If the plan worked, if the deal went through, then perhaps she’d be seeing Katya in just a few weeks. After seven years apart, she could only hope the half-elf hadn’t moved on, that she would still love her. That was if Valeriya succeeded, and to do so, she needed to focus.
With a heavy sigh, she closed the balcony doors. Invisibility was demanding, but the mage trailing her could hold it for hours. Valeriya only needed a few minutes of invisibility to slip past them, long enough to hide and take on her servant’s visage.
Valeriya closed her eyes, clearing her mind of thoughts, of doubts, of emotion. She pulled at the aithyr around her, letting it fill her body as she shook with the effort, trying to contain it. And she practiced turning herself invisible until the sun came up.
Chapter Sixty
Marietta
The first gift came two days after her visit to the temple, a bouquet made of golden daffodils, sweet-smelling elderflower, flowing vines of honeysuckle, and lavender. Days of selecting fresh-cut flowers with her mother at the market flooded her memory. King Wyltam had no clue how the gift touched her. Along with the bouquet was a brief note.
All beauty is frivolous, yet through you, I’m learning to enjoy such frivolities.
Marietta hated the smile it brought, the swoop that moved through her stomach. King Wyltam wasn’t a man of many words, but he was efficient. The gift did its job.
Keyain didn’t eat dinner with her after seeing the vase of flowers on the table, the leash on his anger slipping when he saw the note. Instead, he locked himself in his office for the evening. Marietta coaxed him out a few hours later with a kiss, followed by yet another intimate night. Since their first night together, they made a habit of it, Marietta remembering exactly how much she enjoyed that side of Keyain.
A couple of days later, another present arrived. A box the size of a dinner plate tied with a ribbon surprised Marietta one afternoon. Fixed atop was another note from the King.
I’ll save you the boredom of this bakery’s long history, but know it’s the oldest in Satiros and a favorite for a reason.
Marietta tore at the ribbon and lifted the lid, surprised to find slices of custard pie with candied lemon slices. A traditional pastry which made sense if it was the oldest in Satiros.
Her custard pie was a wedding favorite in Olkia, the lemon and cinnamon-infused syrup she drizzled overtop being popular among the masses. It was one of the first recipes she learned.
She bit into a piece, unable to wait. The custard center melted on her tongue, thick and sweet between the thin layers of crisp and flaky dough. The syrup had a nutty flavor, indicative of honey, which was the traditional ingredient. Her last bite with the candied lemon was perfection.
Gods damn the King for not sharing with her the name. Marietta wished to visit, to meet the baker, doubtful she knew them if they ran the oldest bakery in Satiros.
Another thought hit her. There were other bakeries in Satiros—ones she had yet to experience. Gods, her friend Grysella owned a bakery there. How did she forget about that? One day, she’d visit. Marietta would see them all, whether as Keyain’s wife or as an Iros to the goddess Therypon.
Keyain tried to ignore the sweets that evening. After Marietta hounded him to try one, he claimed through clenched teeth that he could request something better from the palace kitchens instead. Blinded by his jealousy, he didn’t realize how wrong he was.
His anger snapped the night the King’s note arrived, a servant handing it to him instead of Marietta. “This is too far,” he yelled, slamming his fist and stirring Marietta from her book.
She looked over her shoulder from the couch to where Keyain stood near the dining table. “What’s too far?”
The note crinkled in his fist as his stare found Marietta. “It doesn’t matter. You’re not going.”
Marietta snapped her book shut, setting it on the seat next to her, and stood to face Keyain. “What’s in the note, Keyain?”
“You’re not going, so it doesn’t matter.”
“So the note is for me?”
“Yes.”
“And you won’t give it to me?” She crossed her arms, raising a speculative brow.
“No.” He walked to the liquor cabinet, pocketing the note as he reached for a decanter.
Marietta approached from behind. “Of course, you aren’t,” she said, plucking his just-poured glass of whiskey from his hands and taking a sip. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have control over me.”
“Mar, that’s not—”
“It is.” She turned towards the living room, looking back at Keyain. “Does it feel good?”
His mouth parted, unable to form words, though he tried. Things had been good between them, despite the King’s taunting presents, and she knew Keyain didn’t want to spoil it. It was cruel, but so was attacking her home. Abducting her.
