The Redwood Palace

by M K Hutchins

  “But not poisoned.” I hesitated, then tried the bean cakes and cranberries. The reconstituted berries were a shade too sweet, but nothing sinister accompanied them. “It’s all safe.”

  “But you disapprove of the cranberries as well.”

  I replied diplomatically. “I think everyone will be happier when Hawak returns.”

  Lady Sulat’s eyebrow quirked, as if she found my evasive answer amusing. She sipped the soup. “Can you stand quietly, without speaking?”

  “Of course, Lady Sulat,” I replied. I had no desire to draw more attention to myself.

  Lady Sulat nodded. The baby woke and cried; a middle-aged nurse came and changed his soiled under things. After spending time with the Hungry Ghost, the tarry, black mess could have been roses. As the servant worked, Lady Sulat spoke to one of her six guards. I didn’t know if she usually had so many, or if their number increased after yesterday. “I want to interview the kitchen staff. If you’d be so kind as to escort them here, one by one, and keep them on the far side of the room away from me and my child.”

  The soldier bowed and left; the servant handed back the infant.

  Lady Sulat’s face only broke its cool veneer when she gazed down at the tiny babe and rubbed his back. Despite his size, he seemed healthy—almost certainly thanks to his birthgift. For once, I didn’t resent Dami for running off and forcing me into the palace. She couldn’t have saved that child.

  Tanoak came first. Even from her position sitting in her bed, Lady Sulat managed to stare coldly down her nose at him. “I am disappointed in the kitchen staff. A dish scrubber girl had to correct you. What would have happened if you didn’t have a daughter from a real chef’s house?”

  Tanoak bowed, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “I... my most sincere apologies.”

  “Apologies are not enough. I want to know that you are competent. How would you treat a sore throat?”

  He stammered, but managed to spit out, “Sweet and sour beet stems, Lady Sulat.”

  “And what if beet stems were unavailable?”

  “Ah, spinach stems. But that comes into season with beets. If neither is available fresh, the best thing’s pickled beet stems.”

  He’d gotten that much right; thick beets stems targeted the neck better than spinach stems, but fresh was stronger than pickled. Even if the sour-crisp beet stems tasted better.

  “What if someone suffered from digestive issues?”

  Lady Sulat kept up a barrage of questions until Tanoak was sweating like a diced onion over even heat. Then she asked, “How would you encourage labor?”

  “A sour herbal infusion—cranberry would be best, but in a pinch, you could use red raspberry leaf if you were careful about it.”

  I stared in horror, but Tanoak didn’t notice me. Lady Sulat asked a few more questions, then nodded demurely. “I’m satisfied. Thorn.” She turned to one of her guards. “Please return this man to his post and bring me another member of the kitchen staff.”

  They left. Lady Sulat daintily ate a few dried cranberries. “Dami. In the future, I ask you not to gape.”

  “I... apologize.”

  “Thrown in with so many other questions, Tanoak didn’t notice. He is innocent. A guilty party would stumble, lie, or glance at you, wondering what you might have learned here. I would rather not remove you from the room.”

  “I will be still, Lady Sulat.”

  The next cooking apprentice came. Once again, Lady Sulat gestured at me and humiliated the young man. Then came the barrage of questions. He answered much like Tanoak, though his recommendation for incontinence would have exasperated the problem.

  So it went with the rest of the apprentices. Once they’d all left, Lady Sulat addressed Poppy. “Do you know who handed you the tray with my infusion?”

  “No. I fetched it from its normal spot.”

  She turned to me. “Did you see anything unusual in the kitchens?”

  “Other than Hawak’s absence?” I’d kept my head down as much as possible during the mad commotion. “I’m afraid the kitchen was... less than orderly. Any of the apprentices could have done it without being noticed. Or any servant waiting for a tray.”

  Lady Sulat nodded. “No one in this palace is stupid enough to poison me and do it carelessly. You’ll speak of this to no one. All of you. I simply delivered early.”

  The guards bowed their heads. I did likewise.

  Someone knocked on the lattice door. “My Lady Sulat, the Purple Heir Lord Valerian desires an audience.”

  “Enter,” Lady Sulat called.

  The heir to the throne, King Alder’s son, dashed in—a twelve-year-old boy with fine cheekbones and a slender nose that made him seem four years younger. “Aunt Sulat! I just heard. Are you all right? Your little one?”

  All the coldness washed from her face. She brushed Valerian’s hair back from his eyes. “Yes, of course. But I can’t let you hold your cousin yet. He needs to stay near me for warmth. Maybe in a month.”

  “I didn’t come just to see the baby. I was terrified for both of you.”

  The boy spoke with such charming elocution, like he’d been raised on the polite talk of high-ranked lords and ladies. I blinked and remembered who this was—he had grown up in a palace.

  Lady Sulat actually chuckled. “Well, I’m glad to report that we’re well. This charming young lady cooked a marvelous meal for both of us.”

  The Heir of Rowak himself flicked me a smile. “That was lucky, with Hawak gone.”

  “Yes. Lucky.” Lady Sulat’s words stung like needles.

  In all the rush, in all the chaos, it hadn’t occurred to me until now. The poison showing up while Hawak was gone—that couldn’t be a coincidence. I felt like an idiot. Fir had gotten rid of Hawak, which meant he almost certainly had a hand in trying to kill a baby. I felt ill. But he’d tried to kill me, too, hadn’t he? Why should I think him above infanticide?

  Lady Sulat continued in a more cheerful tone. “Tell me, how go your studies?”

  “Marvelous! I finished On the Governance of a People and I wanted to tell you all these amazing things!”

  Lady Sulat leaned against her pillows, smiling softly, while the Heir quoted bits of his book. I confess I couldn’t stop listening. He had such ideas for improving roads and increasing trade. What a precocious child.

  Lady Sulat occasionally asked a question, like how such a change would affect carters and farmers, or how he might garner political support for a new law.

  Then his young forehead wrinkled. He excelled at extrapolating consequences but fumbled the political questions.

  Halfway through one such question, Lady Sulat yawned.

  “What am I thinking?” Purple Lord Valerian jumped to his feet. “You just had a baby. You must be exhausted. I’ll go. Recover soon.”

  Lady Sulat drifted off almost as soon as Valerian left with his Palace Guards. I doubted I could sleep with people watching me, but perhaps she’d gotten used to it.

  I chewed my lip. I still didn’t understand why Lady Sulat had spared me. But perhaps I should simply trust her and tell her everything I knew about Fir. She’d housed Osem when her family perished and gave Bane a post. How many others had Lady Sulat helped?

  The outside guard quietly passed a letter into Lady Sulat’s room, but she woke with the whisper of sliding wood. The guard winced, but Lady Sulat didn’t glare. She gestured for the envelope. Her child continued to sleep.

  Lady Sulat pulled the paper from its brocade envelope and read it through. Then she turned to me. “Dami. Your trial for treason will commence two weeks from today.”

  I froze. “I’m standing trial?”

  “In fourteen days. Thirteen, if you don’t count today.”

  “I... I thought...”

  “As a servant of the Royal House, you are assured a trial before the Purple-Blue Council and you are allotted two weeks to send for any witnesses you may need. Since you serve under me, I am responsible for you until then. I could relinqu
ish that responsibility to the Palace Guard, but I will not.

  “But if you flee, my soldiers will track you. When they find you, they will slice the tendons in your ankles, leaving you unable to walk, and drag you back here for trial. Understood?”

  “No, I don’t understand. I thought you were protecting me.”

  Lady Sulat regarded me coolly. “At the very least, you lied to the Royal House about your birthgift—you cooked a meal that created an All-of-All. Do you think I can make so many witnesses pretend it wasn’t you? That I can bring back the whispers already circulating?”

  Cold dread congealed in my gut.

  “I stopped the Palace Guard from whisking you away to some torture hole to never be heard from again,” Lady Sulat said. “My actions have guaranteed that you will have a trial, nothing more.”

  My head throbbed. “You said something about sending for witnesses. Must I bring any? Will King Alder summon my parents if I don’t ask them to come?”

  I didn’t want them anywhere near this mess.

  She raised a single eyebrow. “Not summoning your parents to defend you, in this case, is tantamount to admitting guilt. King Alder has no reason to send for them.”

  Good. If they came here and anyone learned they’d been complicit in my deception, they’d stand trial, too. “Thank you for explaining.”

  After that, Lady Sulat sent me to do some mending with Poppy.

  Out of her mistress’ gaze, Poppy relaxed her formalities. She cheerfully offered me her favorite porcupine needle. Then she helped me thread it and, after seeing my stitches, tactfully switched me from Lady Sulat’s clothes to hem sheets. She asked polite questions and tried to engage me in conversation.

  But all of her kindness washed over me, like so much oil on top of vinegar. I should be grateful, but why would Lady Sulat spare me from immediate arrest? Was this gratitude for saving her child’s life? She didn’t seem particularly thankful.

  “Lady Sulat looks cold, but she’s thoughtful when it matters,” Poppy offered. “You’ll get used to her.”

  “I have two weeks until I’m sent to trial. It’s not a lot of time to get used to anything.”

  Poppy’s brows furrowed, though her stitches continued in their tiny perfection without slowing. “You think you’re guilty of something?”

  The way she phrased it, something meant poisoning Lady Sulat.

  Of course Lady Sulat spoke coldly to me. We couldn’t find her poisoner. I had all the skill of a chef. I had access to the kitchens.

  I tried to think like Osem would. If I were Lady Sulat’s enemy, I hadn’t acted alone. What had Lady Sulat said? No one in this palace is stupid enough to poison me and do it carelessly.

  A dish scrubber had no reason to poison her at all. No, I’d be working for someone else. But if she suspected me, why not hand me to the Palace Guard? Maybe she was slighting them, given the rivalry between the Guard and the military.

  “I’ve only tried to help Lady Sulat.” True, though not a direct answer to the question. I stabbed myself with the needle again and swore. I’d never been good at sewing.

  “Here.” Poppy, ever helpful, repositioned my fabric and the way I held the needle. “Try again.”

  I did regular chores with Poppy for the rest of the day. After tasting Lady Sulat’s supper, I asked if I could see the letter against me. I needed to know all the specifics.

  She nodded for a guard to comply. “Unfortunately, they didn’t accuse you of much.”

  My throat tightened. This woman wasn’t my ally. I skimmed the short letter. It only charged me with lying to the Royal House about my birthgift. Which was more than enough to get me hanged.

  “News of my poisoning is, alas, circulating. Rumor has it you’re responsible.”

  How did Lady Sulat hear so much, laying in bed, recovering? I glanced at her soldiers, but of course none of them wore a sign saying Master of Reconnaissance.

  “I petitioned the Ministry of Justice to also charge you with espionage, but as expected, the gesture was futile.”

  How generous of her. “I’m dead either way.”

  Lady Sulat shook her head. “Espionage would mark you as an enemy of the state. Instead of facing the Purple-Blue Council, you’d have a military tribunal, full of my officers. But the Minister of Justice is rather partial to having a vote in all trials and he was justified in turning down my request. There’s no evidence you’re a spy.”

  My throat burned. I’d never thought an accusation of spying would be desirable. “These ministers... do you know how they’ll vote?”

  “Ah, that is the right question. The Council decides guilt; the King allots punishment. The Council has become more cautious in their verdicts since the twelve apprentices hanged—they expected a mere dismissal—but King Alder’s still influential and you’re clearly guilty. I’d be surprised if you were condemned at anything less than an eight-to-two vote. For lying to the Royal House, the law prescribes anything from dismissal and fines to hanging.”

  The way she said hanging left me no doubt that would be King Alder’s preference. “You’re... the Minister of Military Affairs, right? You’re part of the Purple-Blue Council.”

  “I am.” She stared at me, adding nothing more. I still wasn’t sure if she wanted to save me or kill me.

  I dropped my eyes to the damning letter, futilely wishing the words would change.

  The bottom paragraph snagged my gaze. It named the man who’d originally brought me to the attention of the Ministry of Justice. Yellow-ranked Fir of Askan-Wod.

  Fir, as far as I knew, had no skills with poisons. And I couldn’t imagine why he’d wish such harm to Lady Sulat or myself. But he was involved.

  Perhaps if I could uncover his crimes—find evidence linking him to the poisoning—the King would grant me leniency for my lie. Maybe the Council would take pity and vote me innocent to spare me the King’s wrath. Or maybe I’d hang.

  But if I only had two weeks, I’d spend them trying to stop Fir from hurting anyone else.

  All night, I thought about what Osem said yesterday—that perhaps Fir wasn’t so much attacking me as trying to get the next girl on the servant waiting list into the Redwood Palace. Unfortunately, that was the only clue I had.

  In the morning, I tasted Lady Sulat’s breakfast—more marrow soup and sweet cranberry bean cakes—and managed not to critique the balance. Strangely, I missed scrubbing crocks. Watching the apprentices make their mistakes. Smelling their mistakes burnt onto pottery. Most of all I missed Osem. But I doubted anyone would let a rumored poisoner near the kitchens.

  “L-Lady Sulat,” I ventured.

  She flicked me a glance.

  “I was hoping for your permission to visit the Hall of Records.”

  “Go. Moss. Accompany her.”

  Moss was an older soldier, with gray hair and knotted hands. We cut through a budding flower garden, then the empty springball courts. Dew clung to the ground and my skirt. Moss clasped his hands behind his back and hummed—loudly and out-of-tune.

  “You’re cheerful.”

  “Why shouldn’t I be?”

  I frowned. “Aren’t you worried I might try to run away? Make your life difficult?”

  “Ah! I’m hoping you will.” He pulled a bolas from his belt. “I made a bet with Suruc. If you run and I only trip you, I owe him five amber chips. If I break your legs, he owes me one.”

  Unnerving, to see him smile as he said it. “Why would he give you such odds?”

  “Because he’s an idiot!” He laughed. “It’s been a long time since I tricked someone into less than ten to one. “

  After that, I walked slowly. Just in case Moss had any idea that I might be trying to run.

  The Hall of Records was its own building, with a broad porch and a row of those finely polished redwood pillars supporting the eaves. However elegant the structure, I flinched from the blue-clad guard before the door, remembering my trip to the aviary with Bane.

  The Palace Guard snee
red at us. Moss jogged up the steps. “Ah, thanks for decorating the door. Doesn’t it feel nice, to be good for something?”

  My lungs froze; was he that desperate to use his bolas today? But the bristling guard let us pass.

  “What were you doing?” I hissed once we were inside.

  Moss shrugged. “It’d be rude not to greet him, but what else can you say to a Palace Guard?”

  Apparently the antagonism came from two directions. At least nothing had happened. I exhaled. Inside, elegantly carved shelves stretched from floor to ceiling—each full of slender, gleaming boxes. In the center rested several low, circular tables made from cross-sections of young redwoods, along with flat cushions for sitting. Perfect for hours of reading.

  A pair of archivists greeted us. They were a matched set—wrinkled faces, slouched backs, blue-ranked sleeves, and smiles sweeter than honey. Something in the way they stood next to each other said they’d been married for a long time.

  “I’m Kochan, the Chief Royal Archivist,” the man said. “And my wife, Royal Archivist Linaan. How may we be of assistance?”

  “I’d like to see the waiting list for servers in the palace.”

  Linaan grinned, disappeared into the stacks, and returned with one of those manuscript boxes. She set it on the table. “There you go!”

  “Thank you.” I rested the lid next to the box, laying each page face-down in it as I browsed. I finally found my sister’s page, the same one she’d had Nisaat fetch when I first arrived. An elegant hand recorded her genealogy, birthgift, and the date of her application.

  I flipped to the next page. Ilasa of Lillywhite. My pulse throbbed in my throat. “So... this is the girl next in line to serve in the palace?”

  The girl Fir wanted to bring in. She was endurance-of-leg. Why would Fir need a runner?

  “Well, now she is. The girl in front of her resigned a few days ago.”

  That couldn’t be a coincidence. “Where’s her page now?”

  “With the Ministry of the Treasury. She has an awful lot of back-taxes to pay.”

  “And she’s paying them?”

  Linaan shrugged. “Something about getting married instead. Her family can afford the fine and I guess they spoil her.”