Tanya had seen all this and thought she was sophisticated enough, or at least sensible enough, to keep her composure in the face of all the beauty she was never to possess. But then Jasmine had lit the lamps and the full impact of this room had hit her.
The stone, inlaid with some glittering mineral, arched all the way to the pointed top of the tower, some fifty feet high, sending sparkles of light dancing across every reflective service, and fully half the left-hand curve of the wall was covered in a vast array of ornate mirrors. The armoire was made of rose quartz and studded by rose diamonds. There was a large vanity, which at first seemed simple, just a plain white table and chair, padded in pink velvet, until you noticed that they were both made of mother-of-pearl.
But it wasn’t the luxury, in the end, that felled Tanya. She had known hardship and she had known, if not “plenty,” then certainly “more than sufficient,” and she was satisfied with the latter. She knew her place.
A pair of silk stockings, sweat stains soiling the heel and the toe, had been thrown across the back of the vanity chair.
That’s what shocked her: not the opulence, but the disarray; not the unfamiliar grandeur, but the all-too-familiar, unavoidable squalor of human life. That stocking hinted at the existence of a person who was no different than Tanya.
Tanya had seen men (they were almost always men) who identified as “revolutionaries.” They muttered over tall mugs of beer and shouted about the oppressive nobility. She never paid them much attention. She didn’t have the time, thank you very much. She was a useful person with a job to do. She worked hard and earned her keep. She was proud of that.
But standing there, she found no evidence of any functional difference between her and the count’s sister. Yet Louisa lived in a soaring tower and Tanya had to fight for the right to live in her cramped attic.
Dazed, she walked toward the marble arches, pulled in by the steam, thick and fragrant with the smell of lemongrass and lavender. Jasmine pulled a rope in what looked like a large, metal-bound dumbwaiter, and it eventually hoisted a giant kettle up and over the tub.
The moment Tanya slid into the steaming water and tipped her head back to rest on a convenient pillow, she immediately fell asleep. Jasmine woke her, dried her off, and wrapped her in a nightdress as if she were a helpless noblewoman, sending her off to sleep in the now-made bed of the perfectly tidied room.
Chapter
15
When Tanya awoke, her eyes immediately flinched away from the sun’s glare. She was not accustomed to waking up when the sun was so high.
Tanya pulled open the gossamer curtains around the bed and saw enough food for an entire corps: fluffy yellow eggs scrambled with onions and smoked fish, toasted bread drenched in herbed butter, and piles of spiced ham.
Acting on pure instinct, she fell upon the food, turning an ankle on her way; she had severely misjudged the height of the bed.
“The lady awakens,” said a dry voice behind her.
Her mouth stuffed full of ham and sweet potatoes, Tanya turned and saw both Violet and Jasmine buried in the shimmering contents of the armoire.
“Is it very late?” asked Tanya, suddenly feeling a panic that she couldn’t quite account for until she realized that she had usually knocked out at least twenty-five items on her daily to-do list by the time the sun had even fully risen.
“You should have woken me up,” she said reproachfully. “I don’t feel well when I sleep late.”
“That’s too bad,” said Violet, pulling out and rejecting a capelet stitched with silver thread. “Because I have been put in charge of making you look as though you belong in the council room, and an exhausted urchin with circles under her eyes and stress eruptions across her nose wasn’t going to cut it. When I say sleep, you sleep.” She turned to face Tanya. “In short, my girl, I don’t care how well you feel, only how well you look. Now eat your breakfast, drink your tea, and then sit at that vanity and don’t speak unless spoken to.”
Tanya obeyed, thoroughly enjoying her breakfast, although she quite disagreed with Violet about the benefits of sleeping late. Something in her shoulders and back felt off, and she had a strange floating, relaxed sensation behind her eyes. It didn’t feel safe.
“We need to see which of these we’ll have to alter the least.” Violet took a gown from Jasmine, holding it up critically. “The councilman will be here to inspect you in four hours, so we don’t have an abundance of time.”
Tanya eyed the dress. Too narrow in the hips and too long, but just a matter of a quick hem and letting out stitches in the bodice. Nothing that would take four hours to accomplish, she thought a little scornfully.
“I’d be happy to do any alterations myself,” offered Tanya, not quite hiding a smirk. “If you’re too busy, ma’am, that is. You shouldn’t be bothering yourself about me.”
“I agree,” answered Violet, not looking up from the fabric. “But I answer to the Council and I’m bothering myself on its business, not yours. And, more importantly, you’re out of your salt-baked port city mind if you think I’m letting you take a needle to this gown. Don’t you see what it’s made of, girl?”
Tanya lifted her eyebrows. “It’s silk, isn’t it? Rather fine, I daresay, but I do know how to safely hem a silk dress, ma’am.”
Violet’s mouth quirked up at one side. “Not quite,” she said, sounding amused, but again not unkind. “Come here, child. See for yourself.”
Tanya stood and crossed the room.
“Stand right there,” said Violet, indicating a spot in front of the open wardrobe door, its inside lined with yet another mirror.
Tanya obeyed and Violet stepped behind her, the silver gown in her arms. She shook it out behind Tanya. Tanya frowned at the unexpected sound, like the faraway wind chimes of some tiny, fairy picnic. Violet swung her arms in front of her, holding the dress in front of Tanya.
“Now look at yourself in the mirror,” Violet instructed.
Tanya rolled her eyes. It all seemed rather a to-do for a silk dress. “Like I thought, ma’am,” she said confidently, looking at the line of the fabric against her body. “I’ll need to let out the bodice some and lift the hem, but nothing very complicated. The count’s sister and I are rather of a size, although how she’s thinner than I am with a breakfast like that every morning, I don’t . . . wait.” Tanya frowned and leaned forward. “Wait . . .”
“There it is,” said Violet, sounding smug.
“But that’s . . . that’s . . .” sputtered Tanya. “Is this dress actually made of silver?”
“Silver and moonstone actually,” answered Violet. “The best dressmakers in the Capital have developed a way to hammer precious metals into narrow rods so fine that they can be weaved like thread into fabric. Unbelievably expensive of course, but you can’t beat the effect. Jasmine, get the tape measure.”
“But . . . but it’s absurd,” stammered Tanya. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life.”
“Arms up,” instructed Violet, pulling the gown away. Still dumbfounded, Tanya obeyed and Violet pulled off her nightdress. “Tape measure, please Jas—thank you.”
“No, I’m serious,” said Tanya, feeling the heat rising in her cheeks. “That’s crazy. What could possibly be the point? It looks just like silk. What is the point of weaving it out of precious metals worth more than thirty people’s wages for thirty years of work, except to make it incredibly expensive and impossible to wash? What is the point?”
Violet was moving up and down her body with the tape measure, murmuring numbers to Jasmine, who was industriously writing it all down in a little notebook. “All right, arms can go down now,” said Violet mildly. “If I take care of the tailoring, can you sort out her undergarments? You know the sort we need? They can see the curves, but only just barely, and Lady of Cups, don’t let any of it move, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes ma’am,” answered Jasmine with a curtsy. She moved to the back half of the closet and start
ed pulling open drawers.
“Now then,” said Violet, looking at Tanya. “We should do something with that hair. You certainly aren’t modest, are you, girl? Most port city maids would have been desperately clutching back the nighty by now, or so I’d imagine.”
“I . . . I . . . I . . .”
Violet looked closer. “Lady of Cups, girl, are you shaking? Are you quite well?”
Tanya shook her head and whispered, “The waste. The stupidity.I’m . . .”
Violet nodded, a little approvingly. “I understand,” she said. “The opulence of court can be somewhat overwhelming when one is new to it. Trust me, the ideas behind it begin to make sense once you’re accustomed to them.”
But Tanya wasn’t overwhelmed. She was enraged.
No, not enraged, she corrected herself—outraged.
Fine workmanship was one thing and luxurious materials another. Tanya understood the aesthetic and even practical uses of such things. But an insistence on luxury to the point of farce, to the point where the actual function of the object is called into question because of that luxury—Tanya couldn’t respect that. That was folly. That was nonsense.
That was useless.
And just like that, Tanya ceased to be cowed by the Glacier. All the awe, all the fear melted away.
She looked up and around the grand tower room, this time with a certain disdain. Yes, the bed was comfortable. The bath had been lovely and the system with the hot water was no doubt very clever. The breakfast cooks knew what they were about.
But it wasn’t magic. It wasn’t special. It was just rich.
There was nothing, nothing, that was forcing her to respect these people. Her mind was her own and these people were simply ludicrous.
She spent the next several hours in a state of mildly appalled indifference as she was painted and polished and finally squeezed into the ridiculous silver gown.
Violet stepped backward and put her chin in her hand. “Jasmine, pull that loose curl out from behind her ear.” Jasmine complied and Violet shook her head. “No, that doesn’t work either. Can we find something to clip it back with? One of the pearl-tipped pins, I think.”
Tanya shifted a little, shaking out her feet, already squeezed numb by diamond-encrusted high heels that were far too tight. Then Jasmine pulled a perfect corkscrew curl that Tanya didn’t recognize up and around the intricate plait wreathing her head.
Tanya wondered how much of the shining brown masses was her own hair. She put it at about 30 percent, but she couldn’t be sure—she wasn’t accustomed to staring at her own reflection for that long and had lost track.
The magic tattoos were gone, covered by a thick layer of cosmetic powder.
Violet sighed. “Well, I think that’s the best we can do for the moment.” As if on cue, a sharp staccato rapping on the door announced the arrival of Councilman Hewitt.
He entered without waiting to be invited in. He joined Violet, putting his own chin in his hand, pursing his lips. “Well, I’d say you did your best, Violet,” he said. “It’s certainly an improvement.”
Jasmine stepped away and Tanya took a halting step forward. Her ankle wobbled in the heel and the councilman’s eyebrow went up.
Tanya arranged her hands so they were gripping the edge of the trailing silver skirt, something she had seen ladies in similarly shaped gowns do, and was relieved to find that the movement helped her maintain balance.
She took another step and this time her ankle didn’t wobble. Still carefully keeping her hands on her skirts, she swung one ankle behind the other and bent her knees, her eyes on the floor.
Councilman Hewitt lifted her chin with one kid-gloved finger. He turned her face to the left and to the right. He nodded and let her go.
“You’ll do,” he said crisply. “It’s only for an hour. You can curtsy, anyway, so that’s something. You have the quill? Good, I’ll escort you down.”
He led her at a fast clip, faster even than Violet had, the shimmering surfaces barely registering as they flew by until they were suddenly in a hallway of singular stillness—and emptiness.
Tanya shivered suddenly. “Is it cold in here?” she asked, the hair on her arms prickling.
Councilman Hewitt smiled and nodded at something behind her, so she turned, hugging herself.
“Why did you think it was called the Glacier?” he asked.
They were in front of two gigantic oval doors, their shimmering white and blue fractals dazzling the eye and reaching higher than they could see.
“Is it diamond?” she asked, in wonder.
The councilman stepped forward and pulled off his glove. He put his hand on the door for a moment and then placed it on Tanya’s wrist. She gasped.
“Ice,” he said. “It never chips and it never melts. These doors were carved from the foundations of the Glacier itself and predate the monarchy.”
Tanya stepped forward, reaching for the ice herself, the sheer cold of the doors making the air seem to buzz, dance, tickle her skin. “Where did it come from?” she asked. “The ice that makes up the Glacier?”
“I don’t know,” said the councilman. “That’s a mystery for another day. Now, in there: Don’t speak unless asked. Don’t interrupt. Don’t contradict me. Understood?” She nodded and he stepped forward. He cleared his throat. “Councilman Hewitt,” he said softly, “escorting a maid of Griffin’s Port.”
Tanya thought she felt a breeze float lazily over her, frigid and unfriendly. But the doors opened with a musical sound, like the tinkling of chimes hung in a window.
Once the ice doors opened, Councilman Hewitt and Tanya walked through to the Queen and Council of Lode’s meeting room, a vast cavern of ice.
From the dripping chandeliers, to the hearth large enough to fit three of Tanya, to the huge table in the shape of a horseshoe, everything was ice. It was like being inside a freezing crystal, the roaring fire and candelabras on the table notwithstanding.
And there, on a raised platform behind the table, were thirteen frozen thrones, identical except for the two in the center. The one in the absolute center was a foot higher than all the others and in it sat the Queen.
The one to her left was empty. Councilman Hewitt’s seat—the Queen’s left hand.
Tanya gulped. The councilman—the count, she thought, suddenly remembering his true rank and the extent of his height over her, which was nearly infinite in scope—dropped her arm and swept into the deepest bow she had ever seen performed by a man; his nose brushed the floor.
“My Queen and Council,” he said, in a low, soft voice entirely different from the one he had been using up until now, all the oil wicked away. “Forgive my lateness, but I have received news of the lost artifact of the Aetherical College.”
A cacophony of overlapping explanations, recriminations, and questions erupted around the table.
The Queen raised one hand, not very high. The room fell silent as a tomb.
She was so stunning to look at, it made Tanya shudder. It was as if she were the Glacier, carved out of enchanted ice, given life.
The Queen didn’t speak, but Councilman Hewitt nodded at her as if she had. He reached behind him and drew Tanya forward by the elbow.
“Curtsy,” he hissed in her ear as she moved in front of him.
Tanya didn’t need to be told twice. Suddenly understanding why she needed to be dressed in beaten silver, holding on to her skirt for dear life, she knelt, stifling a gasp as the cold hit her knee. She bent her torso all the way forward, bending her eyes away from the Council and the Queen until all they would have to see of her was the top of her immaculately curled head.
From above her came Councilman Hewitt’s new, muted voice. “Your Majesty, esteemed colleagues, allow me to present this young woman, a loyal citizen of Lode, to the Council and to her Queen. Will you be so indulgent as to allow her to rise?”
Tanya heard nothing, but a finger in her back signaled that the assent had been given, so, slowly, praying to every god she had eve
r heard of that she wouldn’t trip over her train, she rose until she was standing straight.
The councilman allowed for a moment of silence—presumably so the Council, made up almost entirely of wizened old men, could evaluate her—and then cleared his throat.
“Tanya is a poor but honest orphan of the Port Cities,” he said, his voice rich with compassion. “She lost her parents in childhood and has been earning her living respectably ever since, never once falling to the vice or criminal acts so many others of her station have allowed themselves to be driven to. Young Tanya, motivated by nothing more than a desire to be of service to the Queen and Council, accepted a position with one of your own corps commanders, Your Majesty, as a domestic worker. You can imagine this innocent girl’s shock and dismay when she witnessed her commander—the very representation of her Queen—upon arrival at Your Majesty’s own sponsored College of Aetherical Manipulation, rather than announce himself as a commander of the Queen Corps and request an audience, order a dead-of-night raid on the scholars’ vaults.”
Here, the councilman paused. Tanya had been expending some effort in staring straight ahead during the councilman’s bizarre recitation of what she supposed might be liberally termed her biography, but looked up sharply here, joining in the shocked hush that followed this pronouncement.
The quill was stolen by Rees? That made no sense! Not that Rees was above it—he had made a deal with the Tomcat, after all. And, yes, with the exception of Darrow, his corps was unusually well-stocked with scoundrels. And they were so very poorly provisioned . . .
But no, it still didn’t make any sense, Tanya decided. First of all, Councilman Hewitt himself had signed his orders—orders the entire company were very clearly anxious to follow. And secondly—and more importantly—Rees simply lacked the imagination for such a wild gambit. Tanya looked up at the Council, to see if they were buying the tale.
Wench Page 17
