The Steel Princess

Chapter 16: The Fallen Queen

Skye wasn't a fan of parties, at least not the official kind. Getting drunk behind the dormitory with a few friends from the Conclave was one thing; tonight, she was prepared for quite another. The Great Hall had been wreathed in summer flowers, the throne garlanded just the same, the silverware dragged out of storage and polished to a high sheen. Skye herself hadn't been able to face a gown, and had opted for embroidered hose, a shirt and tunic both worked in gold thread, and her hair pulled into the most complicated arrangement the maids could manage, all of which had the added effect of making her look remarkably like her father. Behind her, the Kadvalaers - both of them, for this occasion - looked as polished as the silverware.

Not that you could see much of the decoration, because the Great Hall was teeming with people. Plenty of them were her own courtiers - it didn't surprise her to see that Varren in particular scrubbed up well - but a good third of those present were potential suitors. They ranged in age from mid-twenties to, alarmingly, not much more than twelve, and every one of them had an entourage that far outstripped her own.

At least she wasn't expected to confine herself to the throne. She'd feared being stuck up there all night, presented with suitor after suitor, but instead she was allowed to mingle, to meet the newcomers in her own time. Many, she'd come across over the previous days, though she couldn't remember more than a few names; Auda, thankfully - and surprisingly - did remember, and murmured names and titles to her as they circled the room.

"How do you know all this?" Skye asked her, after they'd greeted a dozen young men, and Auda had surreptitiously named them all.

Auda just shrugged. "It was part of our training."

That, more than anything, reminded Skye how woefully unprepared she was for this gathering. Lunen should have been here, or Erle; they'd spent their lives training to be courtiers. Skye, meanwhile, had spent years learning to mix poisons and scale towers, to stab people in the neck whilst they were sleeping, without getting covered in blood.

Well, at least if she never made it to the throne, she'd have a trade to fall back on.

Finally, the crowd parted, and a friendly face appeared. Skye tried not to look too eager as Karic approached and offered her a formal bow. It wouldn't do to look as though she'd chosen her consort already - even as, with a flutter in her chest, she realised she had. That Karic was pleasant, handsome even, didn't really come into it. He was simply the ally she needed, and he'd hold Eskeleth together where others would tear it apart.

"Are you enjoying the festivities, Your Highness?" Karic asked as he straightened.

In response, Skye felt her stomach growl. There was food, on one side of the room, but she hadn't had a chance to so much as look at it. "The Hall looks splendid," she said blandly.

Karic grinned, and she wondered if he'd heard her stomach. "Might I get you some food, Your Highness?"

"I'll get it," Auda growled, and was gone before Skye could stop her. Only sensible to let her guardian fetch the food, of course, even if Skye was fairly certain Karic wasn't about to poison her.

Skye suddenly found herself caught, between Karic on one side and Josselyn on the other. She wasn't sure why it should make a difference, but with Auda gone, the atmosphere seemed changed. Skye was determined not to look at Josselyn, but it was clear Karic read something in the other man's face, something he wasn't sure how to respond to.

In the end, he chose pleasantries, which was a safe enough bet. They talked about the decorations, then the food, once Auda brought some back, and finally...

"Perhaps you ought to move on, Your Highness," Karic said. "There are other suitors waiting to meet you."

Skye knew that, of course, but she'd been doing her best to ignore it. Whoever she chose as her consort, Karic was a point of safety within the crowd, a familiar face, a good conversationalist, maybe even a friend. Moving on again felt like paddling out of calm waters into the heart of a whirlpool.