Call of Sunteri (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 2) by Missy Sheldrake Page B

watch them and I’m prodded forward by the guard who questioned me. Rushed through too quickly. If this was my palace, I’d stay in the garden. It isn’t my palace, though. It never will be. I’m not lucky enough to have been born here.
    So many things catch my interest as I’m rushed through the twisting corridors. Silver and gold. Jewels. Pictures made of colorful thread that hang from the walls. Statues carved of white stone. Swords and shields and suits of armor. We climb a staircase carved with golden flowers and draped with purple carpet. The more I see, the less important I feel. I’m confused, too. If they’re going to punish me, why show me all of this? Why bring me through into the depths of the palace? Wouldn’t it be better to do my lashings somewhere else? Anywhere else? My stomach flips nervously. I try hard not to think of the fatty meat and cups of cider heavy in my belly. I don’t want to ruin the carpet.
    We finally stop at a door carved with dainty figures of winged ladies. They remind me of bony white creatures with black, empty eyes. Roots. Sand. I look away as the guards in front of me knock. The one who questioned me is behind me. He clamps a hand on my shoulder. The door swings open and a lady in a fine gown gives me a disapproving once-over. She looks at the man behind me, shakes her head, and steps aside to let us in, wringing her hands.
    Inside is too pretty. Frills and ruffles everywhere. Lace curtains and shimmering sky-blue silk stretched across the ceiling. Walls painted with trees and flowers and butterflies. Poufs of pillows like mushrooms all around the green carpet. A girl sits on one of them, watching me. Her eyes are red. She’s been crying. The guard pushes my shoulder down until I’m on my knees. A glint in her hair makes me finally realize who she is. I bow my head and my thoughts race.
    “Is this the boy you saw, Your Highness?” The guard asks. His tone is different with her. Softer. Kind. She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she crosses the room to me. Her dress glitters with tiny jewels, bright against the deep green silk. She circles me and bends and takes my arm to pull me up.
    “What’s your name?” she asks.
    “Tib, Your Highness,” I whisper, confused.
    “Tib, I’m Margary. You may call me Margy,” she says brightly. She offers her hand to me. Tiny. Gloved. I look at it, and then at her. I’m not sure what to do.
    “You may kiss it,” she says. I glance up at her. Not sure I heard her right. She nods, and I do as I’m told. Press my lips to the soft fabric over her knuckles. She smells like flowery perfume. I feel ridiculous. The lady who let us in shakes her head and click her tongue. Behind me, the guard shifts. He squeezes my shoulder to remind me he’s still there.
    “Thank you, Finn,” the princess says to the guard. “You may wait outside.” The room is silent. “You too, Tirie.”
    “Your Highness, I must insist—” Finn starts to protest, but the princess raises her chin at him and he thinks twice. “Please, Highness. For your safety.”
    Margary looks up at me. She’s not much older than Emmie. Maybe as old as Ruben. I’m not sure. Her eyes are brown with bits of orange. Puffy. Mournful. I wonder what a princess living in a palace like this could have to be troubled about.
    “He won’t hurt me,” she argues.
    “I must insist,” Finn repeats. “I could lose my position, Highness.” That works. Her eyes go wide. She chews her lip.
    “Very well,” she says. “Stand over there please, Finn.”
    She points to a far corner and the guard goes as he’s ordered, to stand beneath a painted willow. Tirie gives me another appraising look and then goes out, closing the door behind her. The princess takes my hand and pulls me to the opposite corner. She drops onto a pouf and points to another. “You may sit,” she says. I do. She leans in close.
    “I saw you,” she whispers. “Last night. You and him.” She watches me