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Saoirse's blood dances with iron and trickery, a secret she has managed to sheathe from all faery alike.
Until now, that is.
When Saoirse's cunning and charade is shredded to bits by the malevolent interfering of fa...
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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
FINGERS STAINED RED, ISIBEAL HEAVED A NOISY SIGH.
Saoirse glanced up, swiping a curl of hair from her cheek, stained fingers kissing her skin a ruby-red. Berries were crushed, paints had been made, and, yet, Saoirse still had not told Isibeal that she was to dine with The Alder King. Or, that she had been extended an invitation to one of his infamous revels.
"Tedious, is it?" Her lips quirked, tongue biding, keeping her secrets hidden a bit longer.
Isibeal shared a wry smile with her, lifting her hands to inspect them. "My hands tire. I had not realized how labor intensive it is to grind your own paints."
"Well, for it being your first time making paint, I think you've done well." Saoirse smiled. Indeed, Isibeal's lack of two fingers on her left hand hadn't hindered her. She'd worked zealously as if in spite of it.
"And you do this every time you're to paint something?" Isibeal wondered aloud.
Saoirse shook her head. "Not every time, but here I do."
They had smashed berries and boiled leaves and mixed the various juices with shreds of soap and water. Saoirse's fingers were stained in all manner of colors, the pulp of berries caught beneath her nails from when she'd strained the mashed berries. She looked at the carved wooden dishes, each cradling a glimmering pool of paint.
Triumph flickered through her at the thought of completing The Alder King's portrait soon.
But you aren't to finish it too soon, Saoirse reminded herself. The thought slipped through her mind with ease, and she quickly straightened.
"What say you about a reward for your hard work?" Saoirse turned to Isibeal. "A token of appreciation."
Isibeal lifted her head from where she was wiping her fingers on the edge of her gown. "What would it entail?" She smirked.
"A walk around the Palace?" When spoken aloud, it didn't sound nearly as exciting a prospect as it had in Saoirse's head. "I realize I haven't done any exploring here. That seems a grave mistake on my part, something to be rectified immediately."
Isibeal studied Saoirse a moment, lifting to her feet. Her icy eyes turned reflective, "I think it would be wise to do so," she nodded.
"Excellent." Saoirse turned on her heel, an urge to flee her chambers, to abandon what had consumed her life zealously so, quickening her feet. A smirk flitted across her mouth, disappearing as fast as it had appeared. "Let us see what mischief we may find ourselves in."
✥
The Alder King's Palace was a labyrinthine thing of beauty; equally perplexing as it was intriguing. It seemed to divulge nothing of the elusive King, and yet, it was more telling than any words any creature could have spoken. It was vast and sprawling, with great lengths and ends that seemed to shift and move as they wandered. There were no trappings of gold and marble, but instead, it was all constructed of nature. Deftly woven of intricately entwined branches, it was miraculous to behold. The cavernous ceilings towered far above them, gleaming in all their knitted glory. Stone pillars were erected in subtle patterns, vines and blooming flowers wrapped around their massive lengths, curling and spilling tales as they shaped themselves again and again. Jeweled sconces glittered at intervals, bearing bobbing faelights and spin and tangled ribbons of white. Tapestries rippled, some stitched of beautiful thread and fabric, and others sewn of flora.
