by K. C. Julius
Maura trailed after her back through the courtyard, under an archway hung with vines, and into a room bare of any furnishing save a worn carpet and a scattering of threadbare cushions. The woman gestured for Maura to sit, then left her alone to watch the morning creep into the room. The sound of a pump being primed and the soft clatter of dishes preceded the woman’s return. By then it was light enough for Maura to make out her hostess’s lined face. It was marked with sorrow, but a warm glow shone in her brown eyes.
The woman handed Maura a steaming cup, from which arose a minty aroma. “Sekuridehem,” Maura murmured.
The older woman nodded, as if Maura’s thanks confirmed something for her. “Ken sur Mandana?”
“I don’t understand,” Maura said, hoping her Gralian would suffice.
To her relief, the woman repeated her question in the same tongue. “You knew Mandana?”
Maura blinked. Mandana had been Rust’s bindling centuries ago. Had the dead woman also borne this name? “I… I did not.”
The woman peered at her more closely, then set down her cup. “From where do you come, child? By your speech, I would guess it is the far Isle.”
Maura reminded herself she should be on her guard. “Are you… are you one of Mandana’s family?”
Instead of answering her question, the woman posed one of her own. “How did you come all this way, and what has brought you to Mandana’s house?”
Maura wondered how to respond. Fleeing murderous dragons wasn’t an option. Casting around in her mind, she recalled the sense of tranquility she’d felt upon first entering this house.
“I came to… to find peace.”
And this was the truth. More than anything, Maura needed time to determine her obligations to herself and Ilyria before she could return to Drinnglennin and honor her oath to serve Roth.
“I… I was told by… a friend that I might stay here,” she added. “But I shouldn’t wish to disturb you in your grief.”
“And who is this friend?”
“Her name is Ilyria.”
The woman brightened, and she placed her hand over her heart, then offered her palm for Maura to touch. “This house has always been a refuge for those such as you, ever since the first Mandana lived here. In earlier days, one who was so chosen by a dragon was held in the highest esteem. Alas, not so in these unenlightened times.” The woman shook her head. “But the daughters of Mandana’s line never gave in to the superstitions and fear that drove the Purge in Olquaria. They named their own daughters Mandana down through the generations in her memory. Sadly, the last Mandana—my dearest friend—died childless.”
Maura felt a jolt of dread. “So you’re… not of Mandana’s family?”
The woman smiled. “We were the best of friends—indeed as close as sisters, Mandana and I—but no, we were not related by blood.” She touched her hand to her heart again. “I am called Alima Nina. But you have no need to fear I will reveal your presence here. “What is your name, child?”
“My name is M—Melisa.” Maura repeated Alima Nina’s gesture, touching her hand to her heart.
“And how long do you plan to stay in Tell-Uyuk, Melisa?”
“I… at least a few months.”
Alima Nina sat back. “I see. Well, I’m sure Mandana would have opened her home to you, were she still with us. Perhaps we can find something worthwhile to occupy your time while you are here.” She scanned Maura’s face. “At the moment, I’d say a long bath and a sound sleep are in order. Now finish your chay and eat, my dear. We can speak more of this tomorrow.”
* * *
In fact, they spoke of many things the next day, and those to follow. Alima Nina came by each evening with copious amounts of food and clever conversation, after she finished her duties at the Imperial Palace. When Maura asked what she did there, her new friend straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.
“I have the honor of overseeing the education of the women of Their Imperial Majesties’ household.”
Maura was impressed by the catalogue of lessons for which Alima Nina was responsible, which included Gralian. Mandana had amassed a small library of books in this tongue, and in addition to providing a welcome respite from the solitude of her days, the reading steadily improved Maura’s ability to communicate with the little woman.
Then one night, Alima bustled through the door, her eyes bright with excitement. “I’ve found a position for you!”
Maura blinked. “A position?”
Alima Nina set down her parcels and began laying out their evening meal. “I didn’t want to alarm you before, but you can’t stay on here much longer. Already, I’ve noticed curtains twitching across the way when I come to the gate. If someone were to discover that a foreign young woman is living here alone… why, it wouldn’t even be allowed in Kuca Zarich, where the janabi who find favor with the emperor are housed.”
She waved Maura to the cushions. “I’ve secured you a place in the seraglio of the Imperial Palace.” Seeing Maura’s expression, Alima Nina gave a little laugh. “Do not fear, child. I don’t intend to force you into the Basileus’s bed. I mean in the quarters of the women who serve the Basilea, his wife. Just today, I learned that the empress’s niece is seeking a tutor to teach her Drinn. And I proposed you for the job!”
As much as Maura longed for more freedom, she wasn’t at all sure of this idea. “I’m grateful for your efforts, Alima, truly I am. But Ilyria made me promise to stay hidden. How could I possibly do that at the Imperial Court?”
Alima Nina clucked her tongue dismissively. “Sometimes the best place to hide is in plain sight. And if it will make you feel more comfortable, you can wear a veil. Many of the ladies do.” She poured Maura a cup of chay and handed it to her. “Besides, an Olquarian princess is a powerful friend to make.”
Maura couldn’t argue with that.
* * *
“I’m delighted to make your acquaintance!” The exquisite young woman who held Maura’s hands fast addressed her in perfectly accented Gralian.
In the weeks since she’d arrived in Tell-Uyuk, Maura had been speaking in this tongue almost exclusively. At this rate, her Gralian would soon be fluent, when what she really needed was to learn some Olquarish.
This was the first time Alima Nina had taken Maura to the palace, where it was clear the learned woman had high standing in the court, having tutored the Empress Shareen herself in Olquarish years ago when she came from Far Taraia to become the Basileus’s wife. Yasiha, who still clasped Maura’s hands, was the empress’s niece. And Yasiha wanted to learn Drinn.
Maura found it ironically amusing, for until recently, she too had been a royal niece—and now she would be serving another in the unlikely capacity of a language instructor.
Mindful of Ilyria’s warning about the danger of being recognized, Maura had taken the alima’s suggested precaution of donning the veil, a common accessory for women here. Although the possibility of encountering anyone who knew her here was farfetched, her veil would further minimize the risk. She’d also given much thought to what she would reveal about herself to Yasiha, abiding by Master Morgan’s counsel to stick as close to the truth as possible. Since she couldn’t mention Ilyria, and had no intention of speaking of her kinship with the late High King of Drinnglennin or her å Livåri mother, this ruled out much of her past. Explaining how she’d arrived in Olquaria was also problematic, since a ship’s passenger list could easily be checked, and she couldn’t claim to have traveled overland all the way from her homeland alone.
In the end, she decided to say she’d been left behind by a troupe of musicians, since these folk were known to travel the world. But as it turned out, Yasiha expressed little interest in what had brought her to Tell-Uyuk. The young noblewoman was so eager to learn Drinn, she accepted Alima Nina’s introduction without question.
Yasiha’s company was refreshing an
d undemanding. Being only a few years older than Maura, the Olquarian princess insisted they address one another by their given names, which put them on a friendly footing right from the start. And Maura’s duties as her instructor were a welcome distraction from her worries about Ilyria, her friends, and the uncertainty of her own future. She discovered she enjoyed teaching, and modeled Yasiha’s lessons on her old Gralian tutor’s approach.
Yasiha seemed to take pleasure in instructing Maura in Olquarish as well. It was a slightly sibilant tongue, the words like silk drawn over stone. And once they’d both gained sufficient vocabulary, they began stringing together simple sentences in each other’s language. Maura’s task was made easier by the fact that there were no articles or complex genders to master in Olquarish. Drinn was by far the more difficult language, but Yasiha was a diligent student and made steady progress.
After a week in each other’s daily company, Yasiha declared Maura her chaperone as well, dismissing the old woman currently serving in this capacity. As far as Maura had observed, the woman had spent most of her time gently snoring in a corner. In this new role, Maura was now expected to accompany Yasiha throughout the day, following the schedule laid out for the ladies of Empress Shareen’s official household. These women all spoke fluent Gralian, since here, as on most of the continent, it was the official language of diplomacy.
Maura continued to see Alima Nina nearly every day as well, for the older woman taught the ladies of the Basilea’s house, educating them in mathematics, geography, history, Gralian, and the classics. Another tutor, Alima Nur, lectured on refinement, with exacting attention paid to the minutest details of how a lady comported herself in all social situations. Alima Sri oversaw musical instruction and dance, the latter of which Maura particularly enjoyed, for her training-at-arms had ceased in Drinnkastel and she missed the satisfying feeling of well-worked muscles. She soon mastered the sinuous hand movements and hip-swaying of the kaš òyun and the high-kicking, fast-stepping malyür vey. She also threw herself into learning the art of calligraphy, and was soon able to unlock the meaning of the swirling Olquarish script.
All this instruction took place in various chambers that opened onto the central pavilion of the seraglio, which adjoined meandering pools and extensive gardens that were exclusively for the women’s enjoyment. The continuous sound of fountains played in the deep, arched alcoves, keeping the halls where they gathered to read or converse cool even in the late afternoon. Long balconies offered views of the city, although it seemed few of the women ever ventured out into its teeming streets.
Happily, Yasiha was an exception, and she and Maura often escaped the genteel claustrophobia of the seraglio. At first they went only to the bazaar to inspect material for gowns or to visit Yasiha’s favorite jeweler. But when Maura expressed a desire to see more of the capital, Yasiha agreed. Maura was careful to dress inconspicuously—in addition to the concealing veil, she wore her hair in a braid, covered it with a light scarf, and garbed herself in the simple robes of a local. With her naturally golden complexion, she thought she passed well as a native.
She delighted in the fabled city’s splendid architecture and art. And although Yasiha didn’t seem very interested in the common people, Maura found it fascinating to observe how they conducted the business of their daily lives.
Spending as much time as she did in the princess’s company, it wasn’t long before Maura discovered the true impetus behind Yasiha’s interest in learning Drinn.
“He’s a herald with the Gralian delegation, and commander of the military unit sent to train Olquarian’s companions in the newest arms,” Yasiha confessed, her dark eyes alight. “I’ve come to be quite… fond of him, as he’s been my dinner partner for the past few weeks. If you’d like, I can arrange for you to meet him. I’m sure you must miss speaking with your own countrymen.”
“I would prefer that you do not make an introduction,” Maura said stiffly. She hoped her face betrayed none of the apprehension this suggestion triggered.
If the princess was surprised at Maura’s response, she hid it well. “As you wish. In any case,” she added teasingly, “I wouldn’t want you as my rival, with those smoldering violet eyes.” She was clearly smitten with this Drinnglennian, whom she called sarbon, which in Olquarish meant “light of my heart.”
“You must teach me how courtships are conducted in Drinnglennin, Melisa. I want to know everything about how a lady should properly respond if she is favorable to a gentleman’s overtures.” The princess seemed to believe that she must master all means to capture her sarbon’s affections, but Maura thought it unlikely that the fellow would require courting. Even without the advantage of her royal bloodline, Yasiha’s beauty would surely prove irresistible. Her bronzed skin was flawless, and her sleek black hair fell like watered silk to her slender waist. She was intelligent and funny, too, although she confessed to often being tongue-tied in the man’s company.
“He’s so worldly and gallant. So manly too, yet with the soul of a romantic!” Yasiha seized Maura’s hands. “Oh! I’ve just had an idea! Could you teach me a poem in Drinn so that I may surprise him? Do say you will!”
Maura smiled, gently untangling her fingers. “You’ve no need to plead, my lady. Let me give it some thought, and we can begin tomorrow.”
But although Yasiha got the poem down perfectly, she reported back on its reception with tears standing in her eyes. “He hated it! I could tell before I’d finished reciting the first line. He listened politely enough, but the furrow between his brows just got deeper and deeper the more I went on. I stopped before I reached the closing couplet, pretending I’d forgotten. He didn’t say anything for the longest time.” Yasiha brushed a tear from her cheek. “And then it was only to compliment me on my pronunciation.”
“Perhaps he doesn’t like poetry in general,” Maura suggested, feeling a nascent dislike for the man’s prosaic taste.
“Oh, but he does! The first night we met he quoted Al-Mubtanni, Olquaria’s most beloved poet of passion.”
“Well then, maybe he just prefers your poets to ours.”
Maura had to resist the urge to scowl. The poem she’d taught Yasiha—“Dreams of Desire” by Guiliard de Courty—was her own personal favorite. It was the first she’d ever memorized, secretly in the lapin hutch, so that Dal wouldn’t accuse her of harboring an affection for one of the village boys.
She managed to distract the heartbroken princess by relating a scandalous conversation she’d overheard between Khadin Esfer and Khadin Mahin, two of the Basileus’s most favored “companions,” neither of whom suspected the level of Olquarish Maura had achieved. But lying in her small bedchamber later that night, she decided Yasiha’s sarbon had to be a soulless lout if such a beautiful poem had failed to move him. She hugged her pillow close and let de Courty’s tender words run like a melody through her head.
Just as the waking earth
for new adornment thrills
shrugging off her shroud of snow
in the rushing spring rills,
as birds return to bush and to hollow,
the rose-breasted robin, the swooping swallow
to herald this expectant season,
so doth my blood race
with love’s blissful unreason
when my beloved’s face I view.
Then all of heaven is remade,
mine eyes to see anew.
Chapter 19
Morgan
“We’re being followed,” Morgan said, then silently cursed their luck. They were only two days’ ride from Cardenstowe, and to be set upon by the Nelvor’s men now would be a cruel twist of fate.
Whit glanced back at Fynn and Grinner, who were riding behind them. “I just came to the same conclusion. Whoever they are, they’re coming on hard. You three should make a run for it, master. I’ll stay to deal with this.”
“We’re both
wanted men, Whit,” Morgan reminded him, “and it’s more than a few riders.”
Whit tipped his rod. “I have the advantage of my magic.”
Morgan couldn’t argue with that, and the paramount goal was to get Fynn safely behind Cardenstowe Castle’s formidable walls as swiftly as possible. He gathered his reins, but Fynn, who had overheard them, protested.
“We’ll stay and face them together.”
The company of horsemen looming into view on the road behind them decided the matter. It was too late to flee, and Morgan felt a surge of relief when he saw their banner. These were Lord Lowan’s men. But why had they come?
As the lord and his men pulled up alongside them, Lowan wasted no time in explaining. “We’ve been betrayed, master! By my own squire, Graham DuBleres, son of the Lord of Tyrrencaster.” The Glornadoorian was breathing as hard as his lathered horse. “The little bastard disappeared two days ago, and a young chambermaid confessed he had a penchant for listening through keyholes. I fear he’s ridden for Drinnkastel to proclaim me a traitor to the Nelvor crown—which at this point, I suppose I am. I sent men after him, but unless he’s dawdled, it’s unlikely they’ll catch up. And now that Roth’s got his royal guardsmen roving over every hill and dale of the realm, the young Konigur’s existence may become public knowledge sooner than we’d like.”
Morgan’s heart sank. He wondered how much of what he’d shared during their stay with Lowan had been overheard. “You should return home at once, my lord,” he urged, “and see that your people are secure. The Nelvor will not let your shift in loyalties go unpunished.”
“Glenness is sealed up tighter than a hangman’s knot.” Lowan looked to Fynn. “At time such as this, my place is by my rightful king. I’m to blame if the Nelvor’s men find you before you reach Cardenstowe.”
