by Sam Hawke
My shocked groan was an easy lie. Of course I had heard about the fire; the price of the dried fruit had blown out immediately, to my mother’s ire. However, the parumb were not the victims of the annexation with whom I was concerned. “How dreadful. But of course we did hear about Lios, even all the way down here. Is it true the Crown Prince himself rode in to take the fortress?”
Against my innocently curious words, the Minister’s guarded air returned like a cloak had been thrown around him. “General Zoho led the liberation force, but His Highness the Prince followed soon after to greet our new citizens and establish the Imperial Governor.”
The liberation force. Is that what you’d call it if he sent his army down here? I wanted to ask, And how did those new citizens feel about their “liberation”? but instead I smiled sweetly. “How fortunate for your new citizens.”
Ectar made a sound that might have been laughter or might have been agreement.
“I have not yet had the pleasure of speaking to His Highness, of course.” I looked under my eyelashes at Ectar, willing him to walk the path I had laid out for him. “Will he be here today?” But instead, it was his turn to look disquieted.
“No, no. My uncle the Prince is … a very busy and powerful man. He is not familiar with your city or your customs, Credola Kalina. He does not speak Sjon, and does not like to rely too much on translators.” He reached over and patted my forearm. “Do not trouble yourself—I daresay I can keep you entertained! Besides, there will be plenty of time for formality if you come to Izruitn.”
Kokush swiveled to Ectar, his shoulders tense. “What do you mean by that, my lord?”
“I forget rumors don’t always worm their way down every hole,” Ectar said airily, and the Minister’s nostrils flared. “Credola Kalina is to be the nominated Ambassador for Sjona.” His pleasure in conveying information the Minister lacked was obvious.
“My appointment has not been finalized,” I said, truthfully. The Administrative Guild had not even formally proposed the appointment, let alone had it accepted by the Talafan government, though the Guild deliberations had been far from secret. My fame and my family name gave me a high profile, but counting against me were not only the gender issues in the Empire but also my relative inexperience, and my well-known health issues. The old Kalina would never have put herself forward against arguably worthier candidates, but the old Kalina had not known the capabilities of our country’s enemies, and what we could lose if they struck again. Someone Tain could rely on absolutely needed to be digging into the Empire’s position, and on whom could he ever rely more than me? “Perhaps it is fortunate we have run into each other, Minister Kokush. It will be easier for you to assess my suitability face-to-face, rather than as a mere figure in a story, do you not think?”
His hands closed together purposefully. There was a long pause, then he nodded. “Indeed, Credola Kalina. Very fortunate. Your Talafan is very good, I must say.”
“Thank you. I have worked hard to improve.” When I had been too ill to leave my bed, Jov had hired me a Talafan tutor. Focusing on improving those skills had kept me sane in my confinement, and kept my mind occupied on something other than the fears that waited for me whenever my thoughts drifted.
“Ah look! The first dancers have arrived!”
We all leaned forward to see dancers filing out onto the freestanding performance stage below, bare-legged, palumas pale against their dark skin, bright crisscrossed cording up their torsos and down their arms. “Where are the ribbons?” Ectar asked.
I smiled. “Just watch.”
The music sounded faint and wispy from here. But ribbon dancing was about making music visual, and quickly Kokush and Ectar became transfixed as the dancers spun, at first gently and then more forcefully, and began to release their costumes with the rhythmic contortions that unwound what had appeared to be ordinary cording into long, bright ribbons. Ectar exclaimed in delight as the dancers all unwound the last of the binding around their hips and flung the rippling ends of ribbon into the center of the stage. They hurled themselves around the space with athleticism and elegance, and soon the entire stage was filled with a constant swirl of color and motion. So entrancing was the performance that when a servant appeared at our side to offer sweet and savory crusted nuts, it took her three attempts to get the men’s attention.
“Such control!” Kokush murmured, absently accepting a little cone of nuts without taking his eyes from the stage. “The ribbons are longer than the dancers. How do they not become entangled?”
“With rather a lot of practice,” I said. “And probably a lot of swearing in the process.”
He surprised me by laughing. Across the room, the dour ladies’ escort stopped eating to give a sharp look in our direction.
Onstage, attendants threw out a change of ribbons, all blues and greens, and the dancers moved in alternating patterns, the ribbons flowing like beautiful waves. “It is like water,” Ectar said, and I nodded.
“This is an homage to our traditional sea dance.”
Kokush glanced at me quizzically. “But Sjona has no ocean, Credola Kalina.”
“There is a very fine painting of the ocean in the guesthouse, too,” Ectar pointed out. “I assumed a foreign artist.”
I smiled again. “It’s a very old dance, Minister. And the painting in the Leaning Lady is a very old painting, by one of our most beloved artists. Ribbon dancing, and memories of the ocean, were carried to Sjona by early refugees, I believe.”
I was about to ask about the ocean—Izruitn was, after all, partly an island city—but Ectar pointed at the grounds. “Ah, now the competition begins?”
The group routine had ended and most of the dancers were leaving the stage. “Yes. There will be pairs, first, then single dancers.”
The pairs did not disappoint. Two extremely acrobatic men threw each other across the stage so lightly they seemed on wing, an adorable young pair of siblings performed some innovative moves with stiff ribbons held between them like ropes, and there were several romantic numbers with much binding and unbinding. One tragic routine between two women had such intense chemistry in their movements apart and together, conveying a desperate, passionate desire to unwrap each other down to their very core, that I felt sure they must have real romantic history. Ectar and Kokush shifted uncomfortably during this routine; in the Empire much of their social culture was bound up with their religion, and they might never have seen women dancing in such a manner before.
The Marutians and Perest-Avani seemed silently captivated, and the group of Talafan noblewomen giggled and gasped their way through the performances. Several times when I glanced over, one of the ladies looked back in apparent curiosity. More disconcertingly, I caught the escort staring at me, eyes gleaming with unexplained hostility.
The solo dances were last, performed with a ribbon in each hand, dancers attempting to keep themselves and the whipping, flying fabric in constant flowing motion across the stage. The best was a powerful woman with bloodred ribbons, and the story told in her dance was brutally resonant. The deep silence of the arena as she danced, and for several full breaths after it ended, was a testament to her performance.
The applause after the stunned silence was the loudest yet, including within the room; Ectar and Kokush both stood, clapping hard, and so did the women, and the roaring and pounding of hands and feet in the seating below and around our area made the whole place shake faintly. Amidst all that tumult, a harsh coughing sounded a few times before I noticed and turned to see who was struggling with such an unpleasant raspy hack.
It was the Talafan ladies’ chaperone, and one look was enough. He was not coughing. The sound had all but gone: he was red-faced and gasping for breath. “Help!” I shouted, and sprang to my feet. “That man is choking!”
I had cried out in Sjon; by the time I realized, I was already at the chaperone’s side. Someone screamed. His flushed skin was turning bluish pale around the lips. One hand clawed at his throat, pulling at t
he skin and the high neck of his nihep, leaving deep gouges; the other flailed uselessly. Guards at either corner of the room raced in as if propelled but then stumbled to an awkward, almost comical, halt, evidently unsure what to do. One of the ladies emitted little high-pitched scream-squeaks, like a terrified animal, and another was crying noisily in panicked gulps. Ectar and Kokush had both risen from their seats but were staring transfixed, unmoving.
“He is choking,” I shouted again, this time in the right language, and when no one responded with anything but open-mouthed stares, I threw up my hands, stepped behind the man, and hit him hard between the shoulder blades with a flat hand.
He spasmed, staggering forward, but nothing dislodged and he continued to grope and gasp. One of the guards had made as if to grab me when I’d struck the chaperone but now dropped back, looking anxiously at his colleague. Everyone was staring. “Lean forward,” I told the chaperone firmly. I hit him again, then a third time, and on the fourth slap a projectile finally broke free and bounced down between the benches.
The man’s legs sagged as if the nut obstructing his airway had also been holding him upright. Now, at last, the guards and servants rushed in to assist. Breathing heavily, I stepped out of their way. But the chaperone shoved them back furiously and staggered to a bench to sit alone.
“I am well, I am well,” he snapped as a servant tried to offer him water.
“He will be fine. He just needs some space to breathe,” I suggested to the servant, and she gave me an odd look, as if surprised to be addressed directly—or perhaps simply surprised to be addressed politely. I glanced around at the room full of shocked faces. The westerners were whispering to one another, and most of the Talafan women had sunk to their own benches, obviously distressed. Ectar and Kokush looked pale and embarrassed. I struggled to believe they had never seen a person choking before—even if they’d had no contact with children, adults eating at parties were equally talented at attracting this particular disaster.
The chaperone glared at me. “I am fine. It was this … this ridiculous food.” He kicked at the spilled nuts scattered around beneath his feet. Apparently, he had more than one thing in common with a toddler. A servant, kneeling, swept up the mess with her hands. I crouched to help her.
“My lady, please, no, no, I will do this!” She looked thoroughly alarmed, her hands shaking as she half-shooed me away, somehow combining insistence with deference. As I started to stand I noticed under the bench what looked like a discarded toy poppet, about as big as my forearm. Thinking it must be a toy dropped by some child, I was about to retrieve it when Ectar’s paralysis finally lifted, and he swooped in to help me to my feet with a trembling grip.
“Thank our holy God for the Credola Kalina,” he announced to the room, brandishing me like a trophy.
“She saved his life,” one of the ladies said in a carrying whisper. One of the Marutian Dukes raised his cup in my direction with a faint smile, and the High Priestess whispered in her attendant’s ear, but her veiled face was turned toward me. The pretty woman who had smiled at me earlier beamed again, and I felt my cheeks warm under all the sudden regard.
The man did not look thankful. Once he had recovered his breath and his composure, he stood, nodded stiffly in my general direction without making eye contact, and returned to his post with the women as if nothing had happened.
“Come, sit,” Ectar said, and, somewhat nonplussed, I returned to the bench. We had missed several routines and the incident had left me disconcerted, but everyone else seemed to find the man’s strange behavior unremarkable. I glanced at him a few times but he kept his back to us.
“Do not be troubled,” Ectar said in a lowered voice, speaking in Sjon. His accent had improved. “His manners are … wanting. I am sorry he does you dishonor. He was lucky you are here.”
I replied in an equally quiet voice, though taking care to keep my tone light. “And who is my brusque friend?”
Kokush’s mouth made a thin line and he surprised me by joining the conversation in Sjon. “Brother Lu is the Emperor’s own spiritual adviser, Credola, sent to accompany the Princesses and the ladies, to provide guidance and counsel.”
Ectar turned a look on Lu that was, for a Talafan, unsubtle in its dislike. “The Church was concerned about Princess Zhafi. She is unmarried, you know, and my grandfather is protective of her. Her ladies are very sheltered and their dignity and purity are very important to the Church. Brother Lu is charged with ensuring they are not, ah, tainted by the…” He trailed off, perhaps struggling to find the right words in our language, or perhaps simply unable to come up with a polite euphemism.
“The terrible temptations of our city?” I filled in, struggling between amusement and pity. I knew something of the powerful Talafan religion and its views on things Sjons would regard as basic freedoms of a civilized society. If mere exposure to Silasta was a danger to adult women, how could a single man’s presence—however disapproving—offset its apparent wickedness? But how sad for those poor women.
Ectar patted my arm again, still leaning across Kokush, apparently oblivious to the other man’s irritation. “Do not concern yourself, Credola. There are many rules for the ladies of the Young Empress’s court, it is very … uh … complicated. I apologize again for the rudeness, and pray you do not take it to heart.” An anxious note had crept into his voice and I smiled, reassuring him.
“I won’t,” I said, then switched back to Talafan, and a normal volume, forcing my attention and theirs back to the dancing. “Look, this is Siris. He won the crown at the Games last year.”
The remainder of the event passed without incident. “Quite remarkable,” Ectar said, shaking his head as the crowning ceremony concluded. “Extraordinary.”
“It is one of my favorite events,” I said.
Ectar was looking over at the ladies’ group as they all got to their feet, chattering quietly again. His face wore the slightest smile and to my surprise, one of the ladies raised a hand to wave at him. She was a tiny thing in a pale green suit, with a soft, gathered mass of long, pale yellow hair, and her delicate painted mouth curved in an answering tiny smile. “My dear Lady Reuta,” he said, beckoning her forward. “Did you enjoy the dancing?”
“Very much,” she said, bowing her head. She walked in dainty, soft steps, her suit barely moving, giving the impression of her gliding over to us. Coupled with her pretty, doll-like face, it gave her an otherworldly appearance. “It was beautiful. Did you like it, my lord?” Her words were directed at him but her gaze was on me.
He nodded enthusiastically. “Remarkable!” he repeated. “My dear, won’t you come and meet my correspondent, Credola Kalina?” The woman missed—or ignored—the low noise of protest from the chaperone, who had been herding the ladies toward the door. Ectar brought the young woman’s hand to his cheek affectionately, then held it out to me. “Credola Kalina, this is the Lady of Agarata, Lady Reuta. My youngest sister.”
The resemblance was there, now he said it, in the shape of her nose and her small, pointed chin. “It is a pleasure,” I said, offering my hand.
“It is my pleasure. You were so brave just now with Brother Lu, Credola Kalina,” she said, but before we could shake hands, the chaperone had stepped in, stony-faced and rigid-spined.
“Excuse me, my lord, but the ladies are required to return to their accommodations. My lady, if you will please?” His manner made it clear it was not a request. Brother Lu steered Reuta back toward the others, taking obvious care to avoid the Perest-Avani Priestess and her attendants as they left the area. Ectar opened his mouth as if he might protest, but then shrugged and turned back to us, his eyes bright with some impending suggestion.
“I must beg forgiveness and take my leave as well,” I said, before he could issue any further invitations. “Thank you for the company, Lord Ectar, Minister Kokush. It was an honor to be invited here. I promised to collect my niece, and I fear I may already be late.” Jov was collecting Dee, but I needed to rest, s
oon, and to strategize. And now I wanted to do more reading about the Church in Talafar. Brother Lu’s barely concealed hostility, even in the face of me literally having saved his life, was intriguing, and the Church’s feelings on violence and conquest would be very interesting to know.
“Thank you, Credola,” the Minister said. I noted with satisfaction the thaw in his manner. Perhaps he would not avoid our next meeting. “Brother Lu is lucky we ran into you this morning, or this might have turned into quite the tragedy.”
“Are you sure you must go?” Ectar asked plaintively. For all his sophistication and occasional charm, he was still a wealthy and powerful man, accustomed to getting what he wanted.
“Very sure. But thank you.”
Ectar, disappointed at my insistence, touched the back of my hand to his face. “We are all lucky, as the Minister says. We shall meet again soon, Credola.”
We started toward the exit, following the disappearing party of noblewomen, before I remembered the poppet I’d seen under the bench. “One moment, Lord Ectar,” I apologized, and ducked down to where I’d seen the doll. I tugged it out. “Are there any children with the ladies? I think someone dropped a toy.” Though even as I said it, I realized it was unlikely to be the toy of a noble child. It was an ugly little thing, clumsily made, with one deformed leg and grubby string wound round to form the neck. Its dress was a black scrap of fabric. Holding it now, I found I didn’t like it at all; it reminded me of the big dummies we had used as fake sentries in the siege, or of the targets we had practiced archery on. More reminiscent of weapons and war than a play.
Ectar shrugged. “I don’t think so,” he said carelessly, though I doubted he’d have paid enough attention to the dozens of servants in their party to be able to tell. Some poor toddler was likely already missing their favorite toy, hideous or not.
An elderly servant was carrying a pile of the ladies’ shawls, hats, and other belongings toward the exit. “Excuse me,” I said. She did not look up, but bowed deeply in my direction.
