Page 59 of The Crown's Awakening
“He did.” She lifts one shoulder. “He seems to have taken it upon himself to ensure I do not get myself robbed, insulted, or married by accident.”
“Ambitious of him,” I say.
That earns me the faintest shadow of a smile.
“He also invited me to perform at the theater tonight,” Nyara says. “Apparently the court prefers music when it is pretending not to be at war with itself.”
Petunis reaches for her cup at last. “Then you will perform at the theater tonight.”
Nyara blinks. “You say that as though it is an order.”
“It is.”
Nyara smiles despite herself. “Then I shall do my best to seem honored rather than conscripted.”
I glance at her, taking in the dress again, the soft fabric, the gold at her hair. “I am not used to seeing you like this,” I say. “You spent so long in trousers and tunics I almost forgot you owned anything else.”
Nyara lets out a quiet breath. “Now that we are in Alarna, I have not felt the need to hide,” she says. “Although pants and tunics are far more comfortable, so do not get used to it.”
Petunis clears her throat. “The Queen Heir and I will both attend,” she says.
I turn to her. “Must I?”
“Yes.”
“Someone just tried to poison me.”
“And tonight they will fail to kill you at the theater instead.” She sips her tea. “You cannot vanish into your chambers every time this palace bares its teeth. If you do, it learns too quickly that it can move you where it pleases.”
The answer irritates me precisely because it is sensible.
Nyara studies me. “If it helps, I suspect I will be more frightened than you.”
“I doubt that.”
“Oh?"
“You have had to perform for Lady Esmeraldis and her sewing group, a fate far more miserable than death."
“That is a fair point,” she concedes.
The new taster enters then, performs his task, and remains alive. Only after a long enough wait to satisfy Petunis am I finally allowed to touch the food in front of me.
I no longer want it. Still, I eat. That seems to please Aunt Petunis more than if I had made a speech about courage.
For a little while the room settles into something that resembles an ordinary meal, if an ordinary meal can be built over the fresh memory of a corpse. Nyara speaks lightly of the theaterin the capital, of old performers who still believe the audience only truly listens when winter presses people indoors, of the way Alarnan musicians insist the halls here carry sound differently from anywhere else in the Thronelands. Petunis listens without looking as though she is, though now and then a question from her proves she has missed nothing.
I am finishing a second piece of bread when Petunis says, “You will come with me after this.”
The tone tells me it is not a suggestion.
“To the throne room?”
“Eventually.”
I set the bread down. “You enjoy speaking in pieces.”
“I enjoy seeing whether you can keep up.”
