Outside of the mortal world, she’d only ever bathed in a shallow basin, small ponds or whatever she’d drawn from a village well. Although, in New York, pre-Laken, she’d been forced to use mostly bathroom sinks—after she’d learned how to work a faucet. In Scotland, she’d gotten to splash around in a frigid lake. In Oklahoma, she’d stayed in an abandoned cottage and had a bathroom all to herself. By far her favorite location, second only to home.
Why had Micah arranged a bath for her? Did she smell? Viori sniffed herself and wrinkled her nose. Maybe? She didn’t know!
As speedily as the servants arrived, they departed, leaving her alone. With water. And food. Stomach close to upending itself, she careened to the table and dived into the meal. As the first deluge of flavors registered, her eyes rolled into her head.
This is mine. She shoveled apple slices into her mouth. Mine. As she chewed, she eyed the creamy cheese spread over a sphere of bread. Also mine. She ate and ate and ate, strength infiltrating her limbs and easing her tremors.
Hands overflowing with morsels, she let her feet carry her to the tub. How divine the water looked. Clean and clear, with ribbons of steam curling up. So inviting. She hadn’t soaked in a tub since—a long time ago.
No childhood memories allowed. Not now. Perhaps not ever.
Should she risk a bath? Here? If Micah returned...
No, there’d be no risking it.
A plan finally formed. Escape. Observe the meeting with Kaysar. Decide what to do. Yes! Viori draped the yellow scarf around her head, hiding her hair, and circled the edges of the tent, toeing the fabric. There must be a vulnerability somewhere. Guards stood outside the exit, but they didn’t patrol the perimeter. Did they?
Here! She expelled a relieved sigh. The material wasn’t anchored properly.
Heart drumming, she dipped to her belly to peek through the slit between tent and dirt. No guards patrolled the area. Any booted or sandaled feet she spotted moved away from the dwelling.
Here goes. She scrambled through the opening and popped to her feet, acting as if she’d always been there. A quick scan. Males and females, again a mix of fae and humans, dashed in the same direction. Armed guards directed the throng from the fringe, issuing commands over the frantic voices creating a cacophony of noise, her brother’s name at the fore.
The drumming accelerated as Viori motored forward, blending into the masses. She attempted to flitter at every opportunity to no avail. Gah! She needed to veer off course at some point. No way she should follow the crowd to their destination. Not if she hoped to witness the meeting. But the moment she eased out of line, someone would spot her. Alarms might rise. She’d have to create a distraction.
Easy enough. Without hesitation, Viori tripped the fae in front of her—one of the larger males in the group. He stumbled into the human before him, who shoved into someone else. Gasps were drowned out amid cries of panic as bodies piled up. She jumped out of the way at the beginning, avoiding the collision, at the same time ensuring the person behind her slammed into the one she’d tripped.
Zero guilt. These people had watched as their king dragged her away. They deserved what they got.
Guards hurried over to help, and she jolted into action. Running. The right direction? She didn’t know. Wait! Did she detect a soft pitter-patter of footsteps behind her? Swift glance. No one seemed to give chase. The area appeared deserted.
Relieved but wary, Viori pumped her arms and increased her pace. Sunlight seemed to follow her, brighter than before. A spotlight she couldn’t shake. Breath sawed in and out of her mouth as she zigged and zagged.
Oh, thank goodness! The border of the camp loomed ahead, near the section where she’d first landed. If she could get there, she should be able to flitter to a different area to—Argh! She lurched to a halt and spun behind a tent.
Though she’d stilled, her eyes darted and her heart raced faster. Icy blood drained from her head, leaving her dizzy for a moment. A high-pitched ring erupted in her ears. Some awful, wondrous emotion reached up and gripped her throat, choking her.
Her mind replayed what she’d just seen. Two powerful fae, arriving in the camp. Royals. A male and a female, both covered in expensive velvets, casually stepping from a mystical doorway. Behind the couple, a veritable paradise of lush flowers and lapping waters stretched. The door closing, the paradise vanishing, the pair remaining.
That doorway reminded Viori of the ones she’d inadvertently opened the times she’d used so much energy to create her children, she’d burned a hole through the atmosphere. She’d fallen asleep in one world and awakened in another.
Forget the doorway. It wasn’t the headline but the buffer to her utter devastation. The male possessed black hair, dark eyes and dusky skin several shades darker than Viori’s own. Tall and built like a mountain. The image of Papa.