by Zoe Marriott
Shell was still smiling at him, unsuspecting, a little girl who had won a game of hide and seek and expected joyous approbation from the other children.
Someone had to say something. And suddenly I knew just what needed to be said.
“This is the Tree of Morogana, Shell,” I told her, exactly as seriously as if Uldar himself had not had to explain this fact to me five minutes before. Yielding to irresistible impulse, I stepped forward and began collecting the fallen pins and combs, offering them to her. She reached for them uncertainly, her gaze flicking toward me with reluctance; I took care that our hands did not touch as I tipped the trinkets into her cupped palms.
“The tree is sacred to the Silingan God,” I lectured. With flinching fingers I tugged at her skirt, pulling it free so that the cloth fell into place again. Perhaps once those strong, slender legs were covered, Uldar would regain control of his senses. “You must never climb it, or touch it again. It is a rule. You were lucky that the Prince and I were the only ones who saw you break such an important rule today, or else you would have got Prince Uldarana into terrible trouble with his Father, and many other powerful people here.”
I looked over my shoulder in time to observe, with some satisfaction, the moment that my words reached Uldar. His gawp deepened into a horrified scowl. So he hadn’t thought of that yet. He should have: he was the one who had vouched for Shell, and her actions had consequences for him. Maybe he would bear it in mind for the future, and save both his Mother and me some anxiety.
But when I turned back to Shell all my satisfaction burned to ashes. Her innocent joy over her trick had faltered into a look of lost confusion as she saw Uldar’s reaction. Her brows crumpled, her lips tugged down at the corners, and she let out a shuddering sigh.
I had won the point, and she had lost one. That was the game we were playing here, each of us vying for a prince’s attention. But I felt like one of those men who takes pleasure in kicking the homeless cur that begs at his door. She couldn’t fight back on my terms. She couldn’t even speak up to defend herself.
What good will your crown be, if you gain it by means that leave you unworthy to wear it?
The voice was so clear and icy cold that it felt as if the wind itself had whispered in my ear. I wanted to brush it aside. I had done nothing wrong. The Queen herself would tell me I had the right.
I swallowed hard, then said in a voice turned suddenly soft, “You must be more careful, Shell.”
The girl’s gaze leapt back from Uldar to me. Her lips pursed, and then she nodded, slowly and carefully, as if her head was too heavy for the delicate column of her neck. The great dark eyes studied me. Distracted, tugging ineffectually at her knotted up sleeve, my fingers grazed the hot, tender flesh of her inner arm.
I snatched my hand away and spun in place, white dress flaring around me as I stalked past Uldar. Of their own accord, my hands clenched slowly into fists. They were shaking. I didn’t know why.
Suddenly the tips of my white shoes were at the edge of the rock terrace. The sea turned restlessly below, blue-grey unfolding into white and dissolving back to blue-grey again. It was too far to taste the salt in the air, or feel the ghost of their spray on my skin. Even the relentless sounds of the water were distant, nearly drowned by the droning hum of the wind above. In the distance, the ocean grew darker and darker until it was interrupted with the uneven white puzzle pieces of the Numinast.
If I looked down, directly down, I could see the waves crawling up the spire of rock where I stood, churning and grasping at it in an endless, timeless quest to pull it down. It gave me a sort of squirming feeling beneath my sternum. The sea had tried to kill me. Had ruthlessly stripped away all the comfort I had left, ended the lives of my companions. I hated it. But Mother had always said one could only truly hate what one recognised. What one saw and understood. My hate was an admission.
The water’s fierceness, its ruthlessness, its power and coldness: I hated those qualities because they were all too familiar. I recognised them, indeed. They were in me, too.
But the sea’s wildness? Its wildness, now – that, I knew I did not possess. That, I did not hate. Instead, I envied it. A thing could only be wild if it was free, and I had never in my life known freedom.
Shell did. Wildness, life, freedom shone out of her.
I was standing too close to the edge. The fathomless depths rolled and reached below, as though beckoning. I was so close to the edge. If I only leaned that little bit further –
“You’re not really afraid of heights, then,” Uldar asked nervously.
I let out my breath.
I am calm.
I am calm.
I am calm.
“Not at all,” I said serenely, as I pivoted neatly away from the water. Uldar was alone behind me. “Shell?”
He winced. “I sent her inside. Thank you for – explaining. I couldn’t even find the words. She didn’t know what she was doing, or that it was wrong, you know. You’ve seen how she is, like a – a lovely child. She won’t do it again.”
My brows wanted to arch sardonically and my lip curl, but I held my face still, and ground my teeth on the response that wanted to come: Why are you making excuses for her to me?
I already knew the answer.
Nodding, I took his elbow when he offered it, and did not let myself look back at the ocean as we left the cliff.
*
Uldar was distracted, occasionally even forlorn, throughout the rest of the tour. I suspected that he cut the activity short, and was glad of it. Although I would have liked to inspect the armouries and stables today, my own pretence of oblivious enjoyment was beginning to wear thin. Let him withdraw to lick his new wound and consider the hazards of attaching himself to this ‘lovely child’.
After the Prince returned me to my rooms, I ate the light nuncheon that Osia had thoughtfully prepared for me, and then dismissed her so that I could lie down for a refreshing afternoon nap. I explained that this was the custom in Yamarr, due to the blistering mid-day heat, and that I would likely get out of the habit in future, but the little maid did not seem to require the explanation. She slipped away happily enough.
I waited a few minutes to be sure that she would not return, and then left to carry out my errand.
Shell’s books and papers still lay, undisturbed, on the table, when I arrived in the library. I hoped she would come back for them, that she had not given up hope.
But, I decided, it was a good sign that my own explorations were unlikely to be noticed or commented upon. Still I worked as quickly as I could, locating the small section on medicines and herb craft and plundering it. I did not dare take such betraying volumes back to my own room, though; instead I laid them out on the desk, took writing utensils from the drawers in the library’s desk, and made four hurried pages of notes, in Yamarri, in the back of my journal.
Queen Miramand’s disapproval of apothecaries and herbal remedies might make it difficult to access the expertise or supplies I required from within the Palace, but it was obvious that there was a rich history of such medicine in Silinga. The books, some quite recent, indicated that poor folk, especially people in the countryside, still used such cures on a daily basis, and that the herbs I wanted would be easily found in most farm kitchens along with treatments for burns, fevers and colic.
The solution to my problem was to escape from Miramand’s influence, to escape from the palace itself. I needed to find a way out.
17
The Silingana’s banquet hall was around half the size of its ballroom, and benefited from a dome-shaped ceiling decorated impressively with panels of planished copper and gold. To my relief, the chamber was lit this evening with the warm, yellow glow of oil lamps rather than with any of the ninguid orbs. The floral scented oil helped to counteract the heavy, musky Silingan perfumes and the smell of their strong red wine, which would otherwise have made it difficult to taste the food.
I was in need of food. It had been a busy day, and
the first hour of the banquet had been enlivened with introductions and speeches and congratulations on the upcoming betrothal from every corner of the room. It was all very polite and flattering, but I was distracted by my fear that the heavy layers of embroidered white silk laced around my waist would not be enough to keep my stomach’s rumbling from everyone else’s ears. From Uldar’s occasional suspicious cough, I suspected I was right.
At last, the pleasantries were over, and a mouthful of jugged venison, moist with rich gravy and fresh herbs, was a mere finger’s span from my lips, when –
“What are your thoughts on these fires in the felling camps then, Princess? How would your own Queen have dealt with such vandalous activity?”
If this food didn’t go in my mouth in the next three seconds, then it was either going to spill all down the front of my snowy white dress or fly directly across the table to land between the overly talkative Chancellor’s bushy grey eyebrows.
I took the bite as delicately as possible. Then made an apologetic face at the Chancellor as I reached for my wine goblet. Mouth full, can’t possibly answer, oh dear.
“Prince Uldarana, then,” the Chancellor said, turning his attention to my left side. “You are a young man of action, I know! You cannot approve our current strategy.”
Uldar cast me a faintly reproachful look as he replaced his own fork on his plate, but he answered the other man’s question readily enough. I stuffed another mouthful of food home with relief as I surveyed the room again.
A dozen long tables, each of them large enough for fifty, were arranged in a half-sunburst pattern, radiating out from the central table, raised up on three shallow steps, where we sat. This table was semi-circular. The straight part, perpendicular to the wall, was occupied by King Radugana on the extreme right, then Queen Miramand. I sat next to the Queen, and Uldar took the leftmost place. Opposite us, at the table’s curved edge, there were six Silingan dignitaries – two women and four men – most of whom were applying themselves to their food as assiduously as I was. Perhaps, I thought, eyeing the voluminous, jewel encrusted robes of the Chancellor, he had stealthily produced snacks from those generous bell-shaped sleeves and filled up sufficiently during the speeches.
I caught a large droplet of gravy a mere instant before it could fall from my fork and ruin my skirt, and sighed. Really, I must explain to Mistress Kirgin that white was entirely impractical. Shell, for instance, appeared to be having a much easier time with her food. Her dress, deep green and cut daringly low across her chest, would hide any gravy admirably.
She looked radiant, and almost hilariously out of place. She had been put near the top of her table – above the salt – a position of honour. Especially since the salt here came up from the sea in frosty, iridescent flakes the size of a golden Siker coin, and worth nearly as much. But it was clear that the other women of the court were taking Miramand’s lead and snubbing the castaway girl completely. Some of the men appeared happy to talk at her but, unable to reply, she didn’t seem to enjoy their conversation much. In her place I would have been crushed and miserable, cringing with mortification. Perhaps she was too, inside. But her head was proudly tilted, and she was making quick work of her own dinner.
“Well done,” the Queen murmured in my ear. “I expected to have to wrestle with my son to keep her off this table tonight. But he hasn’t even mentioned her.”
I glanced quickly at Uldar, but he was engrossed in his talk with the Chancellor.
“I deserve no approbation,” I told her softly, although a small part of me had curled up into her quiet approval as a sleepy cat arches toward a stroking hand. “It is all her own doing. She embarrassed and shocked him today, without knowing any better. She doesn’t – belong here.”
“Good breeding and excellent upbringing will always tell, in the end.”
On her other side, the King laughed uproariously at some joke of his own. The Chancellor’s wife, opposite him, flushed angrily.
I cleared my throat. “Is there any progress yet on finding her people?”
“Her – ? Oh. Yes, enquiries are being made. Don’t concern yourself with that. But do, I beg you, give yourself a little credit. After only one morning of your company Uldar is so happy. Look at him.”
He looked bored to me, but the Chancellor was talking about community fining policies now, so I could hardly blame him.
This is the perfect time. Do it. Do it now.
My fingers tightened around the handle of my knife in a visible sign of tension. I forced my hand to relax, and removed my teeth from their groove in my lip.
“I wondered,” I said, as casually as I could, leaning in toward Miramand so that I could lower my voice, “Would it be possible to arrange for Uldar and me to spend more time together? The two of us. Nothing that would cause too much fuss, but – oh, I don’t know, a pleasure trip into the countryside? Uldar seems to love the outdoors. Perhaps I could meet some everyday Silingan folk and learn about their customs.”
“It is midwinter. I was under the impression you were not overly fond of the cold?” Miramand said doubtfully.
“Perhaps not, but just now I think that the Palace is – somewhat distracting for Uldar.” I flicked my gaze in the direction of Shell’s table. “A different environment might help to clear his head.”
Miramand’s expression cleared and her golden brows lifted thoughtfully. “I do believe you are correct.” And then, loud enough to carry: “An excellent notion, my dear!”
The bait had been taken.
“What is an excellent idea?” Uldar asked, looking relieved at the chance to escape his conversation-mate.
“The Princess was just telling me how she is longing to get to know our country better,” Miramand answered smoothly. “The snow hasn’t yet begun to thaw, but how would you feel about a visit to your Cousin Yasha in Skalluskar, Uldar?”
Uldar’s face – there was no other word for it – illuminated. It seemed as if a ninguid sphere had been set off behind his eyes. He turned the light of his joy on me. “Theo, this is your idea? You are a wonder! That is a brilliant notion. We can pack the sleighs with provisions, and have my pets pull them. Eat on the way, stay for a night or two, see the Glass Gardens – see Morogana’s Lights! They’re one of our greatest wonders.”
I gathered from this ecstatic reaction that a winter-time holiday from royal duties and the Palace was a rare treat.
“A very small party, though,” Miramand warned. “It is not the season for visiting. You wouldn’t want half the court inviting themselves and their households along, and putting poor Yasha and Katja out.”
“Oh yes, just a few of us – no servants – no stuffiness or botheration,” Uldar agreed freely.
“That sounds perfect,” I told him, as if the idea had been all his to begin with. “Exactly what I would most enjoy. When can we go?”
“Tomorrow!” the Prince declared, bouncing forward in his seat. His movement was energetic enough to make even the heavy banqueting table jolt. I caught my toppling goblet with a hasty snatch of my hand. Uldar’s wine cup fell with a sharp ting! that made the King’s head turn. A crimson puddle spread rapidly across the shining tabletop, outpacing the servant who rushed forward to sop it up.
Miramand’s face transformed from indulgent to quelling in an instant. “Uldarana. Control yourself.”
“Sorry, Mother.” Uldar subsided like an under-baked pudding, and my stomach clenched in sympathetic embarrassment. How many times had I carefully suppressed my own fear, joy or unhappiness in order to avoid just such a stare from my own Mother? Although only a year below me in age, Uldar seemed so much younger at times, still learning those lessons.
If Miramand’s grim prediction about her own health came true, she might never have time to fully drive the importance of dignity home. My stomach clenched again, in sorrow this time.
Impulsively, I laid my hand over Uldar’s arm and gave him a conspiratorial smile. I’m excited too. Let’s be excited together.
“Agreed,” I said, thrilled. I turned back to Miramand, expecting to see a similar reaction from her at this evidence of Uldar’s budding maturity. Instead, I surprised what seemed to be displeasure on her face: tight lips, narrowed eyes. She blinked the expression away in an instant when she saw me looking, but her smile still seemed more like a grimace. Had it been displeasure, I wondered suddenly – or pain?
I couldn’t ask. I had promised to help her keep it from him.
“I see you have everything well in hand, my son. I will – leave it all to you,” she said.
Uldar nodded in a stately manner, and then his face relaxed into a grin. He made a signal at a servant positioned near the end of the long, closed-in minstrels’ gallery that occupied space at the opposite end of the banqueting hall, and soon a low, mellow note – some kind of horn – rang out. It was swiftly followed by silvery sounding flutes, sprightly strings, and the quick, rhythmic tempo of tall-drums.
“Would you do me the honour of dancing with me?” the Prince asked, offering me his hand as he stood, carefully angling himself so as not to jostle the table again. All over the room other couples were leaping up and gathering in the small cleared space before the gallery.
I pushed my concern over the Queen down for the moment. “Of course.” I took his hand and allowed him to draw me from my seat. “I don’t know any Silingan dances, though.”
“This isn’t a Silingan dance,” he said with a laugh. “It’s a Tantara! They dance this in every country in the world!”
And you’ve been and checked that for yourself have you? “Not in Yamarr.”
