The Empress' Descent

Chapter 30 - The Enemy Makes Their Move

Two weeks had passed since the month-long Spring Festival kicked to a start. A celebration that would end with one of the grandest galas of the year.

My days went on as usual. Kazriel continued issuing his royal orders by paper and quill, leaving it up to the Wraiths to send them to the right officials—those who hadn't been tainted by Ethan's dirt.

Lady Ruth came by every now and then to check on me, but mostly to ramble about Elian's prolonged absences. I did my best to soothe her nerves as her would-be daughter-in-law. But not for long, I supposed. From the rumors going about, it seemed the aristocrats backing Elian had gotten tired of waiting and were contemplating on searching for another bride. Or perhaps drop the idea of marriage temporarily.

Today, I found myself assisting Cynthia while she cut the roses in her garden. I carried the half-filled basket for her while she chose which ones to include in the bouquet.

I'd successfully convinced her that Lady Elizabeth wasn't as bad as she pictured her to be. She'd make a great friend, I said. It was a way to show my gratitude to one of the founding members of the Wraiths.

Cynthia had weighed her options but she trusted me more. So here we were, picking out flowers as an offering of friendship to Lady Elizabeth, or Elizabeth rather. The Wraiths had chosen to drop the formalities.

For the last few minutes, Cynthia had been behaving strangely. Her lips were set in a thin line and she would loosen pained sighs often.

When I finally worked up the nerve to ask her what was wrong, Cynthia yelped.

She had nipped her fingertip with the scissor she'd been using.

The cutting tool landed to the ground with a clang as blood began to drip onto her skirt.

I set the basket to the ground and dug out the handkerchief from my pocket, hastily pushing it to her wound.

Her hand was shaking while she gripped it with her free one. "I...I'm sorry, Clary."

"You seem lost in thought." An edge of concern was evident in my voice. "Is something wrong?"

Her storm-colored gaze met mine, wavering and unsure. "Actually, I—"

Cynthia winced, her grip constricting harder around her injured finger.

It must have been a deep cut. Blood had bloomed and spread on the ivory silk, red as the roses in the basket.

"It's not stopping." I went beside her and caressed the small of her back. "Come, walk with me to my room. We'll clean the wound with an antiseptic and I'll have Anya fetch us a bandage."

The corners of Cynthia's mouth tugged upward in an almost sad smile.

I blinked, bewildered. "What is it?"

"You sound just like my sister. Minor accidents such as this would happen in the past as well, you see. But whenever she was around, I knew everything was going to be okay. This is like when my sister and I were still kids, Clary."

The insides of my stomach twisted in knots.

I let out an awkward chuckle, a poor and desperate attempt to ease the odd situation. "I do not know how to react at the thought of being compared to a dead person."

Cynthia bristled at that. She looked away as if she'd pulled herself back to reality. "I-I'm sorry... I was just—my mouth gets carried away at times."

I bit my lower lip. Great, I'd made it worse.

"It's fine, your highness. Let's go."

Basket dangling from the nook of my elbow, I led us back to the palace.