Scala (15 page)

Octavia steps up to my side. “Job very well done, my dear.”

“Thanks, Octavia. Couldn't have done it without your support. Now, I can really focus on getting ready for my first big iconigration.” It's only forty-eight hours away. Yowza.

“Obviously, the iconigration is a top priority,” answers Octavia smoothly. “But, don't forget. Your Ball of Welcome is tomorrow night.”

Oh yeah, oops.
“That, too.”

Octavia tilts her head to one side. “I hope you're looking forward to it.”

I brace myself, waiting for the typical sense of dress-up-party-yuck to settle into my belly. It doesn't. In fact, I feel downright pumped for the Ball. Getting rid of Adair makes everything seem that much better, I guess.

“You know what, Octavia? I am looking forward to it.” I exhale a satisfied breath. “Most definitely.”

I sit at a tiny make-up desk in my chamber at Arx Hall. My ladies' maid, Clover, stands behind me as she fiddles with my hair. Clover's on the short side with a rail-thin body topped by a large, moon-shaped face. Like all thrax, she has mismatched eyes of brown and blue. Her uniform's a simple peasant dress of black cotton with a long white apron.

“How would you like your hairstyle for tonight's Ball?” she asks.

“Down my back is fine. Just what you're doing.”

“We could try something more formal, too. It is a Ball of Welcome in your honor, after all. I have some diamond hairclips around here. Let me show you.” She steps away and starts scanning the nearby tables.

I frown. The Ball starts soon and I don't want to be late. This room's so cluttered, it could take hours to find anything in the piles of statues, vases, tea sets, and music boxes.

“Ah, here they are!” exclaims Clover.

“Great news.” Looks like I won't be late, after all.

Clover steps up behind me, showing me some hair clips decorated with diamond eagle claws. I give them a quick once-over. The design is lovely but the execution is huge. I'd need a beehive hairdo to make them work, and that's just for starters.

“They're very pretty, Clover. But I don't think they're me. Thanks, anyway.”

“As you wish.” She takes a brush to the back of my head. “So excited to hear about the iconigration, if you don't mind my saying so.”

I straighten in my chair, a sense of pride swelling within me. “No, I don't mind you saying that at all.” The iconigration is all set for tomorrow morning. Inside my heart, my igni pulse with excitement at the very idea.

“Any luck getting Lady Adair to give you those…” She clicks her tongue. “What are they called again?”

“Igni.”

“That's right.” Her eyes grow large with alarm. “Or is it not proper to ask such a question?”

“No, you can ask. It's fine. Adair did take some of my igni. We've been trying to get them back, but no luck so far.” I tried pushing, pulling, cajoling and bribing. Nothing. After that, the House of Striga has cast every spell, charm and enchantment in the book. My igni still won't budge. Whatever spell-n-demonic-blood combo Adair is working, it'll take some time to crack the code. I will crack it, though.

“That's a shame,” says Clover.

“I've enough igni for my first iconigration, though. That's the big one.”

“Well, that's good to hear, anyway.”

A knock sounds at my door.

Clover inclines her head, making her long braid of brown hair swoosh to one side. “Who calls upon the Great Scala?”

“It's me, dear.” That's Octavia's voice.

I fidget on my cushy little seat, nervous energy bounding through me. I hadn't expected Lincoln's Mom to stop by and I'm not ready yet. Normally, I'm not the kind of girl who worries if she looks perfect, but right now? I totally worry if I look perfect.

Clover turns to me. “Shall I bid her enter?” The thrax have all sorts of funny rituals; anything related to the King and Queen gets downright hilarious.

I almost say ‘shall we stop talking like we're clones of Shakespeare?' But I stop myself. “One sec.” I smooth out my Scala robes. “Okay, now I'm ready.”

Clover pulls the hefty door open, revealing Lincoln's mother standing in the hallway beyond. Octavia looks gorgeous in a black velvet gown embroidered with silver thread.

I never can remember the thrax ritual for greeting royalty, so I do what I always do. Make it up. “Hey, Octavia. How's it going?”

Octavia makes shoo-fingers at Clover. “Go find somewhere to be useful.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Clover curtsies. “I'll put fresh linens on the Great Scala's bed.”

Octavia steps up behind me, setting her dainty hands firmly on my shoulders. She meets my gaze through the little mirror at my make-up desk. “I came by because I simply couldn't wait. I have excellent news for you.”

My face brightens. “What's that?”

“I've made an inquiry into the status of the Royal Vaults.”

Butterflies start doing their pitter-patter thing in my belly. Royal Vaults? She can only be talking about one thing. Lincoln's search for the Rixa betrothal jewels.

“I'm so sorry for the delay, my dear,” says Octavia, shaking her head. “Not able to find the jewels? Ridiculous. Turns out, all the guards and staff at the Vaults were from the same House.”

“Let me guess. Acca?” Anger winds through my arms; I so want to punch something. Instead, I grab a brush, ready to go to town on my hair. I barely raise the thing from the tabletop when I snap the handle in two.

“Oops.” My cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Didn't realize that was so dainty.”

“Don't worry about it, my dear. I have similar reactions to Acca all the time. To answer your previous question, yes, they were absolutely behind the troubles at the Vaults. I had them all thrown in the dungeons, but they left things in a terrible mess. Catalog cards wrong, safes moved around, that kind of thing. Clearly, it's some kind of ploy to stall out your betrothal. Now, my people are cleaning things up. They'll find the jewels soon.” She gives my shoulders a squeeze. “I'm very excited for both of you.”

Acca, at it again. Unbelievable
. I flex my fingers, my hands itching to break something else on the table.

“Octavia, can I be honest with you?”

“Always, my dear.”

“Why isn't there in inquiry into these things? Acca should be disbanded or something.”

“I've been trying to do that for twenty years, but the King…” She exhales a long sigh. “He favors Acca, we'll leave it at that. Perhaps with you and Lincoln together, you can give him the strength to stand up to them. Maybe he'll become the man he once was when I married him.”

An image flashes in my mind. The look on Octavia's face when she first spied me on the battle practice grounds in Purgatory. “Me and Lincoln teaming up against Acca. You've been planning this all along, haven't you?”

“Of course, child. I should've thought that obvious.”

I let out a nervous laugh. “Not that obvious.”

“Give it time, you'll learn the chess game that is statecraft in Antrum. Besides, the two of you are so well suited. I can't imagine a better match for my son.”

“Wow. Thanks.” My blush returns, a little deeper this time. Octavia's never said sweet stuff like this before. Makes me feel all squishy inside.

“By the way,” adds Octavia. “Any luck getting your powers returned?”

“Not yet, but I'm not worried. It looks like Adair has to agree to give me my igni back, but I'll wheedle them out of her. I still have plenty left to do the iconigration tomorrow, and that's the important thing.”

“As long as you're confident, then I'm pleased.” She kisses my cheek. “See you in the ballroom.”

A nervous twinge rolls up my belly.
That's right. The ballroom.
I need to finish getting ready and how.

“I'll see you there, Octavia. And thanks for throwing the Ball in the first place.”

Laughter hides in her mismatched eyes. “Liar. You hate formal events. But I appreciate a well-intentioned fib, same as the next woman. You can come out now, Clover.” Octavia whips through the door; it closes behind her with a soft click.

My ladies' maid peeps her head in from the bedroom. “Your Highness?”

“She's gone.”

Clover lets out a visible sigh of relief. “Our Queen is not a little frightening.”

“Oh, she's pretty cool when you get to know her.”

“My, my. I've lost track of time. We don't want you to be late.” Clover rushes to stand behind me again. “Where were we? I'm afraid the royal visit has me a little flustered.”

“That's fine, Clover.” I scan the dressing table in front of me and its overwhelming landscape of bottles. There can't be much left to do. I check off my beauty-accomplishments on my fingertips. “First, make-up's finished. Second, hair's done. Third, my Scala robes are on. All I need is my over-gown, am I right?”

More knocks sound. Clover frowns. “Now, who can that be?” She rushes over to the door. “Who calls upon the Great Scala?”

No answer.

“I said, who calls upon the Great Scala?”

Still, no reply.

A creepy feeling makes the hairs along my arms stand on end. Something about this feels off.

Clover pauses a moment longer, and then shrugs. “Ah, well. There's always a new servant getting lost in the Arx. Where were we?” Clover claps her hands together at her waist. “Ah, I have it now. Your over-gown. I'll fetch it.” She disappears into the walk-in closet, followed by much rustling of fabric. “I know they delivered it earlier today. One minute, please.”

“No worries.”

To kill time, I step to the window and look out on the Rixa lands beyond. Nothing less than gorgeous. I pictured Antrum as a series of tiny and dark caves, but that's not true when it comes to Rixa territory. The caverns here are massive and filled with white light. Columns of opaque crystals scale up the walls at funky angles. The ceiling's lined with the hexagon-ends of those same glassy white stones, making an artsy, uneven pattern. A loose forest of white crystal trees extends below my window.

I watch the scenery another minute before I get bored. Looking out windows isn't my thing, really. Besides, I do need to get ready. I change my focus from the external Rixa lands, looking instead at the reflection of my room's interior.

What I find mirrored in the windowpane surprises me to the core.

There, reflected in the glass, I see Clover still standing by the closet door. But that's not what truly astounds me. It's her eyes. Moments ago, they were the classic-thrax mismatch of brown and blue. Now, they glow bright red. Demon eyes.

A mixture of terror and shock press in on my lungs, making it hard for me to breathe. This can't be happening. Impossible.

Clover speaks to me in a creepy, monotone voice. “Don't you look pretty?” With every lifeless word she speaks, a fresh chill rolls through my belly.

Spinning around, I face her once again, only to find that her irises have returned to their mismatched state. No demonic light at all. Shock squeezes the air from my chest once again.

I force myself to speak, despite my panting breaths. “What did you just say to me?”

“Did I say something?” Clover's face looks so round and innocent, it's hard to imagine the demon-red eyes I saw a moment ago. I wish I could find that comforting, but the realization only rockets my anxiety higher.

“So sorry,” gushes Clover. “I must have daydreamed there for a moment. The Queen's visit has me all a-flutter. Where was I, again?”

Remember to breathe, Myla. Stay calm.

I watch her carefully, like she'll burst into demon-from at any second. “The over-gown.”

“Right, right. Won't be moment.” She disappears into the closet.

I pace in front of the window, my mind trying to process this latest turn of events. Clover eyes turned red while she spoke in a strange monotone. That reminds me of something—maybe more than one thing—but with so much going on, I can't place the memory. My warrior sense rails through me, strong as an electric current.

Danger, Myla.

A fresh knock sounds from across the room, followed by a familiar-but-muffled voice. “You're late, my dear.”

I rush over and open the door, finding a portly woman in a simple black gown. It's Bera, Octavia's handmaiden. I haven't seen her since the last thrax tournament, when she helped me with my armor.

“Bera. So nice to see you.” Actually, it's not all that nice. I'd rather have a few minutes of quiet to sort things out, but the look in Bera's mismatched eyes says that won't happen. My hands ball into frustrated fists. After what I just saw, I can't rush off to the Ball. “I need a few minutes.”

“You need to leave. Queen's orders. Can't be late.” Bera pats her grey hair, checking that it's all in place. “They only play the fanfare once, and tonight, it's for you. If you miss that trumpet music, I'll never hear the end of it.”

“Right.” Octavia's only warned me about the fanfare a hundred times. I rise to my feet and head towards the door. “We better go.”

“You wearing them robes tonight? I thought the Queen made you an over-gown.”

A queasy feeling settles into my stomach. Clover's eyes plus the missing betrothal jewels add up to trouble. Somehow, Antrum is unsafe. And if I have to face trouble, then I don't want to do it in a fancy over-gown. No, I want my Scala robes only, so I'm ready to transform them into armor at a moment's notice. Resolve steels through me, straightening my back and shoulders.

“No, I'm going Scala traditional tonight.”

Bera eyes me for a long moment. “Fair enough. They'll be plenty of other Balls for you.” She reaches her plump hand towards me. “Let's go.”