“Workers’ riots shouldn’t have been permitted to cause such a disturbance to begin with,” Siovan said, then stopped herself. As hostess, she was probably required to remain as neutral and accommodating as possible.
Too late—another West Serafan woman, in blinding blue silk shot through with gold, agreed loudly. “No amount of protest ought to be worth interrupting vital trade.”
A quiet snort drew everyone’s attention to a slight Kvys woman, her hair completely covered by her white veil. “The rights of working people are worth a brief inconvenience to your wine cellar,” she said, her piercing blue eyes pinning the Serafan woman. “This is not a mere question of a few ill-tempered men complaining, but of vital liberty and the right to govern.”
“The right to govern!” Duana replied. “That right is well established in each of our nations, is it not?”
“Yet in each nation it is different,” the Kvys woman replied. Her tone was even, deliberate, and disarmingly calm. “Any one of us could be mistaken in our self-granted rights and be in violation of those rights that ought to be held universal.”
I felt, briefly, that I was in the middle of one of Kristos’s books, one of the better ones that melded philosophy and governance and economics into a cogent theory.
“Universal rights—as the Kvys enjoy under the thumb of the Church?” Duana asked, raising a calculating eyebrow.
If she expected the Kvys woman to lash out, she was disappointed. “We articulate our rights as being borne out of the Creator’s will,” she replied. “That gives the Church the responsibility to uphold them.”
“At any rate,” Duana said, “East Serafe certainly cannot afford—for the sake of our people—to support any regime that does not hold up its trade responsibilities. We import most of our grain from Galitha, and I know that West Serafe does as well.”
“There is no reason,” Lady Merhaven said in a strained voice, “to anticipate any reductions in grain output from any estate I am acquainted with.”
“You’re acquainted with many?” Dira asked, the question barbed to wound.
“Yes, of course I am,” Lady Merhaven replied, a bit too hurried.
“You could, of course,” the Kvys woman replied, “import more barley from Fen.”
“You know as well as I that the costs are greater for that,” Ainira Duana replied crisply.
“Ah, yes. I know as well that the Ainirs control the imports and gain the profits from those imports in both East and West Serafe,” the Kvys woman replied. The air felt thin in the room. I couldn’t fathom the combination of polite tone and cutting commentary that the Kvys woman was managing to maintain. I thought, for a moment, that this might be normal for the Kvys—that they were a blunt, plain-speaking people—but the shock and even outrage on some of the faces surrounding me told me that she was pushing boundaries even if this were true.
Dira set her teacup down, elegant hands drawing no sound from porcelain that I rattled merely holding it. “Lady Merhaven, it seems that one of the Galatines is not here.”
“Annette is not well this afternoon,” Lady Merhaven replied.
“Too bad. I had hoped we might have some discussion that regards her.” Dira leaned to pick up her teacup, then stopped, turning back to Lady Merhaven. “Unless, of course, you are able to speak to her prospects yourself?”
My stomach clenched, sour with too much tea. Prospects. Viola’s charge came rushing back to me, that I should help Annette in whatever way I could, but she wasn’t here to guide me, and I had no idea how to steer a conversation between powerful women away from a topic they were both determined to discuss.
Lady Merhaven smiled with little emotion. “I would be pleased to have a preliminary discussion,” she said, smooth as a polished stone. Nearly rehearsed. Of course—she knew before setting sail that this would be part of her duties here.
“The Allied Equatorial States are eager to affirm our good relationship with Galitha,” Dira said. Somehow diplomatic jargon sounded natural, comfortable as it rolled off her tongue. “Especially given recent events. We are now, and have always remained, neutral in the affairs of other nations.” She inclined her head, pointed, toward where the Kvys woman and Siovan compared the embroidery on their respective pocketbooks, having retreated to safe conversation about needlework.
“And for that, Galitha has always respected the Allied States.”
“In the interest of continuing our mutual respect, there are several young men from prominent houses who have expressed some interest.”
“They would, of course, need to be from quite prominent houses,” Lady Merhaven said, a subtle reminder folded into an agreement. Annette had been a princess and was still a cousin of the royal family, after all. I watched in horror as each woman silently assessed Annette’s value like a pair of fishwives sizing up one another’s mackerel.
“Of course. I imagine that any of our high-ranking families would be delighted. And the Lady Annette in turn,” Dira said. “Even our lesser houses are of greater prominence than any prospect from Pellia or Fen,” she said with a rehearsed laugh. I stared at my hands—was there an insult layered into her assessment, suggesting Theodor was marrying far under his station not only to a commoner but to an insignificant foreigner, as well?
She didn’t elaborate, and I bit back an impulse to argue that I was not from Pellia, that I was as steeped in Galitha and as invested in her future as any noblewoman.
Siovan interrupted before the conversation could continue. “It seems that our menagerie keeper has arrived a bit early to begin the tour of our collection,” she said. “We have both Serafan native and imported animals on display, including a Serafan mountain wildcat and the only leviathan salamander in captivity.” She continued listing caged creatures like a menu as she escorted a large clutch of women toward the door.
I set my teacup down on the cart laid out for that purpose, spilling a bit of the deep brown liquid on the pure white cloth. The walnut-hued stain spread quickly. I wavered between wanting to daub it up and knowing that this was work for the servants. The Serafans probably wouldn’t care about the ruined tablecloth that would result if the stain wasn’t treated immediately, I chided myself. I wasn’t in my leaky row house, scrupulously caring for every dishrag and trencher, haunted by their replacement costs every time I chipped or stained something.
Leaving the room, I slipped out onto a quiet balcony overlooking the fountains at the front of the gardens. The spray caught the sunlight and bent it into rainbows.
“I am sorry.” I turned, startled, to find the Kvys woman already seated on the other end of the balcony. “I was careless with my consideration of the Galatine attendees today.”
“It’s no matter now,” I replied. “You’ve every right to speak, and they’ve moved on to wildcats and salamanders.”
“Wildcats and salamanders—now, that’s a fair metaphor for most of these delegates,” she said. “Half of them bare their teeth and snarl, the other half burrow into the mud until their quarry comes close enough. And there I am again, forgetting I am not in Kvyset.” She smiled. It transformed her, the cold blue eyes suddenly sparkling with suppressed laughter. “I am Sastra-set Alba, a daughter of patrician house Preata, vowed to the Order of the Golden Sphere.”
“I—I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” I replied.
She laughed in earnest now. “Silly titles, aren’t they? Your word for Sastra-set—well, it wouldn’t exist, you don’t have religious orders in Galitha. But I’m a high sister. That may clarify things slightly.”
“Like a priest?”
“Nothing like those perennial bores. I am the head of my house within my order—the closest parallel you have is akin to a noble with his estate. The religious orders are barred from formal discourse here, so I am part of my brother’s retinue.”
I nodded, then realized I hadn’t introduced myself. “I am here as part of Prince Theodor’s delegation, Sophie Ba—”
“I know, of course,” sh
e said, laugh lines crinkling at the corners of her eyes. “Everyone knows the Seamstress-Sorceress Sophie Balstrade.”
I bit my lip and edged toward the balcony’s white columns. I couldn’t forget the strict bans on charm casting in Kvyset, the deep distrust most Kvys had for the practice. But Alba didn’t pull away in revulsion or distrust. “You’ve pegged me fairly,” I replied.
“And revolutionary?” Alba’s smile was patient and kind, but I felt trapped by the question.
“Not terribly active,” I hedged.
“Your prince is a reformist, your brother a leader of a revolt—you seem steeped in revolution,” she said. Your prince—not meaning, merely, the prince of the country I resided in. “I should not speak so boldly, in a place so full of… wildcats and salamanders. But Kvyset—and my house—supports your reforms. We could not openly support treason and revolt, but your ideals are true.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond. This wasn’t an official meeting, not part of the summit, but Alba spoke as though her words had great importance.
She wormed a finger under her starched veil, relieving an itch. “To think, I’m missing the Kvys birch forests in summer to sweat in this hellhole,” she said. “Let them plan the next summit for Midwinter in Kvyset and see how the Serafans like it. And serving us hot tea—bah. I’ll order us some iced citronade, how does that sound?” she asked, and I agreed, wondering what kind of unlikely alliance I might be building.
27
MORNING ACCOSTED MY ROOM WITH BRIGHT SUNLIGHT, PULLING me awake earlier than I might have liked. Theodor had stayed up late, deep in discussion with two West Serafan Ainirs concerned with Galatine imports and Theodor’s position on the Open Seas debates. I had been asleep before he’d come back, and even though he slept a few yards and an interior wall away, I felt more lonesome for him than I did when we were half a city apart at home.
I began to dress, choosing another of my cotton ensembles, anticipating a walk to the university library with Jae later that morning. The heat rose quickly, and though my silks were more impressive, they were stifling under the broad midday sun.
“I don’t know how the Serafan women do it, wearing silk all summer here,” I mused.
Onyx was the only one listening. His white whiskers perked when he heard me speak, and he trotted from the open balcony to my feet.
I knelt and scratched between his nicked ears—he had prevailed over a few rows in his day. “Yes, you’re very sweet. Now don’t get fur on my clothes.”
The door between my room and Theodor’s opened a crack. “You mind company?”
“Of course not,” I called back. Theodor looked tired. “Long night of negotiations?”
“Hardly a problem,” he said. “It’s useful having the best supply of grain and a wine industry that fuels the intoxication of most of their parties.” He flopped on my dressing table’s petite bench. “No, it’s this.”
He tossed a letter onto the dressing table, and I picked it up. Viola’s handwriting. “Dated just after we left,” I noted. I scanned the letter, my throat tightening. Riots in Galitha City.
“Then it’s not only in the southern provinces, the port towns.” I recalled the stony faces and red caps, their resolve.
“The elections were canceled. The nobles are fleeing riots in the city in droves.” Theodor paused. “Viola says riots, but what if it’s not just rioting?”
The possibility hung between us, nearly tangible. Open revolution.
“It can’t come to war,” I said, not knowing how else to react. “It can’t.”
“We’re a week behind news. Anything could happen and we’d be quite literally the last to know.”
“You can set it right, as soon as you’re back. And the king! He must have the situation in hand, yes?”
“I dearly hope the king is upholding the law and not acquiescing to the demands of Pommerly and Crestmont and the like. I’m more than a little curious why he hasn’t contacted me about this at all.” Theodor drummed my dressing table with his forefinger, sounding too close to the tattoo of a military drum for my taste. “We could leave,” Theodor said. “I could empower Admiral Merhaven to act on my behalf, and I would trust him to do so. But that would signal serious trouble to the other nations here.”
“Should we?”
“Not yet,” Theodor said with a forced smile. “We will all go on pretending we have things well in hand, get the Open Seas Arrangement inked, and make haste out of here. For now, you’re still dressed like a better-appointed harlot.”
“Very funny,” I said, though the image of myself in the mirror—hair dressed, jewelry in place, but wearing only my stays and a petticoat—was quite similar to a cartoon whore.
“No, if I had my way, you’d be in a dressing gown and I in a banyan, eating dates on your balcony.” He wrapped an arm around my waist. “And we’d have long days with nothing to do but…”
“If only you were a rich noble who never had to work for a living.” I sighed in mock despair.
“If only. Listen, I’ve a long session on the Open Seas issue, but the afternoon is a forum on naval defense and fortification agreements that, frankly, it would be absurd of me to even attend with Admiral Merhaven here. We can’t do anything about the situation back home, and maybe we should go somewhere and clear our heads. What do you say we go to the coast for the afternoon? We could visit the famous bathing beaches of Serafe?”
“Bathing!” I said. “The one thing I didn’t bring any clothes for.”
Theodor laughed. “In Serafe, you don’t need any clothes for bathing.”
“No,” I said, shocked laughter bubbling from my mouth. “This is some elaborate prank—you convince me to take off all my clothes and then I jump into a lagoon full of people in bathing costume.”
“Now, would I do that?”
“Maybe,” I said with a slow smile.
“No, it’s true. But the bathing beaches are private—they build little changing houses out in the water, and you use those. No one can see anything without a spyglass.”
“Oh, lovely thought—some pervert with a glass, just waiting to catch a glimpse.”
“If you don’t want to see the shore…”
“I do!” I said. “And I especially want to get away with you for a while.”
“No bathing, then?” Theodor pulled me onto his knee. “I’m shocked.”
“I have to finish dressing,” I said, planting a kiss on his cheek. “And so do you.”
Viola’s letter still rested by my hair powder. There was no questioning the fact that reform hung by a tenuous thread, and that there was nothing either one of us could do about it.
Jae waited for me in the grand marble hall of the diplomatic compound’s main building, leaning against a fountain. “Looking a vision, Lady Sophie!” he said as he greeted me with a bow. “This weather agrees with you.”
“I don’t mind it, to a point,” I said. “They certainly know how to live alongside the heat, don’t they?” The buildings, the frequent baths, the light meals—all of Serafan culture had adapted itself to its thick weather.
“You ought to come to Tharia. Perhaps someday you will, if Lady Annette finds herself married to an Equatorial man.”
“Indeed,” I replied, the word stale in my mouth. We set out, Jae telling me about the wide loggias and sleeping porches of his home, the goldenfruit tree that grew right against a corner of the house and how he could wake up and pluck ripe fruit without leaving his bedchamber. Our walk wasn’t long. Isildi’s streets were laid out in neat grids and, though I couldn’t read the street names, were neatly and clearly marked. This city had been planned with deliberate pen strokes, not added onto piecemeal like the patchwork that was Galitha City.
“It isn’t every day one has access to that,” I said as we came to the cross street where our wide avenue ended and the university blossomed ahead of us. “I had thought our Public Archive impressive, but this is—something else entirely.”
“It is i
ndeed. Now, forgive my inquisitiveness,” Jae said as he escorted me across a street busy with pushcarts, wagons pulled by oxen and surreys pulled by horses, and occasionally, a palanquin borne on broad shoulders. “But I am unschooled in Galatine culture of… betrothal and marriage arrangements. You and the prince are—betrothed?”
I stepped from the stone-paved street onto the broad walkway that bordered the university. “Yes. We are formally betrothed.” I showed him the slim gold chain around my wrist. “He wears one like it.”
“Ah! The Kvys exchange rings at marriage, the Serafans give the parents gifts to formalize an engagement—this is lovely,” he said, examining the fine links. “My father hoped that accompanying the delegation would provide good education for me in foreign affairs and cultures, but I find I have more questions than anything else.”
“I know the feeling,” I replied as we stepped inside the atrium of the university library.
I had expected a building like the Public Archive in Galitha City, a large structure, to be sure, and filled with shelves of books and manuscripts. This was beyond my imagining. Four three-story structures were joined around a central courtyard by covered pathways.
“Intimidating, no?” Jae said with a laugh. “They’re quite well organized, not to worry.”
“I can believe that,” I said as I followed Jae through the main entrance. Unlike the cold gray stone of the archive at home, the Serafan university library was warm sandstone, with windows, domes, and skylights arranged to allow the most light into the space as possible. The main atrium bustled with students and professors in academic robes. The practice of wearing robes had been abandoned by Galatine academics ages ago, but it continued here. I was sure that the colors, styles, and regalia each person wore had particular significance, but all I could discern easily was that the students wore lighter shades of gray and tan while the professors wore deeper grays and browns.
“I’ll ask about where to find what you’re looking for,” Jae said. “And then I’m going to get someone to show me the map archive.”
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