Veiled Innocence (Book One, The Soul Cycle) (3 page)

She scanned the floor
,
and her eyes widened.

A delicate chain of woven crystal lay sprawled at her feet. Secured to the band was a single teardrop encased in a web of gold spirals. The teardrop swirled with streaks of white light, throwing rainbows onto the walls and reflecting back onto her awestruck face. She wondered if this was what sunlight looked like.

There were stories of magic, of crafts dead and forgotten, but the only people who believed in such things were the foolish and the insane. Maybe that was why magic only revealed itself to people like that, because it knew no one would believe them. Maybe she was losing her mind.  She smiled and shook her head.
Perhaps
insanity wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe then the courtiers would leave me alone.

With trembling fingers, she reached down and cupped it gently in the palm of her hand. The moment she touched it, it was as if a veil had been lifted, driving away the darkness inside her until there was only hope and peace. It was warm, and its faint light pulsed with the beat of her heart.

Slowly, she smiled. 

Mine.

She clasped it to her heart.
Where had
it
come from? Had a chambermaid dropped it? Was it stolen, someone’s heirloom perhaps? It couldn’t have
simply
“appeared.
” It had to belong to someone… b
ut what if it didn’t? What if it were somehow, irrationally, meant for
her
?

She
shook her head. S
omeone was most likely missing
it right this very moment. Eventually, she would
have to give it back.

At the thought, a surge of protectiveness
surged through her
. Who said she had to give it back? Maybe whoever lost it
didn’t even realize
it was missing. And if they didn’t know, who was she to cause them false alarm? Maybe, just maybe
,
she
would hang onto it for a while and wait
to
see if anyone said anything about a missing necklace.

She blinked hard. Where had that come from?
She ha
d never been dishonest a day in her life. Well, at least not when her life hadn’t depended on it.
Of course she’d give it back. “Don’t be selfish,” she said aloud. “You’re going to give it back to whomever it belongs to,” she added, as if saying it would give her conviction.

Someone knocked on the door
,
and she jumped. “Lian, may I come in?” said a soft voice.

Lian hastily wiped her face on her already dirty sleeve. “Y
es. Come in, Ursa,” she called.

T
he door opened
a moment later,
and a petite girl about her age stepped inside, her freckled face illuminated by the dull yellow
glow of the candle in her hand.

Ursa was her best friend of eleven years and her chambermaid. It was also Ursa who had started the nickname of “Lian” when they were both too little to pronounce “Lianora.”

Lian sighed, relaxing. She woul
d worry about the necklace later. Righ
t now, happiness overwhelmed her
at seeing her
dearest
friend.

“It’s dark as Hesperides in here,” Ursa said, flitting about lighting sconces and candles. Once it was barely light enough to see, she turned around. “Dreaka help me. What have you been doing?” Her eyes rested on the teardrop dangling from Lian’s hand. “That’s very pretty.”

Lian shifted her weight. “Father gave it to me. He
bought it off one of the trave
ling merchants from Irilah, uh, as an early birthday present.”
As she was abandoned at the castle door as an infant, no one knew exactly when she was birthed. Since no one else had taken it upon them to name a proper birth day for her, she eventually picked the sixteenth day of summer because it was her favorite season and the number sixteen sounded pretty and petite.

She slipped
the chain
over her head and
hid the teardrop in her blouse, hoping the guilt didn’t show on her face.
Why did I just lie? I share everything with Ursa.

Ursa arched a brow. “That… was nice.”

When it became clear Ursa wouldn’t pursue the subject, Lian exhaled with relief. That’s what she loved about her; she knew when to back down, trusting Lian to confide in her at her own pace.

Ursa scurried over to Lian and helped
her out of her blouse. “By the g
ods, Lian!” Ursa’s fingers hovered over the spreading bruise. “What on Eresea happened? Should I fetch a
healer
?”

“No,” Lian said quickly, covering her arm. 

When Ursa looked at her in surprise, she added, “It’s just bruises, nothing to make a fuss over.” She grinned. “I thought my clumsiness was legendary?”

“At least some things never change,” Ursa muttered, walking over to
an over-sized wardrobe
teetering precariously on three legs. The fourth
had been
broken for as long as Lian could recall.

Ursa threw open the doors of the wardrobe and began searching its contents. “Remem
ber when we were five years old
and you wanted to help me and my mother, rest her soul, in the kitchen for a day? You accrued more burns and bruises within a half hour than our entire kitchen staff combined gets in a day.”

Lian laughed, fingering the smoothed scars along her arms and hands. “Yes, I remember deciding afterward that I no longer cared if I knew how to cook or not.”

Ursa giggled. “If only life were still that simple.” She placed a finger to her lips, muttering something about lace and gems.

“Forget it,” Lian called.
“
You know I detest lace.”
She
perched on the edge of the bed so she could work off her boots without jostling her arm.

  “So,” Ursa said hesi
tantly, changing the subject, “d
id you have another archery lesson with Gabriel?” She dug deeper into the wardrobe, muffling her voice. 

Lian peeled the breeches off and flung them to the floor, where they joined her boots. “Yes, I did. I think I’m getting better at it.” She left out the part about missing the target completely – that didn’t count. Her aim actually had been improving. Until today, she hadn’t missed a target in weeks. 

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Ursa said. “Gabriel’s the best archer in all of Accalia. You’re so lucky, Lian.” She mercifully pulled a plain dress of black silk from the wardrobe.

Lian smirked. “Oh, good. My favorite color.”

“More like your only color. I’m afraid options are rather limited.” They both paused to look at the near solid black wardrobe.

At first, Lian had hated black more than any color in Eresea. The fortress – her prison – was black. But over time her distaste gr
adually faded into indifference.

Ursa folded the dress over her arm and crouched to dig for shoes. Upon finding a suitable pair, she crossed the room and helped Lian into the cumb
ersome petticoat and stockings. T
hen
she
unlaced the bodice of the dress and held it open. It sli
d over Lian’s body
and would probably have looked very attractive if she actually
had any curves to fill it out. Thankfully, the sleeves were long enough to cover her bruises.

Ursa began threading the strings through the back of the bodice, keeping her eyes low.
Usually she’d be talking
Lian’s
ear off by now.
“
Are y
ou all right?” Lian asked, watching Ursa’s reflection.

Ursa’s head snapped up. “Oh, yes! I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Lian shook her head. “
It’s n
othing. You seemed quiet, that’s all.”

Ursa smiled. “
I’m only
lost in my own little world.”
She
secured the string with a tiny bow and stepped back
to inspect her work. “There now.” She sighed, frowning.
“
I wish the color prohibition hadn’t passed. Do you remember pink, Lian? I’ve always thought that would be a nice color on you.”

With the
duke
sinking further into debt, dyes had been deemed too expensive to import. Thus, the
duke
had decreed that the purchase of any color, aside from black, gray, cream, and white,
was
unlawful and punishable by law. It had been that way for as long as she could remember.

Ursa
busied herself with
working out the snarls in
Lian’s
hair and piling it atop her head in a mess of curls. Lian begrudgingly shove
d her feet into a pair of heels and
made
Ursa blush with her string of curses as she tried to walk in them. “It just takes practice, that’s all,” Ursa said. “
Best of
luck, and try to have fun.” She gave
Lian
a reassuring smile and let herself out.

Lian studied her reflection in the
wall. The dress washed her out
and blended
in with the black glass so that only her flaxen head and bared white shoulders floated like a specter, staring back at her with pale green eyes and brows so white they disappeared into her skin.

The teardrop flickered and she looked down and smiled. Instantly, her mood lightened and the glass cage di
dn’t seem so dark. Feeling sure
of herself, she tucked the teardrop into her bodice and eagerly trotted to the door, the slick heels slipping and sliding on the floor.

She knew Orris would be waiting for her on the other side. Bracing herself, she called, “I’m ready.”

This time, it felt true.

Surprise

IT DIDN’T TAKE LONG
for Lian to remember why she detested her father’s dinner parties.

The dining hall was filled with the bubble of laughter and the steady hum of multiple conversations, underscored by a light rain. A lute player with a thin voice sang madrigals from the corner, sounding utterly bored. Something brushed her skirt, accompanied by a strong waft of wet
dog. She stuck another forkful
of salad into her mouth. It was bland and flaky,
and the leaves disintegrated
as soon as they hit her tongue. She wondered if they would taste any different
if
they actually had more sunlight – any sunlight, for that matter – to grow in.

The hall was large, with an arched ceiling from which dangled layered chandeliers of wrought-iron scrollwork.
Accalia’s black banners,
with the
crest
stamped
in the center, swayed in the draft above their heads
.
Sculptures of mythical creatures, from the two-tongued neatherbeast to the elegant, winged Pren, looked down on them from tall columns that reached the ceiling. There was no reflection to keep her company; the glass walls had been covered from top to bottom in long black and white tapestries telling the story of Accalia’s birth, how it had been wrestled from the fool king, Tersopeth, long ago to become the grandest city in all of Asilee. A cloth of black silk ran the full length of the ornate table, upon which sat exotic fruits and an assortment of cheeses from every corner of the country.

Fruits, though expensive, apparently hadn’t been deemed so extra
vagant to warrant a prohibition
like colors. Since the only fruit that grew in Accalia was the lethal “night berries” –
named so for their dark coloring – fruits had to be imported from other countries.

Meats from prized game slain in Dreaka’s Forest
lay
on tarnished platters beside the fruit, whose colors were dulled by the hall’s subdued lighting. It all looked better than it actually tasted. 

A handful of knights dotted the walls, Gabriel among them. Most of them were chatting with the dinner staff or with each other, while some looked ready to fall asleep on their feet. Orris had taken off the moment he
deposited Lian at the door. She might have imagined it, but she could have sworn his eyes widened slightly at seeing the crystal chain aroun
d her neck;
however,
he
hadn’t spoken a single word, which had suited her just fine.
  

Someone giggled from across the room, and
she
looked up as a serving girl flitted past Gabriel, hiding a bashful smile. He grinned back
at her, the set of his lips sly and
suggestive. He slipped a hand around her waist, pulling her to him, and whispered something in her ear which made her blush before she slapped his chest playfully and scampered away.

A dark knot
uncoiled itself in Lian’s gut, and she thrust her fork into the breast of whatever animal lay across her plate, trying to convince herself it was nothing. She poked the meat into her mouth and scanned the room.