The leaves rustled, and a squirrel bounded out of the thistles and up the nearest tree. My legs wobbled, and I fell to the ground in dizzy relief. I laughed until my tears came, and then I dried my eyes and walked back to the carriage. They had not left me behind.
The journey took five days. We slept in the carriage at night. The Altissi had given each of the Siren their own carriage, but we preferred to stay together. All of the men were banished to the other side of the campsite. Miette and I prepared all of the food that the Siren ate, and we took turns staying awake. We bolted one door shut and then stood guard at the other. For the first night I was nervous of the stern faces of the Altissi guards, but on the second night I relaxed. I watched the servants sleeping beside their fire pits. My fellow watchman’s face was as bored as mine. We spent four hours standing idiotically on opposite sides of the fire. He gave me a crooked smile when Miette took up guard, and I grinned back.
Master Gaskell slept on the Altissi side of the fire. By the third day he rode with them too, and we could hear him laughing from inside our cramped, stale carriage. Dahra’s mouth set in a thin line, but Clay opened the shutters and smiled at the stupid things he said. I think he made his voice loud on purpose so that she could listen in. She could not shout back at him, but when we made camp the two of them always seemed to sit close together.
I couldn’t stop myself from spying on them. They spoke in low voices so that nobody could overhear what they were saying. It looked shockingly intimate to me. I couldn’t help wondering if Master Gaskell was the man who had shared Clay’s cabin on the ship.
On the fourth night, he waited until we were getting ready to sleep and then walked over to the carriage. We stopped and stared at him.
“We’re going to reach Crozier tomorrow,” he said. We all looked at each other, and he smiled. “Are you nervous?”
“You came here to say something. Get on with it.” Miette growled. The man cleared his throat and nodded respectfully to the harridan.
“I’m going to leave you at the next crossroads. These men say I can lodge with them at the carriage house.”
“You’re not coming with us?” Clay burst out. Dahra shook her head impatiently.
“Of course he isn’t!”
“We don’t need a man to present us at court.” Miette growled, and even though Master Gaskell had volunteered to leave she still glared at him. “We don’t want those Altissi heathens thinking that he matters.”
“But doesn’t he…” I started, and then shut my mouth when they all looked at me. I wanted to say: ‘Why shouldn’t he tell us what to do? Wasn’t this whole thing his idea?’ But all I said was, “Sorry.”
“Anyway,” Master Gaskell cleared his throat and peered back into the carriage, “I’ll be nearby. If you need help, or money, or advice, just send a message to…”
“We don’t.” Miette snapped. “We won’t.”
“Thank you, Jonas.” Clay said more softly. Dahra smiled and squeezed her apprentice’s shoulder. The younger woman winced, and I saw her skin blushing back to pink where Dahra’s hard fingers had bruised the skin.
We arrived in Crozier in the middle of the night. We peered out of the windows, but we could not see anything apart from dark cobblestones. I leaned further out saw a jagged outline rearing up in front of us. Surely it couldn’t be a mountain? I was sure we were going to crash until a beam of light shone out, and an enormous gate creaked open. There was enough room for three carriages to ride through side-by-side. I caught my breath and sat back. We all pulled our veils down as the carriage slowed down. Mother Miette groaned, and pressed her fingers to her back.
A man in bright livery helped us down from the carriage. I stretched my arms up to the sky and felt every bone in my body click. Miette did the same. The Siren moved as if they had just awoken from a blissful night’s sleep. I wondered how spoiled their makeup was beneath their veils. It would be hard for Mistress Dahra to look like a goddess with one eyebrow smudged and lip wax on her teeth.
“Why is no-one here to greet us?” Clay whispered. Everyone pretended that she hadn’t spoken.
The servant held out a letter, which Miette snatched before anyone else could reach for it. She turned and knelt beside her Mistress, holding out the thick paper as if it were an offering. Dahra slit the wax seal with her nails. She read in silence. We all looked on impatiently while the servant eyeballed us.
“They were not sure when we would arrive. Prince Coluber has generously set aside a wing of Crozier Palace for us. He writes that we shall be formally received after we have rested from our long journey.” she passed the letter to Miette, who let me crane over her shoulder. The words were flowery, the handwriting ugly and square. It could have been a polite, thoughtful greeting, but something about it made me think he was mocking us.
You will not want to be seen before you have rested.
We were ready to fall into bed, but Miette bullied us into washing and combing our hair before we even unlaced our shoes. We could not be seen as anything less than perfect, even in our sleep. Mistress Clay looked like one of the fae with her fiery hair spread out over the white pillow. Mistress Dahra looked pallid and tired. I felt sorry for Miette. She had a lot to do, and she yawned as she fixed the woman’s makeup. As I drifted into a dizzy dream, I saw Miette raise a glass bottle to her Mistress’ lips. Dahra’s hands trembled when she drank.
Our comfortable room would have been luxurious on the island, but when I woke up an embarrassed woman curtseyed and told me that it had been set aside for our maids. No noblewoman would dream of sharing! Even Miette and I were to have our own rooms. The maids showed me which of the heavy doors to go through, and I stepped through in a daze.
There were four separate rooms, one for each of us, that surrounded a covered courtyard. A large bathing pool shone in the winter light. It was artfully designed to look like a natural pond filled with ceramic stones and flowers. An artificial rock formation stood in the centre of the pond so that nobody could see into each other’s rooms when the doors were open. The roof was made of glass, but instead of the cloudy whorls our glassmakers created it was flat and clear. I thought that the pool would be icy cold, but when I dipped my hand into it the water was warm. There was some kind of heating mechanism under the floor.
Mistress Clay joined me by the water. She wore only the thin slip which she had slept in. Her eyes were still foggy with sleep. “It’s beautiful,”
I looked around. Tapestries lined the walls. The ceiling was painted with frescoes of birds soaring through a cloudy sky. It was hard to tell where they ended and the skylight began. The furniture was made of mahogany which smelled like honey, and anything that could be adorned was covered in gold leaf and precious stones.
“We need to be careful.” Clay spoke so softly that I wondered if I was supposed to hear her. She fixed me in her flat green eyes and shook her head at my apparently slowness. “If they are used to this much loveliness, it will be harder to convince them that we are goddesses, don’t you think?”
“Paintings don’t speak or dance.” I muttered back, “And there are lots of Siren who are prettier than you. If Sweetwater wanted someone to look lovely and say nothing, then you were a bad choice.”
She smiled thinly and stood up. Her hands moved slowly as she stripped off her thin dress, and as she slid it down her skin her fingertips caressed every curve of her body. Her long legs parted as she stepped out of the circle of fabric, and she slipped into the water so sinuously that there was barely a ripple. I felt my mouth gaping open like a squatting frog.
“You don’t know anything about me.” she murmured, and her voice was so low and rich I felt as though she was telling me her most cherished secret. She lowered her head into the water, and her hair drifted around her like strands of silk. I wondered how they would feel if I reached my hand into the water and caught them. I did not dare to find out. Her eyes closed peacefully, and she held her breath for so long that my own lungs ached.
/> Then she moved, and her hands cut through the water like a blade. A coil of red hair stirred in the current and tightened around her white throat.
CHAPTER 4
We knew that the maids were spying on us. They shadowed us so closely that they only left one set of prints. The Siren were indifferent to them – they had been spied on for their whole lives – but I was so embarrassed by the attention that I wanted to scream.
Miette took her Mistress into the privacy of her room to dress her, but Clay was unabashed. She brought her cosmetics into the courtyard and directed one of the Altissi women to hold up a looking glass while I painted kohl around her almond-shaped eyes. The woman watched, fascinated, as the Siren opened pot after pot of strange and wondrous concoctions.
I could have spoiled things. I could have told her that the red paste was made from crushed beetles, and the perfumed balms from pig fat. I asked my Mistress if she wanted to dress in her room, and she looked archly at me before her eyes drifted to the maids. I wondered if she was trying to impress them, or if she truly was that vain. Either way, she put on such a display that I expected the Altissi’s burning cheeks to catch fire. I scowled as I draped silk over her naked breasts. My dark, wasted arm looked jarring beside her buttery skin. I was sure it was deliberate. Mistress Clay wasn’t clever, but she was cunning to a fault.
She stroked a maid’s hand with one manicured nail. “Sweet thing, will you tell your master that I am overwhelmed by his hospitality? I must think of a way to repay him. If he wishes to escort me into the court, I would be delighted to be asked. If not…” she sighed, “It might just break my heart.”
The brazen bitch. I tried not to laugh as the maid scurried away. I could just imagine her trying to describe that performance to a pompous prince. Mistress Clay raised her eyebrow at me, and I hid a smile.
The maid returned and drew me aside. “Prince Coluber would like to know what colour gown your lady will wear, so that he might dress to match.”
“How should I know?” I muttered, and then realized I had spoken aloud when the girl’s forehead puckered. “My Mistress loves to surprise me. I will ask.”
Two hours later, a young man came to escort my Mistress to his court. She had told him to wear blue, and then she had dressed in light yellow. I thought she was being deliberately perverse until I saw them bowing to each other. The two colours complimented each other, so that neither of them appeared to have made an effort, but when they stood beside one another they looked like matching jewels.
Mistress Clay had never spoken to a prince before, but she made it seem as if they were old friends. She caught his hand and drew him to the side of the pool, teasing him for his formal greetings and running her fingers through the water. Finally, the man gave up trying to be proper. He slouched back against the rocks of the fountain and watched the Siren as if she were a bird. By that, I don’t mean that he admired her. His eyes did wander over the translucent silk that she had draped around herself, but it did not seem to distract him. His eyes were sharp, as if he expected her to fly at him without warning. If she was a bird, then he was a hawk.
“I am glad we had this chance to speak.” he said, lazily pulling petals off one of the few flowers Mistress Dahra hadn’t already picked. “My father has doubts about receiving a sorceress. You owe your invitation entirely to me. I don’t believe in magic, so I don’t fear it.” he watched the woman carefully for a reaction, and then his lips twisted into a smile. “I have never been enchanted by a woman for more than a night.”
“I suspect that many women can attest to that.” Mistress Clay murmured, and then she laughed. The sound was not beautiful. “Why do you think I would bother with you?”
He frowned, and then the insouciant smile returned. “You asked me to escort you.”
“That means nothing. A dog could lead me through the palace just as easily.” she tilted her head to one side, “I was curious to see if you would agree. I do enjoy biddable men. But you have already disappointed me.”
“Biddable! Disappointed! You have known me for less than an hour, Lady Siren.”
“I was disappointed in the first five minutes.” Clay sighed and shook her head. “I invited you to ask me, not to seize my arm. You have not asked, only demanded. You asked your servant how I dressed, but not how I acted. Is my body so important to you? I did not ask what you looked like. And so I knew at once that you were suspicious and vain – but so are most princes. Perhaps I should not be too upset.”
Coluber challenged her with his eyes, “You would not truly turn me down.”
Mistress Clay smiled and stood up. Her sheer, damp skirts caught around her legs. She might as well have been naked. She walked over to the door as if to stride through it. Prince Coluber’s guards held the door fast. They looked at their master, nervously wondering what they should do.
The Siren moved closer to the ugliest one of them all. His face was marred by a long scar, and he had grown an untidy beard to try to conceal it. He took a step backwards. The woman gave a little cry, as if he had hurt her.
“Are you scared of me?” she whispered, and her eyebrows rose in amazement. “I would never hurt you. I can see your heart, my love. There is so much goodness in you that I cannot bear it.” she caught his chin, stroked the matted beard with her thumb, and then leaned forward to kiss his cheek.
I glanced at the prince. His jaw was set. He was clearly offended, but he did not move away from the fountain. He waited for Mistress Clay to speak to him, but she seemed to have forgotten he even existed. She laced her fingers into the guard’s and smiled sweetly, “Will you show me the way to the throne room?”
“I…” his eyes stared about wildly, and he cleared his throat, “I cannot, Mistress.”
“I say you can, and so you shall.” The woman drew command about her as only a Siren could. She met my eyes, and I rushed to open the door. The guards did not try to stop me; their mouths were hanging open. Clay took off the guard’s helmet and brushed his hair back with her fingers.
“You look better without it.” she murmured, and then she grinned at him. The transformation was so sudden that the man let out a shocked snort. Just like that, she had changed from a Siren into a real woman – playful and about as intimidating as a dormouse. He would have trailed after her like a puppy, but now he offered her his arm as a man. He did not look back at the prince.
“Clay causes offence wherever she goes.” A soft voice said, and the prince tore his eyes from the closing door. Mistress Dahra stood beside him. The prince had forgotten that there was another Siren in the palace; he sprung to his feet, and gave her a curt, shallow bow. She curtseyed so deeply her knees almost brushed the floor. “She does not mean anything by it, my lord. My sister would taste honey and forget that she is already eating syrup.”
“Which one am I? Honey or syrup?”
“I thought you did not want to be either.” Dahra’s voice was playful, allaying the rudeness in those words. The prince treated her to a grudging laugh. He didn’t know it was probably the first joke the bitch had made in years.
Mistress Dahra wore green – an earthy shade which made her dark skin look like lustrous apple-wood. She had always been austere, but her grey veil made her wraithlike. The fabric was so sheer that details could be seen through it, although they softened and shimmered as she moved. There was a piercing depth in her dark eyes which made it hard to look away – a look exaggerated by dark lines of charcoal. Her lips were painted with dark carmine. Her black hair was twisted up into braids threaded with green ribbon. She looked like a vine of ancient willow, so elegant and regal that even I was awed at Miette’s skill.
We servants wore dark brown gowns which gleamed like bronze. The seamstresses had sewn cunning pockets into the skirts, so that we might carry combs and cosmetics about with us. Each pocket was concealed with swirls of looping embroidery, so the effect was that of a varnished, perfect carving. We wore golden belts and veils. My wrist was wrapped in golden silk. The sh
ining fabric made my deformity into such an obvious feature that I was sure it would mar Sweetwater’s careful illusion. Then I heard my name.
“Lady Harriet is not a Siren. She came from a noble family, in the highlands of our country.” Dahra’s voice was dismissive, as if nobles were all-too-common, “She longed to serve the Siren, but it was impossible. She was not of our blood. The priests tried to talk her out of it, but she was determined to become our acolyte. Finally, in loving desperation, she offered her body to us as a sacrifice. She wrapped golden wire around her wrist and pulled it tight. We saw her offering and took her into our embrace.” she drew me close and kissed me, very sweetly, on the lips. Her veil made my skin crawl. "Dear little daughter, we love you more than you know.”
I fought the urge to shove the creature off me. What an odious, lying cat! If anyone else had invented that story I would have laughed it off, but Dahra was the one who had maimed me. Prince Coluber rested his hand on my shoulder. It was heavy with rings.
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