perspective, Ambrosine was probably nothing but a porcelain figurine making frivolous, featherbrained demands from the king’s side.
“Regrettably, my husband is ill with digestive woes today,” Ambrosine answered. “But you’ll meet the sweet little girl at dinner.”
She lifted a finger wearing a gold filigree claw-tip ring and used it to stroke the scar that sliced down my cheek. She executed every movement with a strange self-awareness, as though she were sitting for a portrait and experimenting with gestures to find the most flattering pose. I resisted the urge to swerve from her cool touch.
When she dropped her arm and straightened, I realized that she still had not dismounted the final stair. My instincts screamed a refusal to allow her to tower over me; I joined her at her level. With a tight smile, she immediately turned and ascended.
“I’ve spared no expense arranging your accommodations,” she said as we followed her indoors, chaperoned by two guards and two servants. “And my court will feast tonight in your honor.”
Perennia gasped as we entered the foyer. A richly colored mural sprawled across the domed ceiling. Shades of saturated purple created a velvety backdrop for countless stars that seemed to sparkle in the soft beams from the high windows. “The Eight Holies,” Perennia said, twirling in place to study the ring of divine figures in golden robes. “This is breathtaking work.”
“Come, come!” Ambrosine said without looking up, ascending another set of black and white stairs, this one leading to a long hall of mirrors. Gilt moldings scrolled along the white walls and framed the silver glass panels. Mirror mosaics covered the arched ceiling like diamonds. “When I arrived, the palace sorely needed renovating. So many faded frescoes and chipped sculptures. This area, at least, has been much improved. Myron and I have been bickering over the foyer.”
“Were these your personal touches?” I asked, gesturing at a mirror and meeting eyes with my reflection. I looked even more ill at ease than I felt.
“Yes. They bring in more light than the drab paintings that had hung here before. You would have hated them, Glisette. So many bleak colors and morose deities no one in Perispos prays to anymore.”
From the long corridor branched many others, and though I stole only glimpses of them, I realized all were lined with mirrors. My head whirled as my eyes tried to make sense of their optical tricks.
“Your people know about your gift for mirror manipulation,” I said cautiously. “Might this intimidate them?”
In a flurry of untamed skirts, Ambrosine stopped short. The servants and guards halted several steps behind us, their expressions blank. “Why would it intimidate them? I’m their sovereign. I care for them. My power is their power.”
“Which I hope you’ve not found a way to use,” I said in a careful tone. “Considering it would take dark elicromancy to break the restriction we imposed.”
“I haven’t,” Ambrosine said, jutting her chin in defiance. “I wouldn’t want to cross the Empress of Elicromancy who presides over us all.”
“Valory?” I chuckled. “Don’t let her ego hear that.”
“It’s hardly a joke.” Ambrosine clasped her hands and stepped back toward me, her gaze sharp and bright. Out of the corners of my eyes, I found fragmented reflections of us staring each other down. “Valory could destroy us all with the flutter of an eyelash. How do you sleep at night?”
“I trust her. She loves Nissera and its people.”
“But you don’t trust me.” Ambrosine arched a brow, challenging me. “That’s why you’re here.”
“You’re right,” I said, my features icing over. “It is.”
“I’m here to visit with my sisters,” Perennia insisted. She stepped between us and took each of our hands. “We haven’t been together in