His Captive Sorceress

Chapter 35: His Suspicion

A ray of morning sunlight ends my slumber. It's dawn. I rub my eyes. The white marble room shines uncomfortably bright.

I stretch and wash in the basin. The wardrobe houses two white obans – my new servant uniform. It's the same design as I wore before, with an open V-neck, short sleeves and a strip across the shoulders, but it's made from white cloth instead of black. The outfit lacks gloves, so I incorporate my own woolen pair. They're not thick enough to block my connection, but I'm hoping they may reduce its potency a bit. Once the julite is in my possession, my hands won't need to be covered ever again.

I grab the pendant from the bedside table and hang it under my uniform. My reflection in the pocket mirror changes – my hair turns blonde, my eyebrows lighten, and my eyes go lake blue.

I push the heavy wooden chest away from the door, scraping it across the stone floor. It was the only way to guarantee no one would enter without the pendant around my neck.

I leave my bedroom and find Trevus's office. The carved wooden panther on his door watches me. I knock twice.

"Enter," Trevus calls.

I step inside. In contrast to the white marble that's so prevalent throughout the palace, this room has wooden walls instead, all adorned with intricate carvings of knights, horses and flora. Numerous plants and clay pots decorate the interior. Trevus is seated on the opposite side of the room, his back to me. His desk faces a wide-open window.

I approach. The view outside is spectacular. We're at the palace rear, four stories above the ground. Luscious gardens lie below us, followed by the tall palace wall. Our view extends over the wall into the city, which nearly continues to the horizon.

Trevus turns in his seat. "Do you recall how to stand awaiting to attend?"

That was part of their pretentious etiquette book. I fold my left hand over my right. "Yes."

His eyes fall to my gloved hands, then he rises to his feet. "Persons in Versillia's service wear obans as symbols of unity, order and authority. As such, you are not to stray in appearance."

I take off the woolen gloves and fold them into my pocket. They're too thin to make much of a difference anyway.

Trevus fixates on my hands. I've removed the gloves. Isn't that the end of it?

He reaches for them. I leap backwards, retreating across the room until my back hits the door, my hands hidden behind my body. "Surely my role does not involve physical contact?"

"Forgive my action. 'Tis the matter of your singed palm." He opens a clay pot. "Aloler extract aids healing."

It's the burn from the pendant. There's no good excuse to reject his aid.

I return to him and form a cup with my hands, ready to jerk away if his fingers get too close to mine.

He pours a yellow oil onto my palm. Its scent resurfaces a memory – the night I first tried to escape his party. The forest left my arms scratched and bleeding. He crushed leaves into a paste and wrapped it against the cuts. They healed quickly, and I was grateful.

He passes a bandage. I make sure to take it without getting too close to his hand. One touch would put him to sleep. I'd be forced to flee Lystra before he awoke, and he'd know that I'd been deceiving him.

Wrapping the bandage around my hand traps the oil against my skin. It's a challenge to tie, but I eventually manage. "Thank you," I say.

Trevus returns to his desk. He folds a letter, pours green wax from a candle, then stamps it with the family crest on his ring. After waiting a moment for it to cool, he passes the letter to me. "Deliver it to Lord Kerollanus."