[ Asterion ] Book One, Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty
Nothing was said about the crystal mines over breakfast with King Lucian. He and Alexandria discussed a book Finley had yet to read, speaking in Thisian for her benefit. Finley contributed little to the conversation but felt almost at ease as she would in the servants’ hall.
Princess Rada joined them after lunch. Alexandria had said nothing of meeting with her, leading Finley to think her business from the day before might occupy her still, but the princess’ schedule was wide open.
They did not wander far. There was enough to entertain them in the castle gardens, though they’d toured it once. Finley and Amarata followed the pair at a few paces, Thisian and Sinite soldiers moving obtrusively through the gardens. Finley didn’t have to try to not eavesdrop; the Sinite went clean over her head.
Amarata attempted several lines of conversation with Finley, but none of them stuck. Alexandria and Princess Rada would stop to speak with any citizen they thought amenable to conversation and Finley had to keep a close watch for any hands slipping into pockets or bags and the crystals they might produce.
Added to that was the fact that Finley was genuinely interested in all she saw. She stopped and crouched where she could, admiring the seasonable blooms and the wealth of berries growing from each bush, and was particularly fascinated by the irrigation system.
It tricked down from a small reservoir beside the castle, moving between the stones dividing one level from the next, crossing back and forth to level ground, where it travelled up a series of pipes back to the reservoir, thanks to a little help from a crystal.
“Finley. Stop lagging behind,” Alexandria said, not taking another step until Finley was at her side. “That’s better. Princess Rada is a horticulturalist, you realise, and responsible for much of what you see around you. That’s common ground enough for the pair of you.”
“Princess Alexandria is giving me far too much credit,” Princess Rada hurried to add. “This was established decades before I was born. I only help maintain it.”
“Either way, it’s very impressive,” Finley said, oddly delighted to have been brought into the conversation, language switched for her. “The layout is incredible; at first it seems entirely random, but look! Everything over there needs the most sun and the castle’s shadow doesn’t hit it until late in the day. The more delicate plants are protected from the wind by the trees, and each level holds a different amount of water, depending on what sort of soil the plants like.”
Princess Rada’s face lit up. All the formal politeness was gone.
“I’m so glad you’ve noticed, Finley. You’ve no idea how many people think that because it isn’t all clipped grass and ornamental flowerbeds, this all just happens and takes no work to maintain.”
“It takes a lot of work to keep blackberry bushes contained like that,” Finley agreed.
They spoke easily, after that. Alexandria kept pace with them but had nothing to contribute. Finley and Princess Rada discussed the yearly yields, the soil quality, the maintenance and magic it took to keep a garden of the size running. Finley was almost embarrassed to answer Princess Rada’s questions about Thisia’s grounds.
It was difficult to dislike Princess Rada. Finley wasn’t certain why she’d want to. It was for Alexandria, she supposed; she saw all Alexandria had given up and all she would sacrifice still and had grown protective of her. It was Finley’s job in the most literal sense, but she wanted to ensure Alexandria was not resigning herself to a life of misery.
So far as Finley could judge, Princess Rada was a good person. Clever, interesting, and beautiful. She wanted only the best for Sine and, incredibly, had little malice towards Thisia as a whole.
Finley prayed that would be enough.
Lunch introduced them to a swathe of Sinite officials involved in the crystal mines, as well as the workers who had discovered the cavern. The prospect of Alexandria investing in the mines was brought up more than once, and while she admitted the idea tempted her, she did not believe it sensible to meddle on behalf of Thisia. But if she were to have other allegiances, if her loyalties ever laid elsewhere, it would not pose such a problem. Saying this, she passed a smile Princess Rada’s way.
It would not take long for the rumours to spread.
They joined King Lucian and Prince Iyden for dinner. Finley could not remember ever having so many meals in one day. They bid one another goodnight early, all outwardly eager for tomorrow’s ball, and Alexandria spent an hour in discussion with her soldiers about how best to prepare for their departure.
When they finally retired to their chambers, Rydal was waiting for Finley. Alexandria raised a brow, said nothing, and dismissed Finley with a tilt of her head. Amarata took the opportunity to slip into Alexandria’s chambers with her, and Finley heard no yelling through the walls.
Rydal had brought Magpie with them. The kitten fit easily in one hand, and once released, set about sniffing every inch of Finley’s temporary bedroom. Finley and Rydal sat on her bed, alternately playing with cards and the kitten, eating the small, sweet biscuits Rydal had brought with them.
“Have you talked to Luna recently?” Finely asked.
“Yeah,” Rydal said. “Every day.”
Finley smiled at that, at the ease and obviousness Rydal spoke with.
“Do you know when you’ll get to see her again? When you’ll get to visit Thisia?”
Not if. Finley stepped carefully around that word.
Rydal shrugged.
Finley couldn’t believe the pair of them hadn’t discussed it. She couldn’t believe Luna hadn’t brought it up.
“If Princess Rada visits Thisia,” Finley began, frowning as the idea occurred to her. “Could you come with her?”
“She has her own knight. Sir Oscos,” Rydal said, then paused. “Maybe.”
“I hope you can. There’s so much more of Sunspire I want to show you, and Luna really likes you, you know.”
“Right.”
Finley glanced at the door joining her chamber to Alexandria’s. No doubt Amarata had left by now, the door was locked, and Alexandria was getting some much-needed rest. She’d done a lot of walking, today. Finley was contented by the thought, safe in the knowledge Alexandria was safe.
“You said you’d come back to—” Another glance at the door, voice falling to a whisper. “To see Sparrow again.”
Rydal reached down, rubbing the back of Magpie’s neck.
“I will. When it’s asked of me,” Rydal said. Tilting their head, they added, “Maybe you were right. Maybe I’ll go there in four years and offer my halberd.”
Finley could not picture any world in which Rydal, devoted and faithful as they were, cut Sparrow’s head from her shoulders.
“Four years? That’s a long time to go without seeing Luna,” Finley said.
Finley didn’t mean to insert herself, but she doubted Rydal was the sort of person who embarked on relationships on a whim. They’d brought the other half of Luna’s communication crystal back to Sine and professed to speak with her every day. Their interest in Luna was a creature separate from their divine duty, and Finley couldn’t help herself; she knew too deeply that two people who cared for each other, no matter how new their relationship or tentative their feelings, shouldn’t let anything stop them from putting in the work to be together.
In time, Rydal said, “I think—”
They paused, clearing their throat. Magpie tilted his head up at Rydal, concerned by the abrupt lack of attention, back leg slowly coming up to scratch his ear.
“I know a lot of things. You’ve seen some of them. But there are things—”
Again, they cleared their throat. Magpie tumbled out of their lap, rubbing against Finley’s knee in a bid for attention.
“Luna is—she’s like the Sunless. She doesn’t belong in Thisia. Doesn’t belong to them,” Rydal said, trying another approach. “Asterion will find the right path way forward. But I want—”
Rydal coughed. Finley stopped scratching Magpie behind his ears to pat Rydal’s back.
“If I could choose—”
Rydal spoke quickly, trying to get the words out. It wasn’t quick enough. They cupped their palms, grabbing the black, inky substance as it poured from their mouth. It was not heaved from them, not like vomit of bile; it merely dripped like a wound.
Finley rushed for something to wipe it up with, but Rydal was not perturbed. Mildly frustrated, but far from panicked. Finley spread a towel across their lap, almost tripping over Magpie, and Rydal wiped their hands on it before bringing it to their mouth.
“Sorry,” they said. “There are things I can’t talk about. Shouldn’t.”
Rydal’s eyes turned glassy. They shook their head, bringing theirself back to the moment.
They pulled their amulet over their head and rubbed their ink-stained thumb over Asterion’s face. Rydal announced their intention to pray, but it did not look like any prayer Finley had ever seen. The position was right, Rydal bowed their head and clasped their hands together, but their brow twitched as though caught in the throes of a nightmare.
Finley prayed for understanding. It was not granted to her. She held Magpie close, soothing him, and Rydal began shuffling the cards for another game.
Rydal stayed late, till they were too tired for conversation. The only thing that stopped them falling asleep there and then was the need to get Magpie dinner and return to their other cats. Finley offered to walk Rydal to their chamber but they refused her, pointing out that she didn’t know the way back.
For the first time since reaching Sine, the day started in a truly relaxed fashion. Finley breakfasted with Alexandria and Amarata in Alexandria’s chamber, found herself compelled to nap, and bathed around midday. Through the bathroom door, she heard Alexandria and Amarata discuss their plans for tomorrow; it was hardly anything intimate, but Finley was glad they were talking at all.
The bathroom was not so extravagant as Alexandria’s, but larger than anything the servants were used to. Finley took her time bathing, enjoying the warmth of the water and the unusual scents of the Sinite soap. It was absurd to think that by this time tomorrow, she’d be back on the road, heading to Thisia as though none of this had ever happened.
Yet this was only the first step of a great upheaval across the continent. So much depended on the news they brought with their return, and Alexandria would need Finley’s aid more than ever.
She’d need Amarata’s, too.
Once she was dried and dressed, Finley joined Alexandria and Amarata. The pair of them were arguing over the formation of the carriages, though there was no spite behind it.
“Welcome back to the world of the waking, Finley. I’m hardly surprised you’ve spent today in such a daze; it was gone midnight before Sir Mazur retired from your chambers,” Alexandria said.
“I hope we didn’t wake you up,” Finley said.
“Not at all. I was rather fretting about all this business with the ball. I’ve never been terribly fond of such occasions and loathe the idea of exhausting myself with all that socialising and dancing immediately before several weeks of travel,” Alexandria said. “Have you ever attended a ball?”
In the far corner of the room, Amarata rummaged through the clothes Alexandria had brought, as if choosing her outfit for the evening. Finley expected Alexandria to outright reject anything Amarata suggested.
“I have. Nothing like this, of course, but the servants have a ball every year, out on the grounds,” Finley said.
“Out on the grounds? What if it rains?”
“Then we get wet. But it’s held in the summer, so we’ve never had that problem,” Finley said. Almost without thinking about it, she added, “That’s how I met Willow, actually.”
Alexandria sat the slightest bit straighter, showing she was listening. In the corner, Amarata pretended to be too busy folding the clothing to overhear.
“Would you tell me about it, assuming it will not make you overly emotional?” Alexandria asked.
“It’s embarrassing.”
“Why ever would you think that would deter me?”
Finley laughed, took a drink from the glass at her side, and got comfortable in her seat.
“Willow started working at the palace about, oh, eight and a half years ago. She worked in the royal stables outside of Sunspire before that, but Yda told her about the opening at the palace. Anyway,” Finley said, certain she was talking too quickly. “I didn’t know Yda back then, not really. One day, I was out working on the grounds, and – here’s the embarrassing part – I caught sight of Willow, lost track of my surroundings, and walked straight into Yda. Everything she was carrying went flying. She didn’t stop yelling at me until she realised why I wasn’t paying proper attention.
“It was the servants’ ball a few days later. I took Yda a drink, wanting to apologise again, and it didn’t take her five seconds to pull Willow over and introduce me to her. I was so determined to ask her to dance, but I never got the chance. The next thing I knew, the ball was over and we’d spent the whole night talking. And that’s how things were, after that. It was all so… easy. She was so straightforward and upfront about everything, and I never had the chance to doubt myself. When the next servants’ ball came around, we’d been together for almost a year.”
The room was a little too warm. Finley crossed her legs in the chair, shuffling, somehow feeling more scrutiny in a smile from Alexandria than a scowl. Still, she was grateful to speak of Willow; it was wonderfully easy, so far from the palace that had been their home, in a foreign land where every step did not bring her something that reminded her of Willow
“I never imagined you were quite so hopeless, Finley. A handsome woman catches your eye and you cause all manner of trouble,” Alexandria said.
Finley grinned, but the grin could not last.
“Don’t you want that?” Finley asked.
Her chest tightened. It wasn’t her place to ask, wasn’t her business what Alexandria did with her life, but she couldn’t not ask.
“Pardon me? I doubt I shall find such instant success at tonight’s ball.”
“No, no. Not that. Don’t you want—” Finley bit the inside of her mouth, wishing Amarata wasn’t there. Wishing Alexandria wasn’t there. “Something like that? Something real? I know what you’re doing is important, that you’d do anything for the people of Sine and Thisia, and it’s admirable, it really is, but don’t you want something that’s your own choice?”
Finley did not once speak Princess Rada’s name, but Alexandria was not one to feign ignorance. She sat straighter. From discomfort, this time.
“What I want is neither here nor there,” she said, voice haughtier than Finley had heard in a long time. “And do not think this is some selfless endeavour of mine. I am using this situation to my advantage. I am giving myself purpose, power, authority. I am giving myself a place in this new world I am helping shape, and I care not for any institutions I have to force myself to fit into it.”
Finley held her gaze, challenging. She did not believe a word of it and hated that Alexandria had convinced herself this was all for her own benefit. She knew Alexandria better than that. She knew what kind of books she read in the little free time afforded her, and she knew she had spent the last four years punishing herself for the throne she had lost.
“Really? You aren’t even a little upset that you’re throwing away the chance for something genuine?”
“Surely you don’t buy into all that nonsense. This shall not prohibit me from conducting my affairs as I please; I shall merely have to do so behind closed doors,” Alexandria said. “Besides, considering I have not fallen in love with Luna these past decades, I doubt I shall succumb to such nonsense at the hands of anyone else. Can you imagine anyone more beautiful than Luna, anyone more powerful or so utterly tolerable?”
Finley offered the slightest laugh. She knew better than to push Alexandria further.
If Alexandria truly wasn’t bothered, if her priorities weren’t what Finley’s would be, then Finley could not waste her time feeling bad for her.
Alexandria went to bathe, remarking that Finley better have left the bathroom in an acceptable condition. Amarata helped Finley choose a suitable outfit for the ball, and it was not long before it was time to get ready.
Finley’s hair had dried by then. She brushed it through and decided to leave it down; after all, her work had always necessitated tying it back, and she’d always pulled it into a simple ponytail out of habit. It rested just below her shoulders, auburn-brown against the simple black tailcoat Amarata had suggested.
Finley thought the swallow-tailed cut novel, trailing behind her as it did, and could not stop fiddling with the silver buttons. Beneath it, she wore a sapphire waistcoat with embroidery so elaborate everything else she wore was granted the luxury of being plain: a white shirt, black breeches, and white stockings.
Rydal was right about her putting on weight. She poked at her sides and felt something other than her ribs. She took a breath, confidence bolstered, certain she fit in her clothes for the first time in years.
Finley knocked on the adjoining door, not wanting to interrupt Alexandria if she was still dressing.
Alexandria called for her to enter, distracted by her own reflection in the mirror.
“About time,” Alexandria said. “Took you long enough, didn’t it?”
Alexandria turned from the mirror, set to make another remark.
Instead, she faltered. Finley tugged at the hem of her tailcoat, suddenly convinced she’d confused the armholes for one another and put it on backwards.
“Ah,” Alexandria said, in time. “Finley, you look very handsome. Well done.”
Finley might’ve blushed, had her attention not been fixed so wholly on Alexandria. She had no shirt, breeches, waistcoat, or tailcoat to praise. The unrealised fear that they’d be dressed too similarly, putting Alexandria on par with a servant, faded away.
Alexandria wore a dress.
Finley had never seen her in one before. It was a deep, forest green, like so much of what she wore, and cut low about her shoulders. Silver salamanders were stitched along the neckline, already a statement in and of itself. At some point, she had clearly rued her choice to refuse a maid and demanded Amarata’s help; her long, wavy hair was meticulously help up, whisps falling around her ears, leaving her shoulders bare.
“God, Finley. Your staring is doing nothing to make me less self-conscious. I rarely wear dresses, that is true enough, but tonight I thought—well, why not? We certainly have enough to celebrate. But I fear you may be right. I’ve always thought I didn’t have the shoulders for it, they aren’t nearly broad enough.”
Finley lifted a hand as though to touch one of the shoulders Alexandria’ glanced down at, but managed to turn it to a gesture for Alexandria to stop fretting.
“Sorry, sorry,” Finley said. “You look—you look very nice.”
“Very nice? What praise. It makes me grateful I spent two hours preparing myself for tonight,” Alexandria said.
She huffed, though a faint blush crossed her face.
Finley took a step closer. It was absurd that they were leaving. They had only just arrived in Sine, yet they had learnt so much of one another in those short days. The long journey there had been a prelude to a realm of possibilities, possibilities Finley did not understand the shape of, but she had remained at the princess’ side all that time; Alexandria had told the king she trusted Finley, had invited her into the heart of two kingdoms’ secrets.
It was absurd that they would not always be there, separated by a door. It was absurd they were to return to Sunspire and its palace, to the countless, unspoken rules that shaped their each and every day.
But more than that, it was absurd that Alexandria did not realise how beautiful she looked. How could she not? Finley had taken the knowledge for granted, had thought it an innate part of the understanding of anyone who came within the princess’ proximity, unquestioned, unchanging.
She’d tell Alexandria she was beautiful. She’d return the compliment, making sure Alexandria understood what was so clear to her.
“I—”
Amarata knocked at the door. Alexandria moved to answer it, conversation forgotten.
It took Finley a moment to unroot her feet from the floorboards.
Amarata’s outfit was not dissimilar to Finley’s. Finley told her how nice she looked and Amarata accepted the praise for what it was. Alexandria made no cutting remarks, which Amarata silently took as a victory.
Finley had never been in the palace’s ballroom. There were hundreds of rooms she had not ventured into, but she had pictured it as a large, open space, floors polished to a shine, reflecting the ornate chandeliers above. She’d heard the maids complain how much of a hassle it was to keep clean for a room so rarely used.
The castle ballroom was not like that. The hundreds of people already gathered made the room seem smaller than Finley suspected it truly was. Its walls were bare, for there was little more impressive than the exposed stones of the castle walls, and the floor was comprised of simple wooden boards, not marble.
Lanterns and torches lit the room for Alexandria’s benefit. The sparsity of décor led the eye to the guests themselves and the elegant outfits they’d chosen especially for the night, forming a sea of colour against the grey. It was mesmerising. Already, people danced, while others stood at the edges, eating, drinking, and more than anything, talking. Finley’s shoulders relaxed. Everyone there was dressed in a similar, ostentatious fashion; she didn’t stand out.
Not until King Lucian had her arrival announced, name and title proclaimed before the princess of Thisia’s. Finley was glad the room was lighted thus, for crystal light would’ve shown too much of the blush across her face.
Prince Iyden greeted Finley with a shake of the hand and offered her a drink. Finley took the cup of wine but could not find an appropriate point in the conversation to take a sip. Rydal, armour-clad, stood a few feet behind the prince, and Alexandria and King Lucian were deep in conversation.
Finley strained to hear what they were talking about, but they spoke in Sinite. She’d picked up a few dozen more words in her time there and had a much better ear for the language, but she’d have to improve a lot faster. She’d need to be helpful in all manner of ways if she wished to stay at Alexandria’s side.
When Prince Iyden turned to speak with Amarata, Rydal slipped closer. Amongst all the dancers, all the dresses and suits and ornate doublets, their armour had a decorative sheen to it.
“Nice,” Rydal said, tilting their head at Finley.
“Thank you,” Finley said, holding her wine out to Rydal.
They took it, drank it all, and placed it on the tray of a passing servant.
“I’d ask you to dance, but,” Rydal gestured at their armour. “Working.”
Finley grinned.
“Do you dance a lot?”
“Nah.”
Turning from his conversation from Amarata and slipping back into Thisian, Prince Iyden said, “Don’t be silly, Sir Mazur. Our guests will not be with us for much longer and I’m certain I shall be safe for a dance or two.”
Rydal shrugged their acquiescence and offered their hand to Finley. For a moment, the sheer impossibility of her current situation caught up with her: there she stood, the guest of honour at a royal ball in a distant land, with a beautiful, foreign knight offering their hand to her, clad in literal shining armour.
It didn’t last long. Couldn’t. The music rushed back to her ears, as easy to follow as any Thisian tune, and the knight before her was easier to see as Rydal than Sir Mazur.
Finley took their hand. She turned to Alexandria, still in conversation with the king, and said, “I won’t be long. Call me if you need me, alright?”
Faintly amused, Alexandria said, “I believe Prince Iyden and I will both survive without the pair of you.”
Rydal led Finley to the dancefloor. She felt Alexandria’s eyes follow her, but when she turned back, she was facing the king once more. Rydal held out both arms and Finley took them, finding it difficult to be self-conscious with such a mass of bodies around her. Fine clothing and extravagant jewellery notwithstanding, most of the people gathered had little more skill than any of the servants displayed at their yearly ball.
Finley rested her hands on the plates of Rydal’s pauldrons. The armour wasn’t as cold as she’d expected. Rydal danced well, other than a little awkward clanking, and was more interested in Finley’s company than any real skill.
“Have you been to many balls?” Finley asked.
“Yeah,” Rydal said. “I’ve seen more balls than battles.”
Such was the life of a royal knight. They were there as much for decoration as they were protection.
The music, light and cheerful, drew more and more people to the dancefloor. It took some navigating to avoid bumping into other pairs of dancers.
“Does that always happen? That thing with the, uh—the ink coming out of your mouth?” Finley dared asked.
The music swelled. People laughed, enjoying themselves, too focused on their own partners to eavesdrop anything of worth from the ever-swirling crowd.
Rydal cocked their head.
“Oh,” they said in time. “Probably.”
“Probably?”
“It’s hard to remember,” they said.
Their gloved hands rested on Finley’s sides, now. It was an easy, innocuous touch, representative of so much of Rydal theirself: since first they had seen Finley at the temple, they had chosen to be straightforward with her, answers brief not to be misleading, but because they were all they had. They proclaimed to do the work of a god so few believed in, and the ink from their mouth, the Beast in the labyrinth, were all proof of that.
“It’s more like tar,” they added, after a moment.
Finley wanted to understand them. She wanted to see what their mismatched eyes did, but she knew prying deeper was futile. She did not doubt that Rydal would tell her their every thought, if they could.
Instead, she said, “I think I met you for a reason, Rydal. I haven’t had anyone to pray with in a long, long time.”
“Yeah,” Rydal agreed.
On the dance went, but Finley could not wholly lose herself in it. Almost without meaning to, she would crane her neck, searching through the sea of bodies for Alexandria, still speaking with the king. Still safe. Alexandria too looked around, and her search for nothing in particular brought her gaze to rest on Finley’s.
Finley could not hold it.
She turned back to Rydal, brow arched.
“She’s hot,” they said.
“You keep saying that!”
“I’ve said it twice.”
Finley shook her head, thwacking Rydal’s shoulder through their armour.
“Promise me you’ll come back to Sunspire as soon as you can?” she said as the dance ended.
“Sure.”
Rydal led her back to the others. They took her hand, bowed over it, and kissed the back of her knuckles. Finley watched them leave with a lopsided smile, laughing to herself. Prince Iyden immediately called Rydal away, having seen someone else he wished to speak to.
Finley turned to Alexandria and the king. Alexandria was already looking her way, and Finley opened her mouth, certain she should say something. It was all for naught: Alexandria’s gaze skidded over her shoulder, eyes lighting up as she caught sight of someone else.
“I’m so sorry for keeping you all waiting,” came Princess Rada’s voice. “My maid wasn’t feeling well and I wanted to ensure she made it safely to the infirmary.”
Princess Rada stood out even amongst all the finery Sine had to offer. She wore a burnt orange dress, ruffled about her shoulders, so long she very almost had to lift the hem off the ground. Finley found it near impossible to look away from her.
Princess Alexandria greeted her with a bow, hand over her chest.
Princess Rada flushed, whether from rushing from the healers’ to the ballroom or something else.
“Finley here has only been borrowed for a single dance,” Alexandria said. “There is plenty of evening ahead of us still.”
Smiling, Rada said, “Hello, father. What have you and the princess been discussing? Surely it can’t be more entertaining to her than dancing.”
Inclining his head, King Lucian said, “I sincerely doubt it was.”
Taking her cue, Alexandria offered out a hand to Princess Rada. Rada had to have known it was coming, but Finley saw a delighted hesitance in the slight pause before she took that hand, a real, flustered joy in accepting the invitation.
Finley watched Alexandria lead the princess to the dancefloor as Rydal had led her.
Not like Rydal had led her.
The crowd parted to make room for them. The music brightened.
Finley stood, hands clasped behind her back. She stared out at the sea of bodies, trying her utmost not to focus on any pair in particular.
Really, what had she expected? That Alexandria would attend a ball thrown in the Thisians’ honour and not dance? That all her pointed conversation with Princess Rada would come to nothing? The king himself had asked that Alexandria save her first dance for his daughter.
Finley knew she was being overly protective of Alexandria, but she had to be. It was her job. She had to care to keep her truly safe, had to barely blink to catch sight of a flash of crystal light, had to abstain from conversations to hear the faint, eerie song that heralded destruction.
Yet Princess Rada was sacrificing as much of herself to Thisia and Sine as Alexandria was. She was the only person who truly understood the position Alexandria was in. Surely Princess Rada wanted to be free to make her own choices, for her life to not be dictated by the politics of their bordering nations; surely she wanted a love that blossomed naturally, without warning, not a union of mere kingdoms.
What was more, Princess Rada was a truly good person. Finley had scarcely enjoyed any conversation as much as she did the discussion of the gardens with the princess. She was dedicated to her work, talented and innovative, and strove to make life better for her people. She was a lot like Alexandria, in that way.
And what did Finley think she had to prove? That she knew the princess better, had known her for a handful of months longer? That she had not so much been let in on a secret as she had intuited it for herself and brought Alexandria medication without asking her first? That she had protected her time and time again, and would defend her from more than crystals?
Or that she had seen the Labyrinthine Beast, an impossibly ancient creature that bled its power into the very foundations of Thisia, and now selfishly lived with the knowledge that Alexandria’s face was trapped between two golden horns?
Finley shifted her weight from foot to foot. She tried to eat, wanting a distraction, but her appetite had withered. It was the thought of leaving tomorrow that was doing it. They had weeks of monotonous travel ahead of them. They needed to rest while they could, not drink and dance as though they could spend the entirety of tomorrow recovering from it.
Finley did not want that.
The silences between Alexandria and Amarata may well be less awkward now, but she either wished to remain in Sine or be in Thisia. She was selfish. She did not want things to change, did not want to witness the upheaval of Thisia’s grasp across the land; she wanted to remain at Alexandria’s side, protecting her, while she took meeting after meeting and rode Hound around the palace grounds.
But Alexandria would be miserable all the while. She wanted change. She wanted better for Sine and she was willing to endure almost anything for that.
Alexandria wanted this, and she participated in dance after dance to prove it.
The evening wore on. Finley felt ridiculous in her tailcoat. Alexandria and Princess Rada did not dance the entire evening, but all the breaks they took from the dancefloor were spent together, speaking and drinking, sometimes alone, often with a crowd.
And when, at last, the musicians signalled the last of the dances were to take place, they danced together once more.
Amarata pressed to Finley’s side, startling her.
“Finley,” she said, not quite a greeting or a warning.
“Amarata. Hi. Have you had a good evening?” Finley asked.
Refusing to be deterred, Amarata said, “You’re being too obvious.”
“What?”
Finley forced herself to look away from the dancefloor.
“The way you’re watching Princess Alexandria,” Amarata said, voice low.
“Of course I’m watching her. I’m her foil. It’s my job to keep her safe,” Finley said, knowing she was being needlessly defensive. “You’ve seen what crystals have done before.”
Amarata placed a hand on Finley’s shoulder. Her touch was light, yet Finley struggled to look her way, to meet her gaze.
“It’s alright, Finley. I understand,” she said, moving her hand to Finley’s elbow. “Come. Won’t you dance with me? I’ve been meaning to ask all evening but everywhere I turned, someone wanted to speak with me.”
Finley moved her hand to Amarata’s wrist. She nodded weakly though she should’ve turned away, should’ve refused to understand what it was Amarata saw so clearly.
Dancing with Amarata was not like dancing with Rydal had been, and not only because of her lack of armour. For one, she was not involved with one of Finley’s friends. Was not involved with anyone, for all Finley knew. Amarata was a beautiful woman, a royal knight, and under any other circumstances, Finley would’ve felt her face flush as she tripped over her words.
But Amarata had seen Sparrow’s face, and Amarata had seen something in the way Finley looked at Alexandria, too.
Finley didn’t want to understand that part of herself, but she began to splinter with Amarata’s hands at her waist.
Finley wanted to argue. To defend herself.
She wanted to speak Alexandria’s name, no matter how foolish that was.
“I really am only protecting her,” Finley murmured.
“I know that. I know how much you want to keep her safe,” Amarata said. “We both have that in common. But I have known the princess for a long, long time Finley, even if I’ve not known you for more than a few months. Be careful. That’s all I’m asking.”
Finley’s fingers curled against Amarata’s shoulders.
“I don’t—I don’t understand what you mean,” Finley said.
Her words came clumsily. Her tongue felt too big for her mouth.
“Finley,” Amarata said, not chiding, only trying to reach her. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. I’ve seen the way she looks at you. But we’re returning to Thisia, come morning, and I will not be the only one to notice such things there. You won’t have the same freedom that Sine offers you. Please. Take care of yourself, Finley. You have to protect yourself as well.”
“I—”
Finley could not find the words. Amarata’s accusation, as gentle as it was, had cracked something open inside of her. Everything that had happened in Sine, everything that had unfolded long before it, fragmented and reformed for what it truly was.
To think she had been so blatant, so ignorant of herself.
To think she had thought those parts of herself relegated merely to the past.
She exhaled heavily. She rested her head against Amarata’s shoulder, dizzy with the crowd of dancers around her. Amarata rubbed her back, holding her close until the song ended and the dancing ceased.
Finley scarcely heard all the goodnights, all the well-wishes. They were to breakfast with the king and his family in the morning, so there were no final goodbyes to share, drawn out and final, and Finley mumbled her way through her thank yous and sleep wells.
Alexandria remained at Princess Rada’s side until the last.
She hummed as she made her way back to her chamber.
Finley walked at Amarata’s side. All at once, the ball was over, along with the rest of their time in Sine. Before she knew it, they would be back in Thisia, where everything would change except her place in the world.
As they reached their chambers, Thisian guards lining the corridors, Amarata took Finley’s arm.
“Would you like to come in for that nightcap?” Amarata asked, as though they had made some plan during the evening.
Alexandria, door open, glanced back, curious.
Finley’s toes curled in her boots.
“No. Thank you, Amarata, but it’s already late,” Finley said. “I want to get as much sleep as possible before tomorrow.”
Amarata frowned but could say no more. She bowed her head, wishing Finley and Alexandria a goodnight as the princess’ chamber door closed behind them.