It took all my discipline and training to keep the sick dread off my face. I felt a hand close comfortingly over my arm, and I looked around to see Arles give me a nod of encouragement. I smiled at him, surprised and oddly warmed, though he still held that damned leash in his hand. Zeralda came to a stop before me and flicked her fingers. Instantly the courtiers melted away and the bodyguards fell back to a discreet distance, where they eyed the crowd with the intensity of career paranoids. Behind us, the four men of Arles’s Imperial Guard did the same. “Hello, Mother,” I said, studying her cautiously. Zerelda appeared not one day older than she’d been when I’d run away. A tiny woman who barely came up to my shoulder, her features were as fine and delicate as a Fairy queen’s under a cascade of red curls bound in a complex arrangement of braids and gemstone clips. The ethereal effect was enhanced by her gown, which fluttered around her body in sheer, pale blue petals, shimmering softly in the golden ballroom light.
