Red Ruse

Chapter Thirty One

Mare

Sonya and Atara have declared themselves my bridesmaids. I submitted complaints. They were refused.

"Can you name one of your children after me?" Atara places a dove on my head, and I pray it doesn't have to poop. "I did set you up, after all."

Sonya picks up a brush from my vanity, tapping her on the nose with it. "Don't spend your favors all at once, darling. Spread them out across the decade."

I shoo at the bird, but it stays put. "You're supposed to be helping me."

Atara huffs. "We are. At least, I am." She gestures to the dove, bidding it fly onto her arm. "Your hair's a wreck, by the way."

I glower at the bird. "Wonder why."

"You'll be able to rest, at least." Sonya takes my hair in her hands, brushing and braiding it with deft fingers. "Little will be expected of you."

"Sit still, look pretty. Got it." I've never been good at either. "Are you doing anything?"

Sonya pauses. "No."

Atara chafes. "Yes."

The dove fluffs its feathers, relieving itself on the mirror. I don't recognize the girl who looks back at me. The makeup has hidden the circles beneath my eyes, the sharp edges of my hunger, and the slight bruise of Elara's slap. She is a delicate thing, to be treasured and discarded when her youth runs dry. She will not lead a revolution. She barely leads herself.

"Don't cry." Sonya touches my cheek, right above the bruise. I wince, a sharp intake of breath, and she frowns. "What is it?" Her eyes trail from her makeup stained fingers to my cheek, widening. "Did he do this?"

Strange. She could stomach strangling Elane in Training, but a bruise makes her flinch. "Does it matter?"

"We're not brutes." Atara sharpens. "We don't hit outside of Training."

I let my silence speak for me. He won't stand up for me. He might as well take the blame.

Sonya tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "Here." She brushes some more makeup on my cheek, and I freeze. "We can . . . " She bites her lip. "Make it easier."

Silence stretches across the room, and I wonder how often this happens. If they would help me even if it weren't a risk. Regardless, I grit my teeth. "Fuck off." I wipe at the makeup, but it won't come off. "I don't want your help."

Atara stares at me, dove on her arm again. She doesn't speak. She doesn't flinch. She only watches as I leave, brow furrowed and unsteady.

I will never see them again.

The corset pokes my ribs as I shuffle down the steps, the ruffles nearly tripping me as I hold my head aloft. I will not bend. Not here. Not now.

"Enjoying yourself?" Elara purs, extending a hand to lead me down the aisle. "I can make it go away, you know."

Around us, nobles chatter around black tablecloths, red roses dripping from every surface. Crystal goblets clink as they laugh. I take her hand. "I prefer my bracelet, thank you."

Her grip tightens, threatening breakage. "You are nothing with it, and even less without."

"Were you talking about your ability?"

She can't hit me in front of the guests, but she can smile as she trips me. I burn as chuckles rise. "Yours is little more than a parlor trick."

I almost rip off my bracelet and incinerate her on the spot. Instead, I pull away, searching through the crowd. A dove lands on my shoulder again, nuzzling my bruised cheek. Its wings flutter against my chin, and my fingers creep to stroke its head. A coo resounds in my ear.