“Less fraudulent than claiming you’re going to miss them,” said Levana, glaring at the painted heart.
“Fraudulent? To the contrary. I shall miss them a great deal. Especially the parties that Father used to throw during the full Earth. And being able to borrow Mother’s dresses when I was going shopping in AR-4.” She hesitated. “Though I suppose now I can simply take her seamstress as my own, so perhaps that is no great loss after all.” With a giggle, she sat down on the edge of the bed and snatched a berry from the breakfast tray, popping it onto her tongue. “You should be prepared to say a few words at the funeral today.”
“Me?” It was an appalling idea. Everyone would be watching her, judging just how sad she was. She didn’t think she could fake it well enough.
“You’re their daughter too. And—” Suddenly, inexplicably choked up, Channary dabbed at the corner of her eye. “I don’t think I’m strong enough to do it all on my own. I’ll be overwhelmed by grief. Perhaps I will faint and require a guard to carry me to someplace dark and quiet to recover.” She snorted, all signs of sadness vanishing as quickly as they had come. “That’s an intriguing idea. Perhaps I can stage it to happen next to that new young one with the curly hair. He seems quite … obliging.”
Levana scowled. “You’re going to leave me alone to guide the entire kingdom in mourning, so that you can frolic with one of the guards?”
“Oh, stop it,” said Channary, covering her ears. “You’re so annoying when you whine.”
“You’re going to be queen, Channary. You’re going to have to make speeches and important decisions that will affect everyone on Luna. Don’t you think it’s time you took that seriously?”
Laughing, Channary sucked at the grains of sugar left on her fingertips. “Like our parents took it so seriously?”
“Our parents are dead. Killed by a citizen who must not have thought they were doing a very good job.”
Channary waved her hand through the air. “Being queen is a right, little sister. A right that comes with an endless supply of men and servants and beautiful dresses. Let the court and the thaumaturges deal with all the boring details. As for me, I am going to be known throughout history as the queen who never stopped laughing.” Tossing her hair off her shoulder, she surveyed the bedroom, its gold-papered walls and hand-embroidered draperies. “Why aren’t there any mirrors in here? I want to see how beautiful I look for my tear-filled performance.”
Crawling from the bed, Levana pulled on a robe that had been laid out on the sitting chair. “You know very well why there aren’t any mirrors.”
To which Channary’s grin widened. She hopped up from the bed as well. “Oh, yes, that’s right. Your glamours are so becoming these days I’d almost forgotten.”
Then, quick as a viper, Channary backhanded Levana across the face, sending her stumbling into one of the bedposts. Levana cried out, the shock causing her to lose control of her glamour.
“Ah, there’s my ugly duckling,” Channary cooed. Stepping closer, she grabbed Levana’s chin, squeezing tight before Levana could raise her hand to soothe her already-flaming cheek. “I suggest you remember this the next time you think to contradict one of my orders. As you have so kindly reminded me, I am going to be queen, and I will not tolerate my commands being questioned, especially by my pathetic little sister. You will be speaking for me at the funeral.”
Turning away, Levana blinked back the tears that had sprung up and scrambled to reinstate her illusion. To hide her disfigurements. To pretend that she was beautiful too.
Spotting movement in the corner of her eye, she saw a maid frozen in the doorway. Channary hadn’t closed it upon entering, and Levana was quite certain the maid had seen everything.
Smartly, the servant lowered her gaze and curtsied.
Releasing Levana’s chin, Channary stepped back. “Put on your mourning dress, little sister,” she said, once again wearing her pretty smile. “We have a very big day ahead of us.”
*
The great hall was filled with grays. Gray hair, gray makeup, gray gloves, gray gowns, gray stockings. Charcoal jackets and heather sleeves, snowdrop shoes and stormy top hats. Despite the drab color palette, though, the funeral guests looked anything but mournful. For in those grays were gowns made of floating ribbons and sculpted jewelry and frosted flowers that grew like tiny gardens from bountiful poufed hair.
Levana could imagine that the Artemisian seamstresses had been kept very, very busy since the assassination.