Of the Divine

by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes

  Dahlia wasn’t sure if that was petty or arrogant, but she couldn’t help the thought as she made small talk about eider ducks and apple blossoms with the Terra and the Osei queen until some unknown-to-her signal prompted the Terra to say, “Dahlia, I hope you enjoy the festival. Please do enjoy a glass of wine and relax for a few minutes before dinner is announced. Nimma, may I introduce you to the Tamari High Lord of the Lasable, who is also our guest tonight?”

  Far from being offended, Dahlia accepted the dismissal with relief. Terre Verte had promised they would do their best to avoid forcing her to feign court experience with the Osei any longer than necessary.

  She curtseyed again, then backed away, her head high as she turned toward the crowd, pretending she was entirely comfortable standing before a group of aristocratic strangers dressed in a gown that was cut so low in the front she had to be grateful it was also almost uncomfortably snug—at least it wouldn’t fall down.

  Inquisitive eyes watched her as she looked over the crowd with feigned casualness. Terre Verte had warned her that he would probably need to spend much of the evening with the Osei princes, and would not be at her side much of the time. She was expected to mingle.

  The irony struck her, as she considered how many times she had encouraged young wallflowers to socialize at Eiderlee socials. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to slide away along the edge of the crowd.

  “May I join you, Miss Indathrone?” She barely managed to conceal her sigh of relief as a familiar figure stepped toward her with a short, formal bow. “Jade Chanrell Mim-Silmat. We met earlier?”

  The tall Silmari man had deep brown skin, darker than many of his countrymen in the room, and wide lips she had yet to see without a smile. Like her, he had changed from his earlier, less formal attire, and was now dressed in a sea-blue silk jacket above sable breeches and boots. “Yes, of course, I recall you,” she said with an answering smile and as much dignity as she could muster.

  “I remembered your saying you did not know many people in court, and thought you might appreciate some company while the Terre attends to business,” Jade explained.

  “I do, thank you.” As she caught her breath, she also recalled her lessons from earlier in the day. “Mim-Silmat. You’re of the royal family?” He had only used the Chanrell surname in their earlier, less-formal meeting.

  “Only tangentially. If you add up all the Mim-Silmari and Mat-Silmari and Kan-Silmari, I think you’ll end up with roughly the population of Kavet,” Jade assured her, referring to the different surnames used to denote level of relatedness to the royal family. Dahlia couldn’t remember which meant what. “Can I get you a glass of wine, or perhaps beg a dance of you before Terre Verte concludes the dreadfully dull business of being a prince among princes?”

  She smiled, enjoying his casual flirtation, even if it was clearly based on the assumption she was someone more important than she was. “Wine would be lovely,” she said.

  As she watched him go, the words of Celadon’s associate rang sharply through her head: Trumped up like a royal whore. She let out a slow breath, refusing to allow the ugly memory to spoil this evening. There were significantly more men than women in the crowd—which was probably the strongest point in her favor when it came to attracting the attention of someone like Jade—but there were enough women for Dahlia to confirm that her outfit was no more gaudy or revealing than most others. It was more modest than some, including the Terra’s.

  “That is a deeply thoughtful expression for such a light-hearted night,” Jade observed as he rejoined her and handed her a glass of sweet cherry wine. More somberly, he added, “Though I suppose this gala is less frivolous than most. May I say your Terre is an excellent liar.” Jade spoke so softly Dahlia would not have heard it if she had taken a single step farther away. Before she could decide whether or not to defend her country’s prince, he continued. “I do not think I could stand there, in front of such creatures, and politely smile and chat as he does. He must even guard his thoughts, since the Osei are just as likely to be offended by those as his words. I suppose he believes they can be won through flattery, but . . .” He trailed off, shook his head, and repeated, “I would not be able to do it.”

  “I’ll admit I know little of them except rumors I scarcely credit and the few things Terre Verte told me today.”

  “There are six Noble Osei houses in the tropical sea that bounds Silmat and Tamar to the south,” Jade said. “It is almost impossible to avoid their claimed territory if one goes by water, which requires paying whatever tariffs the Osei decide are due. If a captain is short, he can willingly pay in hands—which means turning over a passenger or crew member or two—or have his whole ship seized or outright sunk.”

  “No one fights?”

  Jade’s eyes drifted to the Osei guests again. Their glittering skin and lithe shapes were lovely, but not intimidating. “They look harmless here, but there isn’t much that’s able to pierce the scales of an Osei in its natural form. The young king—I’m sorry, King Jasper; they call him the young king because he’s younger than I am and just took the throne—has started trying to build weapons we can use to guard our borders if they try to fly over Silmari land, but they are far too large and heavy to carry casually in a ship.”

  The words made Dahlia glance toward Terre Verte again, where he stood with the five Osei princes. The Osei queen had joined him, and whatever she said made Terre Verte’s shoulders stiffen. The queen stepped closer, too close to be polite.

  Terre Verte looked up, and for just an instant, caught Dahlia’s gaze. The expression was brief but deliberate, calling upon her to act. She had hoped to avoid this.

  “Excuse me, Jade.” Trying to look more confident than she felt, Dahlia cut through the crowd until she could hear their conversation.

  “I think you’ve mistaken me, is all,” Terre Verte was saying. “Our ways do not allow the heir to the throne to leave this land.”

  The Osei queen tossed her head. “You say you seek an alliance. I am offering a scenario. I am not ignorant of human ways, so of course you would be allowed to return here, as necessary.”

  “‘As necessary’ is ‘always,’ unfortunately,” Terre Verte replied. “Also, there is the matter of the Terre needing to have heirs, which I currently do not. So I really must—”

  “You would be a queen’s mate,” the Osei argued. “Of course you would have . . . heirs.” She spoke the last word as if not quite certain what it meant.

  Dahlia’s eyes widened as she realized what the topic under debate was: Verte joining the Osei queen’s harem. His desire not to give offense at this event meant it was impossible for him to say, “No power in the Abyss or Numen would convince me to give up all my sovereign power to become the chattel of a queen of one of our enemies.”

  Dahlia hoped her heart wasn’t beating as loudly as she thought it was as she stepped into the midst of the Osei and boldly wrapped an arm around Terre Verte’s waist. She struggled not to flinch from the inexplicable chill seeping from his body.

  With a deep breath, she lifted her gaze to meet that of the Osei queen.

  The wyrm’s eyes were like kaleidoscopes, containing all colors and constantly shifting. Meeting them made Dahlia feel off-balance, as if the floor turned under her feet while her mind raced, insisting this was insane, she was making a fool out of herself . . .

  She tried to guard her thoughts, but she couldn’t.

  The Osei queen tilted her head thoughtfully, and took a step back as she greeted Dahlia with a nod. “He’s yours, then?”

  Dahlia unstuck her tongue from the roof of her mouth. “Yes.”

  “Pity.” It was another word Dahlia wasn’t sure the queen understood. “I thought humans only mated in pairs.” She gestured to where Jade was waiting, Dahlia’s wine in his hand and a confused expression on his face.

  “Why limit oneself?” Numen-only-knew where those words came from, but they seemed to appease the Osei queen. The prince who had been s
tanding beside Terre Verte moved away, back to his own queen’s side, and Terre Verte allowed Dahlia to lead him out of the crowd.

  She started to take her arm away, but he held tight, saying under his breath, “Thank you. That was getting awkward.”

  Jade greeted them both with a polite nod. “Terre,” he said.

  “Sorry to borrow Dahlia so abruptly,” Terre Verte replied, as he led them all to sit at one of the high-top tables ringing the crowded hall. As they walked, Dahlia realized the chill on him wasn’t dissipating; he was generating it somehow, like an icy breeze seeping from his skin. “Among the Osei, a single prince goes with any queen who offers for him, and is honored by the invitation. He doesn’t have a home or a family name unless he is given one by a queen. The queen of the Third Noble House seems to have trouble understanding that I’m happy to remain here . . . not to mention reluctant to give my entire country to the Osei.”

  He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.

  “Are you all right?” Jade asked.

  “Mmhmm.” Terre Verte opened his eyes, which seemed distant. “Neither of you can see power.” He spoke the words as if reminding himself. “The Osei can’t, either.”

  “What would we see if we could?” Dahlia asked.

  His eyes refocused and he drew a slow, shaking breath. “Never mind,” he said. He lifted his eyes to the foxfire orbs hovering in the air above them, and absently touched an intricate bracelet he was wearing made of woven metal strands. “My mother should signal everyone to move to dinner soon. That will be easier to manage. Jade, I’m afraid you’ve been assigned a different dinner partner, but I’m sure you will find Dahlia again for the dancing.”

  Dahlia was about to protest that, despite her step-dancing skills, she had negligible experience with formal ballroom dance when a babble of excitement reached her ears.

  Before she could fully turn to look, something large dove past, inches from her head, making her duck away from its frantic flapping and mournful cries of ki-ki-ki!

  “What on the blue seas—” Jade made it halfway through the exclamation, then broke off in order to dodge a foxfire orb the madly ricocheting creature had just sent careening their way. The glass shattered as it struck the ground, spattering ethereal light, which stuck to suits and gowns as a viscous, smoldering ooze for a few seconds before extinguishing.

  “A bird,” Dahlia said, laughing a little as her heart tried to return to its normal rhythm. She had never seen a bird like this before, though. It had the arrow-straight body and wide, rounded wings of a heron, but a long, trailing tail that sparkled as if carved from ice.

  “Someone’s exotic pet?” Jade suggested. “It doesn’t look like something native to a cold land like this.”

  “Yes. A pet, no doubt,” Verte said, in a dazed, distant voice. “I’ll—”

  “With that bit of excitement, I would like to officially welcome you all to the Apple Harvest Ball.” The Terra’s voice lifted across the crowd, amplified somehow, and rolling with her laughter at the awkward bird. “Normally I would give a speech and a toast before asking you to join me at our meal, but I think it best if we leave the staff to help our feathered friend outside before any of you lovely gentlemen find a mess in your hair. Please, make your way to the dining hall, find your seats, and I will speak to you there.”

  She spoke with a levity that put the crowd at ease, but Dahlia couldn’t help but notice the way Terre Verte couldn’t seem to look away from the bird.

  After that, the rest of the evening passed with less excitement. Terre Jaune, Terra Sarcelle, and the Osei sat together at the high table, while Terre Verte sat at the head and Dahlia at the foot of the next one, along with the highest-ranked of the visiting dignitaries from Tamar, Silmat, and countries of which Dahlia had only vaguely heard. Jade had dismissed his own importance in Silmari hierarchy, but he had a seat at the table not far from Dahlia herself.

  Dahlia’s table partner was a duke from a country whose name she attempted to pronounce in its native tongue three times before the duke sighed, and said, “Your people call them the Forgotten Islands.”

  He spoke carefully, clearly struggling with the Castrili tongue commonly used in Kavet, Silmat, and Tamar, but Dahlia enjoyed the conversation despite the frequent hesitations and moments of confusion.

  According to the duke, the Forgotten Islands had recently begun negotiating with Kavet for increased trade, since there was an open waterway between the two lands that did not cut across any Osei territories, and the Islands then had a reasonable course directly to Silmat. The Tamari objected to the proposal, which they feared would undercut their own trade, but the people of Silmat and the Forgotten Islands supported it as a way to protest and avoid Osei tariffs even if it made the eventual trade route longer than the traditional path through the tropical Rushing Sea.

  When Dahlia wished aloud for a map, the duke unhesitatingly waved down a servant and asked for pen and parchment with an imperious tone that made Dahlia blush. The servants didn’t hesitate, and three others nearby at the table joined the conversation once they noticed the duke’s drawing.

  I’m not sure this counts as fulfilling my hostess duties by maintaining pleasant conversation, she thought idly, as the duke appealed to Jade for a word he needed to describe the type of ship best suited for the trip. But at least it’s not eider ducks.

  “Why not go through here?” she asked, pointing to a portion of the map that seemed empty.

  The duke shook his head, and waved his wineglass as he struggled to find a word. “The water is fast and shallow there,” he said. “Prone to storms and . . . what call them?”

  “Riptides,” Jade supplied. “They’re what the Rushing Sea is named for. The Jeskayque have detailed charts and ships designed to navigate them, but they struggle with the open, deep-ocean voyage from their country to Kavet. That’s why our three nations are working together to come up with an agreement.” He pronounced the tongue-twisting name for the Forgotten Islands with long familiarity. Dahlia resolved to master it herself by the end of the evening.

  By the end of the dancing, she amended, as Terra Sarcelle stood and rang a small bell, drawing attention to herself so she could announce it was time to move to the next hall. Dahlia had been so engrossed in the conversation she hadn’t even noticed when the final course was cleared away.

  Remembering Maimeri’s warnings, which seemed so long past now, Dahlia found herself considering the possibility of a job at the docks in a new light. If the apprenticeship at the stationer didn’t work out, she might see if there were any employment opportunities there, where she could further feed this hunger for knowledge about the world beyond Kavet’s isolated shores.

  Chapter 16

  Henna

  Henna had called herself a coward several times since she decided she would rather stay in and watch Clay than risk even glimpsing the Osei in the street, but now she felt like she had avoided a skirmish by volunteering for a war.

  Why won’t he stop screaming?

  She had gone through every lullaby and sea shanty in her repertoire, first expecting and then praying that Clay would drop off to sleep any moment. She had taken him to the temple and made foxfire dance, let him play on the silver altar that was his favorite, given him frozen teething biscuits, offered food, water and milk, and tried to distract him with stuffed toys and coloring sticks. Sometimes the crying faded to whining for a short while, but nothing made him happy, and now it was hours past his bedtime.

  She had often taken care of Clay when Maddy was out, so she hadn’t expected trouble when she encouraged Maddy to go out to celebrate. Clay had never been a finicky child before, and he had liked Henna fine in the past. His mood had been cheerful for most of the day, but at some point around dinner his mood had shifted like the wind changing from a spring breeze to a summer tempest.

  “Clay, honey, what do you want?” she implored, for perhaps the hundredth time that hour.

  “Abibi!” Clay whined. “Mumum!”<
br />
  Clay had already thrown several banana biscuits across the room, along with everything else she had tried to distract him with. “Your mumum isn’t here right now. She’ll be back later.”

  Clay returned to his wordless wailing. Henna began to ponder the old Tamari trick of putting whiskey on his gums—and then drinking the rest of the shot herself.

  Instead, she stood up and bounced the child in her exhausted arms. “Honey, please. Tell Henna what’s wrong.”

  What was wrong was that, soon enough, she was going to have to give up and go out to look for Maddy. Clay’s crying was straining Henna’s nerves and breaking her heart, and she was so tired every muscle in her body tingled.

  “I’ve fed you. I’ve changed you. I’ve done everything I can think to make you happy . . .” She sighed. “Okay. Maybe you want fresh air. Do you want to go outside? Watch the merchants do their magic? Maybe find Maddy?”

  “Mumum!”

  “Yes, we’ll look for Mumum.”

  Leaving the sanctuary of the Cobalt Hall for Kavet’s marketplace was about the last thing Henna wanted to do. Even though she knew the Osei would be inside, playing nice with the Terre at the ball and not mingling with commoners in the square, her heart pounded at the thought of crossing the threshold.

  She had to put Clay down as she pulled on an outdoor dress and street shoes. He would normally have run off, his insatiable curiosity a menace to anyone who looked away for even an instant, but this time he merely sat and wailed.

  Maybe he was sick? Some of the initiates in the Napthol order were healers, but they were all out enjoying Festival, like Maddy. Like Terre Verte and the Quin girl.

  Like the Osei.

  “Naba bibi gimme gaaaah!”

  She picked Clay up again and wiped tears from his face before wrapping him in a blanket to keep him warm against the early spring chill.

  “We’re going to find Mumum,” Henna promised him. “We’ll have fun outside.” Please.