Fray

by Rowenna Miller

  “I was going to explore the gardens a bit if you wanted to dress and join me,” Theodor said. I agreed and dressed quickly, tying a large silk-covered hat I had made for the trip over my simply dressed hair before Theodor returned. Onyx lounged on the balcony, uninterested.

  The gardens were expansive, and as I had ascertained already, less formal than the Galatine style. Theodor was quickly absorbed mentally cataloging all the various types of roses and even decorative grasses. “This,” he said, reverently running a finger up the length of a blue-tinged grass stalk, “was nearly extinct in West Serafe after the cycle of seven-year droughts. Scholars at the university found preserved seeds and reintroduced it. And—oh, you have to see this,” he said, rounding a bend. A stately tree presided over a courtyard, the leaves edged an unusual shade of deep pink. “It’s a Queen’s Beech.”

  “It’s lovely,” I said, but I was more impressed with the intricate design of the garden. Each time I thought I was merely looking at a half-overgrown hedge or a copse of trees, I realized that there was an archway in the hedge to a private room made of greenery or a trellis festooned with flowering vines among the trees.

  “They’re exceptionally rare, very hard to grow,” Theodor said. “I’ve always wanted to cultivate one in the greenhouse—they don’t get much bigger than this—but I’ve been convinced I would just kill it.”

  “Maybe the gardeners here would share their secrets,” I said. “Speaking of secrets.” I smiled and pulled him after me through a narrow tunnel built from a climbing rose–covered trellis through a hedge and into one of the tiny rooms I had spotted. “Isn’t this incredible?” Thick foliage surrounded a low-lying bench, and a thin brook snaked through the space, bordered by pavers.

  Theodor bent next to the deep green leaves of a plant. “Do you know—all of the plants in here are night flowering. And this—this is Firewort. It attracts fireflies. Genius.”

  “We’ll have to come back here at night,” I said. “Would that be proper?”

  “Hang proper—I have to see this under moonlight.” He moved closer to me. “Our secret garden, you think?”

  I nodded, turning my face toward his so he could kiss me. He gripped me around the waist, and I could sense he wanted more than the kiss. So did I.

  Voices outside shook us from our focus on one another and back to the very public space our privacy bordered. “It is overly bold of the Kvys, I am confident the patricians will not attempt to meddle openly in the Galatine affair.”

  “That would prove problematic, though hardly something we couldn’t manage.”

  Delegates, I surmised, glancing at Theodor, who listened with a raised eyebrow. “We have no proof that the patricians were involved at all—and mercenaries are legal in Kvyset.” I listened more carefully and recognized the voice—Admiral Merhaven.

  “Attempting to force the Kvys to delegitimize mercenary work would derail the more important discussions about the Open Seas Arrangement and, of course, Galatine grain trades.” The other voice was Serafan, judging by the lightly lilting accent. “And the influence of some Kvys cavalry for hire—it will hardly affect our work.”

  Their work? He must, I guessed, mean the work of the summit itself. “It is true that the mercenaries have very little efficacy in full-scale war,” Merhaven said. “And the Kvys won’t formally martial their military for anything short of invasion.” The two laughed politely.

  “Those I represent remain invested in maintaining our good relationship,” the Serafan man said. The voices faded as the speakers moved farther down the path.

  “Remind me,” said Theodor, “to brief the rest of our delegation on discretion in public spaces.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure I like Merhaven taking private meetings. Though it’s not as though he said anything of import, or committed us to anything.”

  I pulled him back toward me and gently kissed his cheek. “Don’t we have some important dinner to dress for?”

  “Of course we do. You’re a natural at this princess consort thing. One of the requirements is reminding us about getting dressed, you know.”

  I playfully shoved him away, but I had a suspicion that dressing for dinner was bound to be the least challenging part of my role at the summit.

  25

  THE WELCOME DINNER WAS AN ELABORATE AFFAIR WITH SMALL plates of tiny delicacies, large, refreshing salads, and a finishing course of ices and complicated layered desserts made primarily from the whipped cream Galatines called snow. I was seated next to Theodor, but Annette and the Lord and Lady Merhaven were across the room. A series of speeches punctuated the meal, and I was pleased to discover that most of them were conducted in Galatine so I at least understood the language, if not some of the content.

  Annette caught my eye from across the room midspeech and shot me a sympathetic smile. At the break in speeches, a flagon of wine was passed down the table. I smiled at the East Serafan woman next to me as I passed her the flagon; she seemed to look straight through me and half wrenched the wine from my hands. I turned away, sipping from my glass. The wine was cold and shockingly sweet.

  Theodor hadn’t noticed the reaction of the woman beside me, or the pair of West Serafans across the table from us who pointedly ignored me after whispering something that sounded suspiciously like my name and Pellia. I tried to pretend I hadn’t heard.

  “I suppose every delegation has to have a speaker, or someone would be offended?” I asked Theodor.

  Theodor laughed. “You’ve caught on.”

  “Why are the formal speeches from other nations in Galatine?”

  “Most of the delegates speak Galatine—it’s a simple numbers game. We’re right in the middle, of course, and historically, initiated trade earlier than Kvyset or Serafe.”

  “And no one is offended?” I smiled.

  “If they are, they allow the expediency of not translating everything into four languages and a couple dozen dialects to prevail over pride. Most people here speak multiple languages, at any rate.”

  My ignorance, knowing common Galatine and nothing more, served as a reminder of how wide a rift existed between me and the world Theodor occupied. My competency in the fields of languages, political systems, and economics was, despite Theodor’s inclusive tutelage, woefully underdeveloped for the prospective princess consort of Galitha. My inadequacy for this role bit me like a persistent horsefly.

  As the speeches droned on, I scanned the room, observing the one thing I did understand completely—clothing. I knew the traditional clothing of East and West Serafe from the Silk Fair, but ordinary clothing had been modified into more formal gowns here. None of the East Serafans wore kaffa, but instead carefully pieced, tailored gowns that showed off their impressive embroidered and brocaded silks. The Kvys were, unsurprisingly, in simple clothing similar to Galatine style, the drab colors they favored punctuating the bright silks and cottons in the room. I knew better than to discount the value of those clothes, however—the deep blacks, featherweight wools, and heavy silk satins were expensive. The Kvys weren’t ornate, but they still displayed their wealth. My favorites were the clothing worn by the Equatorial women, silk open robes over lightweight cotton undergowns, trained and delicately gathered to fullness in the back.

  I had a thousand ideas beginning to baste together in my mind, and I could imagine long hours over coffee with Alice, sketching ideas. That perhaps eccentric but unobtrusive amusement would be left to me, wouldn’t it? I sighed—the duties of the wife to the Prince of Westland might not allow such liberties of time or diversion, especially if the country was in chaos wrestling with reform.

  We were invited to the loggia for refreshment after the meal and the series of speeches finally ended. Galatines considered outdoor spaces too informal for most events with the gravitas of a summit dinner, but the Serafans embraced the natural elegance of their gardens.

  Theodor was quickly swept into conversation with a pair of Kvys patricians, and I found myself wandering to the edge of the loggia w
ith my chilled wine, marveling at the sunset painting the sky over the gardens. The thick golden light and shadows transformed the pathways, turning them velvety and soft.

  “My pardon, but you are Sophie Balstrade, yes?”

  I turned, met by an Equatorial man with a regal bearing and an impish smile. “Yes?”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance. You were a friend of my sister Nia.”

  “Oh,” I said, my stomach suddenly hollow. Nia—who no one knew had prevented the king’s assassination with her translations, who had died because of her entanglement with me. “Yes, Nia was my friend” was all I could say. “And you’re her brother?”

  “Half brother, actually,” he said, breaking again into an honest grin. “I’m Jae Mbati-Horai; Nia is Mbtai-Joro.” I noticed that he used the present tense—was it a slip, or did the Equatorials speak of the departed as though they were alive frequently? “We have the same mother.”

  “Oh,” I said, unsure how to respond. “I—I didn’t know much about her family.”

  Jae laughed at my discomfort. “It’s common on our island—what is the technical term in Galatine? Polyandry. Many women have more than one husband.” He shrugged. “Good for them, no?”

  I flushed pink. “You grew up with Nia, then?”

  “Of a sort, she lived in the main house. Her father, Magistrate Joro, he was the first husband. We lived in a villa on the plantation. But we played together as children, were good friends in adolescence. Her sister—Dira—she’s less fun.”

  Dira—the woman who had been so cold earlier. Perhaps she blamed me—or simply blamed Galitha—for her sister’s death. I silently forgave her chilly reception. “She was not terribly pleased to meet me.”

  “She’s not pleased to meet anyone.” He laughed. “But she doesn’t like Galatines. She says you’re all b’taki.” He laughed—his easy manner was infectious, and I leaned in. “It’s a treat we make for children, fried dough that puffs up all pretty and golden outside, but—poof!—hollow inside.”

  “That’s not very flattering.” I laughed.

  “Certainly not,” he agreed. “She thinks Galatines are all vanity and appearances.”

  I considered the expensive silks, ornate jewelry, and even perfume that covered most of our delegation. “She may not be completely wrong,” I acknowledged.

  “No, she’s a little fool. She thinks if it doesn’t come from Tharia—that’s our island—that it’s no good. She won’t even try hazelnuts. Because they’re not native to Tharia. Can you imagine? Not trying hazelnuts? Pecans, either.” He shook his head in mock frustration. “And I have to share an adjoining door with her for the duration of our visit here. Interminable.”

  It was difficult to imagine Nia with a closed-minded sister. Nia’s core was that of a scholar, intrepid in her curiosity.

  “Nia was remarkable—her knowledge of languages,” I said.

  “Yes, she was always the brains of the family. But we were all tutored in language, to some degree, and even ancient derivatives. She and I continued in Pellian longer than the others, but she surpassed me long ago.”

  “You can read ancient Pellian?” I asked, rushed.

  “A bit. There are scholars at the university here who surely know more than I.” He leaned toward me, conspiratorial. “I had hoped to get down to the university to inquire about doing a bit of study.”

  “I had as well!” I said, a bit too familiar in my excitement to find someone else interested in what the famed Serafan university might offer.

  Lady Merhaven managed to intervene at that precise moment. “I needn’t remind you, dear, that wandering the streets alone is hardly proper for ladies in the prince’s retinue.” She laughed and patted my arm with her bony hand, but it was clear that it was hardly a joke.

  Annette must have seen the involuntary tension bind my shoulders into a knot, because she swiftly joined us. Jae bowed to her, and she responded by offering her hand, a delicate gesture I had never managed without feeling an utter idiot. “Pleased to make the acquaintance of the famed Princess Annette,” he said as he raised her pale fingers to his lips.

  “Lady Annette only now,” she reminded him.

  “I am very sorry, my lady, for your unimaginable loss this winter,” he said, bowing his head.

  “My thanks,” Annette replied. She retracted her hand. “Lady Merhaven, the admiral was in search of you.”

  She smiled broadly. “He always does like to stick to one another at events like these—ah, when we were young and danced all night at state balls! Delightful.” I nearly choked, imagining the dry powdered Lady Merhaven as a young woman, or actually enjoying anything. Annette’s eyes narrowed, though she held her composure. “Sophie is so lucky to be here with her prince, is she not?” Lady Merhaven added.

  Annette exhaled as gently as she could. “Of course she is.”

  “Though of course, it’s too bad that he hasn’t time to serve as an escort for you,” Jae chimed in. “If it would serve, I would be pleased to accompany you to the university. Or anywhere else you would require an attendant.”

  “That would be lovely,” I answered quickly, before Lady Merhaven could interject. Annette suppressed a smile at my outmaneuvering of the overbearing older lady, and nodded gently, approving of this arrangement. I had a chance to see if the massive collection of the university had something to help me regain control over my casting, and I didn’t intend to waste it on Lady Merhaven’s overly proper sensibilities.

  “Very well! Day after tomorrow, shall we?” We agreed, and soon Theodor found me to make our exit.

  As I entered my chamber, the cat skittered out of the corner, narrowly missing a chair leg as he slid on the marble.

  “Easy,” I said, laughing. I assumed it was a normal feline antic—that he’d been chasing a shadow or a bit of thread across the floor. But as I glanced again, I saw that the fur along his back was bristled and that his tail had doubled in size.

  I paused, taking a careful step backward. What could have frightened the cat, making him hide under the settee? The balcony door was slightly ajar, but I had left it that way before the dinner, hoping to invite some of the cooler evening air into the room. The sheer white curtains swirled slightly over the marble floor; nothing else in the room moved.

  Including Onyx, who sat stoically on the settee, his yellow eyes wide and his ears at full attention.

  I stepped hesitantly into the room, forcing myself to cross the floor to the balcony door and look outside. Nothing there except the night-blooming white flowers that lined the terrace. I closed the door, feeling slightly more secure. I sat at my dressing table, pulling my slippers off my feet with my toes while I wormed hairpins from my hair. I tossed one on the table and nearly fell off the chair in shock as the cat pounced on my bare feet. I gently scooped him up and deposited him outside.

  But as I brushed my hair, I swore I heard footfalls below and voices lingering near my balcony. Though I tried to imagine that the noise was merely Onyx hunting the night-flying fruit bats or teal lizards on the balcony, I couldn’t shake the feeling I was being watched. I didn’t fall asleep for a long time, and was absurdly thankful that Onyx watched the balcony like a guard all night.

  26

  MY TEACUP, BALANCED ON A SAUCER SO THIN I COULD SEE THE shadow of my finger through its pearlescent porcelain, rattled almost imperceptibly. If someone had taken Viola’s salon, its character as vibrant and warm as a summer morning, and sent a Kvys blizzard wind through it, it might have provided the only parallel I could imagine to the Summit Ladies’ Tea. While the delegates opened their first session of negotiations on the Open Seas Arrangement, the ladies in the delegations’ retinues gathered for one of the few scheduled events that was, in no uncertain terms, mandatory for all of us. I almost wished that I, like Annette, had developed a migraine from the thick humidity and taken to my bed. Sadly, I was as hale as a Pellian ox even in the heat.

  “I understand, Ainira Duana, that the tea harvest in East S
erafe is under siege by poor weather this year,” Lady Merhaven said to the East Serafan woman seated near us.

  She raised her cup to her lips, as though sipping the East Serafan tea we were all drinking would bolster her point. “The weather has been wet and less conducive to a highly flavored tea in our southernmost plantations,” she said, “but we do not anticipate that this affects the market overmuch. Our tea is aged over a year, and we release only certain percentages of each year at a time.”

  “A wise strategy for a fine tea and to guard against fluctuations,” Dira Mbtai-Joro chimed in from across the settee.

  I smiled in agreement, but she simply stared at me and turned to the Ainira. “We would of course be most disappointed in any shortage of your best teas. Then again, we anticipate disruptions of trade of all kinds, given the current… climate.”

  Was the weather poor enough to affect agriculture in so many nations, I wondered? But no—Lady Merhaven shifted uncomfortably next to me, assuring me that the climate Dira alluded to was political, not meteorological.

  “I certainly hope things aren’t so bad as all that,” Duana replied, but Siovan, lingering behind us, joined our conversation. As hostess of the summit, she pulled attention with her, dragging a dozen sets of ears into our conversation.

  “If the unrest spurs a shortfall or even disruption of the labor working on the agriculture of the noble landholders, we can certainly expect shortages of grains and fruits this year, and of wines and ciders in the coming years,” Siovan said, and I finally understood, my ears reddening as I struggled to keep my teacup from shaking—they were worried about Galitha.

  Lady Merhaven shot me a look, her meaning clear—I shouldn’t say anything. I didn’t need the warning.

  “Grain!” Dira shook her head. “Meaning no offense to the Serafans, we could live without tea but not without grain.”