Deathless (Editing)

Chapter 31: Ghosts of a Life Once Lived

The knocking at my door sent me across the floor. My hands were still working a pin through one of my braids, clasping it to the crown of my head. "Yes," I called, pausing to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror hanging on the wall.

The robes that had been set for me at the estate were far different than the stiff, scratchy sheep-colored dresses of the Silts. They were also different than the brown gown set for me at the inn on the border of the Middlelands, with its swinging-sleeves and long skirt. Instead, the robes consisted of a light undertunic, the color of seafoam, that hung to the floor, and a darker green overdress that came to my mid-thigh and cinched at my waist by a golden braided belt.

For a moment, I admired the way the material folded and clung to me, revealing my curves. Before stepping away from the mirror, I pinched my cheeks rosy and flattened the stray hairs from the braids crowning my head.

When I pulled back on the door, I was fully expecting an attendant. Instead, I found Tolly, neatly swathed in the oily silks of the nobility of the Middlelands. His outer-robe was ultramarine with flecks of golden threads woven throughout. Despite the free-flowing robes, Tolly stood as if he was wearing the tailored lines of his lieutenant's uniform, back straight, chest up, hips squared.

He did look handsome. I'd give the devil that much.

"To our doom?" I asked, offering my hand.

Tolly took my hand as if it was made of porcelain, and he pressed a warm kiss against my knuckles. "Were you expecting anything else?" he asked, a half-smile playing across his face.

I fell in step with him. "I was promised safety."

He gave me a sly, knowing glance. "No harm will come to you. No matter what happens."

Oh yes, that was because I would become one of the Emperor's trophies. I pushed this thought aside, focusing instead on keeping pace with Tolly's long stride.

When we reached the dining room, the table had been draped in glossy fabric, the color of the night sky, with silver sewed into the materials. Food of all sorts—duck, chicken, fish, pickled onion, cherries, squash, olives, oil, bread, wines—had been arranged with such beauty across the table, that the thought of eating it clenched my stomach.

"Bartholomew and betrothed," the Lord Netherfield greeted, clapping his hands together at the sight of us.

My attention broke from the food to the people surrounding us. My heart raced as I searched their faces. There was the Lord, Eliya, and the rest of the twenty or so nobles milling in the room, dressed in silks and jewels, were complete strangers.

Tolly, however, took a few strides forward, brandishing a radiant smile, as if he had been born to entertain with these people. It was times like these that I remembered that the worn, clever lieutenant of the Horde of Forty wasn't just a comrade. He was many other things; things that I hardly recognized.

He pulled me into the fray despite every muscle and fiber in my body urging me to stay in place, not to wade too deeply. I forced a staid smile and lowered my head submissively.

"Your father has spoken of nothing but your return, Sir Bartholomew," a noblewoman greeted, "and of your lovely intended."

I bowed my head politely in her direction.

She took my obsequiousness as an invitation to cup my face with her hand, like she might her own child. "Such a sweet, gentle thing. Tell me, where did you find her?" The woman's keen eyes were on Tolly.

He chuckled, likely fumbling for something to say. Apparently, news of our fake betrothal remained firmly camp lore, and had reached no farther, which was good for us. It wouldn't be hard to deduce that I was a fugitive if they knew of the lie we perpetuated at the Veil.