by Kate Elliott
“I never fault people for wishing to improve their circumstances by one means or another,” said the king, not taking his gaze from Sarai. She finally gave way, looking toward Gil rather than with humility toward the floor. “I have never seen the face of a Ri Amarah woman. Nor heard one of their women speak.”
“My voice is like that of any other woman, Your Highness,” she said, speaking the Hundred-speech with the north country lilt that made her sound like a farmer’s daughter. “As for my face, in public among strangers I still prefer the custom of my people, which allows me my privacy. Had you wished to see me as I am, you might have attended the lamp procession the day our marriage was sealed.”
Men gasped at her effrontery. Gil braced himself, not knowing what he would do when the storm broke.
“Oho! You have caught a spark for your candle, Lord Gilaras,” said the king with a laugh that made his retinue laugh likewise.
Gil swallowed the urge to punch the man and even glanced down to make sure his hands weren’t in fists. The humiliation of having to stand here and do nothing was like burning.
“Your Highness, forgive me, for I am raised in the country and perhaps I do not understand the language as I ought, but is a spark for a candle not a reference to sexual intercourse? For if it is, am I meant to pronounce a witticism in response that also refers to carnal activities? If I have offended, please forgive me. I am not conversant with the manners of the palace. Nor can I feel fully comfortable, I confess, when I am the only woman in a room of men while such banter is tossed about like game play.”
Sharp intakes of breath among the king’s retinue hit like hammers to nails. But Gil would have crowed if he could have. The calm flow of her words, the steady heat of her eyes. Her courage. The way she laughed when he amused her. The treasures of her body, which she shared with such delight. To the hells with them all! He gave her a nod to show her they would go down together, never apart.
“Aui! I am put in my place most deftly, Lady Sarai,” remarked the king in the tone of a man who has just seen an opening in a game he means to win. “I am given to understand that you and Lord Gilaras have been asked to attend upon Queen Chorannah today.”
“That is correct, Your Highness,” she said. “Just yesterday we were given the summons. Then there will be a reeve convocation afterward. How exciting!”
“Yes, but as is the custom of the palace, only men enter the King’s Audience Hall. Women watch from the balcony.” He turned to Gil. “Have you seen Kasad of late? I know you and my son are often comrades about your entertainments.”
“Prince Kasad favored us with a brief visit yesterday, Your Highness,” said Gil.
“Yes, I believe he brought an invitation for Lady Sarai to visit Queen Dia.” Seen close up, the king was a good-looking man with the posture of the soldier he still preferred to be. But it was the humor creasing his eyes that startled Gil. “Beware you do not become the bone the two queens fight over. I would recommend you choose your side quickly, Lady Sarai, so as not to be chewed into splinters. Vanas? Have you anything you wish to say to your nephew?”
That Vanas had nothing he wished to say was made obvious by the sour anger he could not be bothered to stifle. “My felicitations on the unexpected wealth and notice General Shevad has gained through his efforts, Gilaras.”
“The fortune is all mine, Uncle Vanas,” said Gil, barely managing not to throw in a rude gesture.
“If you call your balls your fortune, which I suppose you must. Is she pregnant yet?” said Vanas so rudely that even the king turned to glare at him.
“Not for want of trying,” said Sarai sweetly. “Or is that one of the things we are not meant to speak of in public? Do forgive me. There is so much for me to learn. I do beg your patience for my missteps.”
King Jehosh laughed, then looked at his entourage in a way that made them all stay silent. He indicated the far doors, the entry to the queen’s suite. “Let me escort you to Queen Chorannah, Lady Sarai. It is a privilege I can ask for, as king. You must tell me more about your clan. They are merchants, of course, being Silvers.”
“Ri Amarah, Your Highness. Among ourselves we do not use the word Silvers. We consider it an insult.”
“I’ll remember that. My curiosity is aroused for I am sure they are people of acumen who seek to expand their net of connections.”
“As do we all, Your Highness,” she said, obediently moving away with the king.
Vanas caught Gil’s arm and pulled him to a halt as the other men swarmed after Jehosh. “What plot have Shevad and the rest of your wormy household hatched?”
Gil could not keep a sneer from curling his mouth. “What makes you think they share their plans with me? I am nothing more than the one with balls, as they have ever reminded me since the day I was old enough to wonder why my brothers didn’t have the same equipment. If they gave me anything it was bitterness, not trust. You are barking up the wrong tree. I just want…”
The thought pulled him up short. What in the hells did he want?
He had never wanted anything except an end to the pointless boredom of his existence and the constant dripping resentment of a family who couldn’t be bothered to give him any responsibility. He was like the trash fish no one wanted to eat yet couldn’t discard in case hunger drove them to desperate measures.
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten the altercation you forced on my son over that worthless flower girl,” muttered Vanas, “even though you convinced the watch he was at fault. You are such a useless prick, aren’t you?”
He released Gil’s arm and, thank Beltak and all the Hundred gods, pursued the king.
“No complaints of my prick yet,” said Gil to his back, and then rolled his eyes, embarrassed to have stooped to such a juvenile comment.
A cough startled him. The hells! One of the king’s officials had not followed the king into the audience hall. He was an old man, very trim, very straight, with the kind of keen eyes that made Gil want to rip his own eyes out so he wouldn’t have to endure that soul-eating gaze. He stood at the same sort of parade rest Shevad fell into when he meant to stand for a long while.
An old soldier, then.
“Gilaras Herelian. Is a healthy young man like you not wanted for your clan’s work?” His voice seemed mild but beneath it was edged steel.
“They have what they want from me. As should be obvious to anyone.”
“Does it content you? You are known for a series of often foolish and sometimes daring escapades in the city. Some of them exhibiting careful planning and actual physical risk and strength. You didn’t finish your thought just then. What do you want?”
Gil hoped a mocking smile would drive the man off. “I want to climb Law Rock with no rope and no aid. Wouldn’t that be something!”
“Your hands aren’t callused in the way of a man who has climbed cliffs and roofs. You’d be well served to get some experience before you attempted such a feat.”
“I’m not serious.”
“Aren’t you? A year from now what will you be doing, Lord Gilaras? Will you be satisfied with yourself?” His cool demeanor and imposing presence drew an odd yearning out of Gil’s heart.
Sarai was wonderful. But she held the coin while he was the stallion meant to sire a child on her. Once she gave birth to a healthy child or three he was nothing, just a useless prick.
The stranger examined him from head to toe in the way of a man who is considering buying a sword. “Nothing in your short history of troublemaking suggests you are the sort of person who will be content standing around the court hoping for a feather’s touch of royal favor. Nor do you seem the sort who will be happy to lounge on the cushions of coin your marriage has brought you. I have a feeling you are the kind of man I could make use of.”
There was a comment that begged for a reply!
“Make use of for what? King Jehosh has no reason to trust my family as I am sure you are aware. So it is not clear to me why a man trusted by the king to walk in hi
s personal retinue could want my services. My apologies, ver, for while you know who I am, I am afraid I cannot say I know who you are.”
“I am Captain Kellas. I hear you have been a loyal friend to Prince Kasad. To my mind, a young man with all the qualities you exhibit is being wasted by being put out to stud.”
With a nod to end the conversation he walked after the king.
Gil stared after him. That old man had climbed Law Rock? Yet fifty years ago he would have been young. He had the posture and the cool confidence of someone who has seen so much that nothing flusters him. It would be something to have that kind of self-assurance. To have lived a life so full of incident and action that people whispered about your exploits and forgave you even though you were rumored to be implicated in the death of a king.
Shaking himself out of his reverie he hurried into the Queen’s Audience Hall, a spacious room draped with painted silk curtains. Carved wooden screens divided the chamber into two halves with an aisle down the center leading toward a farther set of doors, the entry to the queen’s wing. But he arrived too late. The king and Sarai had already gone into the private rooms. Of course King Jehosh hadn’t waited for Gil. Jehosh had barely taken any notice of him at all, preferring to fawn over Sarai.
Attendants ushered Gil over to the men’s side where several hundred men loitered, far more than usual. Like him they seemed trapped as they waited for someone else to determine their fate. What in the hells was he to do with himself once he and Sarai traveled to Nessumara, if his family did not try to put a spoke even in that mildly adventurous wheel? Confined in the pointless hothouse of court rivalries it would be so easy for his and Sarai’s boredom to decay into resentment, and resentment was a rot that ate away everything that made hearts strong and wholesome.
This outer chamber was furnished in the imperial style, with plank floors instead of mats. Low couches were set along the walls but no one was sitting in them. Lamps set on stands lit the murals painted on the walls: A hunt unfolded with the hunters chasing antelope and lions. One hunter had had his arm ripped off by a lion, and his body and severed arm were being carried off on separate stretchers.
As abruptly as if he had received a hidden signal, Lord Vanas gathered up the king’s personal retinue and left the chamber back the way they had come, with Captain Kellas bringing up the rear. The old man’s gaze shifted to meet Gil’s, as if he’d known Gil would be looking for him. His right hand sketched patience. Gil casually touched his ear to acknowledge he had heard. The exchange passed with such speed and subtlety that Gil doubted anyone else had noticed.
His frustration burned away in an instant. While the other courtiers milled anxiously, Gil soaked in a flood of heated excitement. All he could think about was how and when the captain might call him in, and what astounding mission he might be called upon to perform.
So it took him quite by surprise when a cohort of Spears entered the hall, led by Supreme Captain Ulyar.
“Lord Gilaras Herelian?” Supreme Captain Ulyar sauntered over.
“You know who I am,” said Gil.
Ulyar’s face was flushed, and he licked his lips as if his mouth was dry. His voice rang flat, like the lying weasel knew perfectly well that he had taken Herelian coin and sold them out anyway. He made sure to speak loud enough that everyone could hear.
“You are under arrest for the murder of a Silver coachman, the theft of his coach and horse, and an attempt to sell his body on the black market.”
30
The dim antechamber where Sarai and the king waited was dark, and the king stood so close that his sleeve brushed hers. She shifted just enough to put a gap between them without seeming rude. His familiarity struck her as unusual given that, unlike her relationship with Gil, there was no contract between them. Drifts of gossip had collected over the week she and Gil had received visitors. The king was known as a man who sailed from lover to lover, while at the same time his devotion to Queen Dia was spoken of as an embarrassment and perhaps even a sign of frailty.
A harsh scent in the air tickled her nostrils. She wrinkled up her nose so as not to sneeze.
A bell chimed and a door slid open to reveal a lamplit corridor. A beardless man stood on the threshold, startling for being bald and for an elaborate pattern of vines embroidered on his ankle-length jacket. He pressed hands flat against his chest and bowed to the king.
Should she have bowed to the king? Ri Amarah never bowed their heads to any person except the Hidden One, and she was not about to start now.
The beardless man spoke in Sirni, words incomprehensible to her.
The king grunted softly with displeasure, then turned to her. “Queen Chorannah has requested your presence but not mine.” There was just enough light for her to study the meaningful gaze the king gave her. “I do not enter where I am not invited.”
The hells! The king was flirting with her.
How was this to be handled? In the servants’ parlor Elit had often persuaded Sarai to join her in acting out tales for the entertainment of the other local women. In one breath she sifted through and discarded options: The Coy Seamstress. The Shy Shepherdess. The Brassy Blacksmith’s Daughter Who Could Pound a Man Flat with Five Strokes.
Find what is truest for you and use that, Elit had coached her, although she had never had Elit’s skill.
The king had already made it clear he admired her cleverness.
She was grateful the scarf concealed most of her face. “The architecture of the palace is not yet familiar to me. I cannot yet be sure where I may be welcome and what I should prudently avoid.”
His smile flashed. “Always avoid that which does not give you pleasure. Look for me at the reeve convocation, Lady Sarai. I will hope your eyes rest favorably upon me from the balcony of your exalted regard.”
He waved fingers to shepherd her into the care of the beardless man, who led her down the corridor. The air was thick with a smell like a burning rice field after harvest. She did sneeze, quite loudly, as she entered a tiny courtyard wreathed in smoky incense.
All the decoration was lions: pillars carved with winged lions, banners painted with bold lion faces, a tapestry that depicted lions hunting down and ripping apart deer and men. Queen Chorannah sat on a half-circle couch splendidly embroidered with lions who bore the heads of men. Her loose silk robe was sewn in layers at the shoulders to give the appearance of a lion’s mane. A towering headdress unfurled like wings. She was a stout woman with a face darker than that of most Hundred people and a slight resemblance to her husband. After all, because of the convoluted intermarriages among the Sirni princely houses, they were distant cousins.
Next to the queen stood a young woman dressed in a long, loose dark-blue tunic over belled trousers, as drab as the queen was bright, and hatless, her hair cut short. The queen spoke in Sirni, after which the young woman translated.
“You are Lady Sarai. Her Most Exalted Majesty Queen Chorannah observes you have come according to her command.”
“Forgive me if I in any way offend. I am not acquainted with the customs of the palace. May it please you that I may know your name, who so kindly translates our words?”
By no flicker of expression did the young woman react to this attempt to be polite to her. “Her Highness says you would already know the speech of civilized people if you had been properly brought up in the city instead of being raised in the countryside like a savage.”
Not so dull after all!
“I hope someday to remedy my deficiencies, Your Highness.” Sarai tried to remember the short lesson Gil had given her in etiquette. He had not told her what one says to a queen who exudes insults like incense.
“Your people are very wealthy,” added the translator after the queen spoke.
“I do not sit among the elders of my people to know the details of such matters, Your Highness. I am but a young bride.”
“I am informed you are twenty-two, quite old to be married for the first time. I was fifteen when I was sent north
to marry my cousin. You have been held back for a long time but I suppose that is because yours are a cunning and secretive people. They hide a magic deep in their homes that gives them the sorcerous skill to force people to sell to them at a loss. Their men grow horns that burn from cool to hot depending on how many strings of coin their customer has, so they may calculate how much to overcharge them. Their women wash themselves in a blue fire that makes them irresistible to their menfolk, and they must do so, and also hide themselves the rest of the time, because they possess warped and grotesque faces.”
Sarai took in a long, slow breath, counting up prime numbers until she could find a calm voice, then unhooked the scarf. “I will let you judge the last one for yourself.”
It was difficult not to blink a hundred times while the queen examined her with an expressionless stare that made the woman look dull and bored. Finally the queen spoke, and the young woman translated. “The queen says the scar is a frightful blemish.”
Sarai had heard this slur too many times to react to it now.
“Are all your women marked in this unpleasant way?”
“No, just me. Forgive me if I in any way offend, Your Highness. I am unacquainted with the customs of the palace. But I cannot let pass the other rumors you mention, all of which are lies.”
“You must say so, of course, but your people are obviously hiding something. Jehosh’s grandfather King Anjihosh made a secret pact with them. They gave him coin and information, and in exchange he allowed them to live in peace under his rule and fill their coffers with strings of silver and gold. What do you know of this?”
“King Anjihosh was a fair and honest ruler who dealt with my ancestors respectfully and allowed them to live as they wished.”
“If everyone lived as they wished, Lady Sarai, then the land would be chaos. Order must be imposed if there will be peace.”
