Shrugging, she turned to stare at the phoenix. Let Borra plan his war. She would see what rose from the ashes.
Chapter Ten
INGRITH WAS GROWING BORED. WHEN SHE HAD ANNOUNCED THE WEDDING, SHE KNEW THERE WOULD BE COUNTLESS DETAILS TO OVERSEE. BUT SHE HAD FAILED TO CONSIDER JUST HOW EXHAUSTING FEIGNING HAPPINESS COULD BE — OR HOW MANY HOURS WOULD BE REQUIRED. For the past two days she had pretended to delight over wedding cake options and fawn over floral arrangements. She had listened to countless musicians vie for the chance to play the wedding march. She had flattered Phillip and Aurora and applauded with joy when they chose their first song.
She was tired of it.
Now Ingrith stood in Aurora’s chambers, waiting for the girl to come out from behind the large dressing screen that stood along the far wall. She heard the girl giggling with the handmaidens as she dressed, and then…silence. A moment later, Aurora emerged.
If Ingrith had had a warm bone in her body, she would have done something motherly, like gasp or clutch her hands to her heart, as she watched her future daughter-in-law glide closer. The girl was breathtaking. Even in the simple cream gown without embellishments, not even a single gem, she glowed. Her cheeks were flushed, and her lips, which she now bit nervously, were a perfect shade of pink. Flowing out from her long hair was a lace veil, the pattern simple and delicate, like a spider’s web.
But Ingrith was cold. So she said simply and without feeling, “You look stunning, Aurora.”
Aurora smiled happily, not picking up on the flat tone of Ingrith’s voice. “I’m so glad you like it, Your Majesty,” she said.
As Ingrith moved closer, she gasped and brought a hand to her throat. She immediately stopped walking. “Oh, my,” she struggled to say. “I can hardly breathe.”
“Is something wrong?” Aurora asked, concern spreading across her face.
Ingrith bowed her head, giving her enough time to compose her features. Then she looked up with a frown on her face. “My allergies,” she said by way of explanation. “I can detect the slightest bit of dirt and dust — and that dress comes straight from the Moors, does it not?” She eyed the gown as though it were alive.
“Yes,” Aurora said, touching the lace gingerly with the tip of her finger. “I’m so sorry. What can I do?”
“Perhaps,” Ingrith said as though she had a sudden and wholly new idea, “you could try this on?” She motioned to two servants, who had been waiting for her signal. Quickly, they ushered over a wedding gown that required both of them to carry it.
The dress was everything Aurora’s was not. While hers was plain, allowing the simplicity of the design to make it beautiful, this gown was elaborate. Every inch was studded with jewels, and the lace was complex; the lines created a pattern that seemed hard and rigid, whereas the lace on Aurora’s was gentle and soft. And while Aurora’s train had been pieced together from material found in the Moors, the train on this dress was nearly ten feet long. Everything about it was heavy; it was more like armor than a wedding gown.
“I wore it when I married the king,” Ingrith said, eyeing the dress proudly. She turned and saw Aurora composing her face as she, too, looked upon the gown.
“I’m sure it’s perfect,” Aurora said after a moment. Her voice was tender and the words were polite, but Aurora would wear the gown only because she was too nice to say no.
“So am I,” Ingrith replied. She instructed the handmaidens on where to put Aurora’s dress from the Moors. Then she said her good-byes. The queen was done with this nonsense for now. She had other, more important matters to attend to.
Ingrith stepped out of the room and made her way down the hall to her chambers. She glanced around to make sure no one was watching and then slipped inside. While it was not unusual for her to be entering her own chambers, Ingrith preferred the sense of security that came with a stealth entrance. Moments later she was descending toward the laboratory.
As she entered, she saw Lickspittle standing in front of a beaker filled with charcoal-colored sand. He held a small pair of tweezers, which contained a single flake of glowing gold powder. Her eyes narrowed as she took in the pixie’s protective clothing. Is that really necessary? she wondered. Lickspittle was fond of the theatrical, but the homemade gas mask seemed a bit much.
Sighing, she moved closer. At the same time, Lickspittle painstakingly added the flake of powder to the sand. There was a puff — and the sand turned from dark gray to shimmering red. In the surrounding jars, faeries were making faces at Lickspittle, unconcerned by the experiment happening in front of them.
Then Ingrith stepped out of the shadows.
As fear flashed across the faeries’ faces, Lickspittle held up a hand. “Don’t distract me!” he yelled at them.
“Lickspittle…”
Hearing the queen’s voice, Lickspittle paled behind his gas mask. As he ripped it off his head, his eyes filled with fright. “Eep!” he squeaked. “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” he said, backpedaling as fast as his little pixie feet allowed.
Lucky for Lickspittle, Ingrith didn’t have the time to punish him for insubordination. “Gerda says you’ve got something,” she said instead. “Does it work?”
Lickspittle’s large eyes grew a little larger, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he gulped anxiously. He had told Gerda about the experiment in confidence. It was still in the trial stages. Saying he had something that “worked” was a bit of a stretch. But he couldn’t just come out and say no. Not to Ingrith.
“I only had a handful of faerie specimens to work with, and the extraction process is painstaking,” he said.
Ingrith pointed to the glowing flower. It had been carefully placed in a thin glass vase. “Extraction from what?” she asked. She was getting annoyed. She had come down expecting something concrete, yet Lickspittle was clearly stalling.
Lickspittle took a skittish step closer to her. “Tomb Bloom flowers,” he explained. “They grow from a faerie’s grave and contain their very essence.” He gingerly touched a petal, his face turning solemn for a moment before his eyes flashed with renewed energy. “The ratio of flower extract to iron powder has to be just right—”
“Show me!” Ingrith said. She didn’t want to hear long explanations; she wanted to see results. And honestly, her interest was piqued.
Quickly, Lickspittle turned to the jars. Inside, faeries pushed against the glass. But they had nowhere to go. “Now who will try my faerie dust?” he asked gleefully. He spotted the mushroom faerie, then opened the jar and reached in. But just as he started to pick the specimen up, the mushroom faerie bit down — hard. “Ow!” Lickspittle screeched. Dropping the faerie, Lickspittle turned to another jar. Inside was a meek-looking dandelion faerie. His pale hair floated around him as Lickspittle grabbed him and placed him on the table nearby.
Ingrith leaned forward in anticipation. Lickspittle took a pinch of the fine red dust he had just created and sprinkled it over the dandelion faerie. As the dust settled onto the creature’s skin, the faerie’s eyes widened and his mouth opened. A moment later, he became still and transformed into a silent dandelion. The faerie, it seemed, was gone.
A smile spread across Ingrith’s face. “No more faeries,” she said, picking up the dandelion. She lifted it to her lips and blew. The seeds drifted across the room.