The Redwood Palace

by M K Hutchins

  He frowned, letting the empty wine cup fall to his side. “Do something sounds a great deal like work. I don’t suppose I could nap for this instead? I am exceptionally good at napping.”

  The door opened. I’d been so busy focusing on Fulsaan, I hadn’t heard the footsteps.

  Purple King Alder stared at both of us, along with his four personal guards. The pair of deaf guards turned to see what everyone else was staring at.

  My breath tangled as King Alder’s wide-eyed surprise narrowed into hate. “Arrest her!”

  I dashed for the window. Boots thundered behind me. I swung one of my legs over the ledge and hoisted myself up.

  Someone grabbed my ankle. I punched him in the nose. He let go and I pitched forward onto the steeply sloped roof.

  My feet skittered against the shingles as I slid downward. I splayed my limbs and dug in with my fingers. I halted, my feet a handspan from the lip of the roof.

  I wasn’t Dami. I wasn’t strong-of-arm. I wasn’t agile-of-anything. My breath shook. I tried to shuffle sideways but slipped another inch. Three stories to fall. I wouldn’t survive that.

  Someone skidded toward me. A guard in blue. I shrieked and tried to push him away, but I couldn’t do that and keep my balance. He deftly looped a rope over my hand, then grabbed my other hand and tied it, too.

  He yanked, and I fell on my side. I slithered up the roof, belly grating on the wooden shingles as he pulled me back up. Thrashing only added scrapes to my elbows. I glanced up at the guard. He stared back, face serene. A purple band encircled his arm, embossed with amber bears. Why had I thought I could outrun a high-ranking palace guard?

  He hauled me through the window and dropped me onto the floor like a sack of beans. The soldier I’d punched stood in the corner, nose dripping blood, receiving a hushed, sharp lecture from his superior.

  “Lieutenant Bracken, haul her away,” King Alder commanded.

  Fulsaan sat where I’d left him. He hadn’t so much as stood up to help me. As the four guards hauled me to my feet, he stretched, yawned, and then reclined back on the floor, his double-chin resting against his neck.

  “Why,” Fulsaan drawled, “is she being arrested?”

  “She’s an invader,” King Alder snapped.

  “She’s my guest. Unless you’re suggesting that I’m a prisoner, who has no right to visitors I wish to see?”

  The guards straightened, ears prickling. One of the four turned to Fulsaan with questioning pity in his eyes. The deaf guards still stood outside, spears ready for anyone who might come up the hall.

  “She risked your health by coming here,” Alder said.

  “I invited her. I risked my own health. Shall we arrest these Palace Guards as well for entering?”

  The guards betrayed no fear on their faces, though more than one neck tensed.

  The King considered me, gaze prickling my skin like vinegar. “I would have your name.”

  I swallowed, hard. Part of me ached to make up something wild, but I doubted such subterfuge could last. “I am Yellow-ranked Dami of Clamsriver, a servant of the Royal House.”

  “Dami...” he mumbled my name, eyes sharp. He turned to Fulsaan. “Father, I’m surprised you chose to entertain an accused criminal as your guest. Or did you not know she has a trial set?”

  Fulsaan leaned back and raised an eyebrow. “Then she should reach that trial alive, don’t you think?”

  “I’ll have the Palace Guard lock her up, like any other prisoner.”

  “Ah, but she’s not any other prisoner. She’s a servant of the Royal House and my friend.” He turned to the guards. “Lieutenant Bracken. Make sure nothing ill happens to her. If it does, I want a full investigation.”

  Lieutenant Bracken glanced from King Alder to Fulsaan. Alder’s face and shoulders tightened.

  Last autumn, the Palace Guard answered to Fulsaan. I swallowed hard. If King Alder killed me outright, would these men remain loyal to their current master, or would they spread rumors that Fulsaan was trapped, his throne usurped?

  “You may agree,” King Alder said to the guards, voice void of emotion. Apparently he didn’t know who they’d choose, either. Lieutenant Bracken bowed.

  King Alder stared at me, eyes burning in his otherwise impassive face. Had this man sent Violet to murder his sister? He was cold enough to do it. Either way, it wouldn’t matter that I’d revealed Violet as the poisoner. When my trial came, he’d see me dead, just for finding me here. If not for Fulsaan, I didn’t doubt he’d kill me today.

  “Lock her up in a spare room of the Royal Bear House. If my father insists she is treated like a guest, she will have every luxury.”

  The guards bowed low, then grabbed me by the elbows and escorted me down the stairs.

  The room King Alder provided oozed ostentation. My bed—a standing bed—rested in its own curtained alcove, the fabric rich with stylized embroidery of hawks and salmon. The main room boasted a rug I could sink my fingers into up to the second knuckle. The high, narrow lattice window on the west face repeated the hawks and salmon in low-relief. I had three chairs, likewise carved, a lacquered wardrobe, and a table inlaid with shell and stone. All of it smelled of fine, ginger-scented wood polish.

  If King Alder put me in here to intimidate me with his wealth, it was working.

  Four women entered, their purple skirts decorated with a bleached-out bear, denoting them as servants of King Alder. They carried a wooden washtub between them and pitchers of water.

  They gracefully set the tub down, then nudged me into it.

  “Ah,” I began. “What, is, umm...”

  They kept their eyes lowered, as if I were some great person. Did King Alder tell them to act like that to mock me, or did they think me a real guest? I’d seen the guards positioned outside the door when the women entered.

  “His Majesty desires his guest to be comfortable and clean,” one of them said. Then they deftly stripped me naked and scrubbed me like a particularly muddy radish. After they toweled me off and wrestled my hair into smooth locks, they brought me a dress from the wardrobe. How odd, to see a dress of Yellow-rank width made with fabric as light and smooth as whipped egg whites, delicately dyed a forget-me-not-blue. A pale yellow skirt followed, delicately embroidered with streaks of amber and pink, reminiscent of a sunrise. Or, in my case, sunset.

  The servants braided and twirled all my hair into a pile on top of my head, then adorned the braids with tinkling shell ornaments.

  I felt off balance, as frail as a forget-me-not poking through the snow of early spring. The King had stated his wealth with the room and his power over me with the servants—he decided when I bathed, what I wore.

  The women left as quietly as they came. I glimpsed the guards again, spears at their sides. I couldn’t escape that way.

  I ran my hand over the embroidered skirt. So lovely. My chest ached. This was exactly the kind of dress I would have wanted to meet Sorrel in. I might look half as beautiful as the real Dami, now.

  “Oh, Nana. Whether it’s poisonous snakes or gilded dresses, I can’t navigate this palace. What’s the realm of the Ancestors like? I hope it’s peaceful.”

  I didn’t feel anything except my own roiling stomach. I couldn’t stay here. My trial was the day after tomorrow. King Former Fulsaan had bought me precious little time.

  Walking carefully in the dress, I crossed to the high, narrow window. I was on the second story, opposite of Fulsaan’s room, facing west.

  The door opened. I startled. King Alder stood there, clothed in blood-dark violet brocade. The wide cut of fabric draped around him, his sleeves tumbling to his fingertips in another display of wealth. I swallowed and stepped away from the window.

  “Sit.” He gestured at the chairs. The door thudded closed behind him. He’d left his guards outside. Did he not want them listening? “Are your accommodations sufficiently comfortable?”

  “Yes. Thank you.” I sat, the hairs on my arms prickling. At least he couldn’t see that. I tri
ed to mirror his face. Impassive. Unreadable.

  The King kept his voice low. “You have not been in the palace long. How did you become my father’s friend so quickly?”

  I didn’t doubt that he’d kill me if I told the truth. He’d hanged twelve apprentices for seeing the Ghost—and I knew its secrets.

  “He sent me a note.”

  “A note.”

  “I found it scrubbing his dishes. He said he needed someone to come to his chambers.”

  “Scrubbing dishes,” he echoed, tone unchanging.

  I swallowed hard. “Yes.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He said it was urgent. But when I came, he asked me to fluff his pillows. For more comfortable naps.”

  Alder leaned back. “He went to the trouble of sending you a note for that?”

  “Has he not asked you for a servant, to do these things for him?”

  Alder’s face darkened. Fulsaan had asked, but Alder apparently didn’t trust anyone enough for the task.

  “He seemed very ill, Your Majesty.” I dropped my eyes to my lap. “He couldn’t even fetch a cup of wine for himself.”

  “And for this small service, he names you a great friend?”

  “He seems to take his naps seriously. He’s a kind old man. May his Ancestors smile on him and send him a swift recovery.”

  I kept my eyes down, not daring to look up, lest Alder see the lie in my face.

  “How did you get into his room? The guards won’t admit anyone without my physical presence. I deliver all his food, take away all his dishes.”

  I spread my fingers over my embroidered skirt, trying not to clench them. Did I have a reasonable answer? “I’m strong-of-arm. I scaled the wall and he let me through the window.”

  “Very well.” King Alder spoke a touch softer than before. I couldn’t tell if I’d fooled him, or if I’d left him satisfied that I needed to die.

  He swept out of the room, leaving me alone in oppressive luxury, with my hands clutched in the soft fabric of my skirt, my heart pounding in my throat.

  My midday meal consisted of simple buckwheat branches. Grain targeted no part of the body and the preparation held no hint of spicy, salty, sour, or sweet. King Alder wanted me to have no advantage. At least they weren’t poisoned.

  For drinking, he sent rhubarb wine. No water. Did he want to intoxicate me, loosen my tongue? I sipped only enough to quench my thirst after the dry branches.

  My door opened again. Captain Gano of the Palace Guard ducked under the lintel, the purple band on his arm bright in the afternoon light. A pair of guards in blue flanked him.

  “Good afternoon, Dami.” He didn’t hide his emotions as well as King Alder; loathing twisted his face, turning his softly-spoken greeting insincere. His severe mustache looked sharp as obsidian.

  If I stayed standing, I’d start to pace and fidget. I sat in one of the chairs, even though looking up at the tall man would put a crick in my neck. My information could make this man a king. I had a way to bargain for my own freedom and protection.

  But telling him about the Hungry Ghost betrayed Lady Sulat as well. And the Shoreed would use such an upheaval to strike. My life wasn’t worth Rowak’s sovereignty.

  “Good afternoon, Captain Gano. Did His Majesty send you to question me?”

  “A number of people are petitioning to visit you. The King merely approved my request.” He sat across from me and folded his manicured hands in his lap. So different from Bane’s calloused one. “You’ve become quite an interesting person, Dami.”

  I didn’t know how to respond, so I said nothing.

  Captain Gano tensed in the silence. Good. I wanted him as off-kilter as I felt.

  “You found Lady Sulat’s poisoner. A remarkable feat.”

  “Thank you.” Was he testing my connection to Lady Sulat, then?

  “How did you uncover Violet’s plot? I have yet to hear that story.”

  My throat prickled. The truth—that Fir pointed me to them—would hand him information that I’d rather keep close. “She tried to delay me from tasting Lady Sulat’s food. I’m afraid her clumsy maneuvers were obvious.”

  “Ah. Lady Sulat must be pleased with your efforts,” he said, nibbling at my loyalties again.

  I didn’t agree or disagree with his statement. “My efforts were humble.”

  “You seem to attract attention everywhere you go. Old King Fulsaan truly named you his friend?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you earn his trust so quickly? You’ve not been in the palace long. More importantly, how did you get past my guards?” His ridiculous mustache twitched in annoyance.

  Of course he resented me. I’d made him look foolish.

  The moment for bargaining had come. But I couldn’t offer him the throne for my freedom.

  I paused. Why had King Alder even allowed this man to speak with me?

  The truth struck me like a rock in the gut. Lady Sulat had already taught me about giving someone enough freedom to allow them to expose their loyalties. Of course I wouldn’t tell the King that I knew about the Hungry Ghost. But I might tell this man, his biggest threat. I peered at the ceiling, then the walls. Was there a peep-hole? Or a trusted, perceptive-of-ear spy nearby?

  The real danger here was still the King. If I’d spoken, I doubted either me or Captain Gano would see sunset. Dealing with the repercussions in the Purple-Blue Council would be simpler than drawing the truth back in once revealed.

  “You look unwell. Does my question trouble you?”

  “It’s merely exasperating. Surely you have already heard it from King Alder.”

  Captain Gano glared flatly. “Humor me.”

  “No.”

  “That’s pert.” He leaned back and laid his hands lightly on the armrest, a subtle reminder of the guards at his sides. “I came for a peaceable visit and this is how you treat me, a blue-ranked man of the palace?”

  “Peaceable?” I let the frustration in my gut uncoil into my voice. “You attacked me less than a week ago! My ankle is still bruised. Why should I waste my breath repeating myself to a man who’s already declared himself my enemy?”

  Maybe I’d gone over-the-top. Maybe whoever was listening would say as much to King Alder.

  Gano narrowed his eyes. “You call Violet clumsy, yet you allow yourself tantrums. I am the Captain of the Palace Guard. I could make your life longer, if you proved... interesting.”

  I remained silent, insides writhing despite my best attempts at smooth breathing.

  “You need time to consider this, when your trial is the day after tomorrow?”

  “No. I fell silent for fear of saying anything you’d find interesting.”

  He stood, hooked a foot around my chair leg, and yanked. I fell backwards, head smacking onto the soft rug. Nowhere near hard enough for my brain to bleed out from the inside. He wouldn’t have been so gentle if we sat in a prison instead of the Royal Bear House—I could see it in his eyes.

  Gano towered over me, his boot next to my throat. “I look forward to your execution.”

  He left with his men.

  I exhaled. Limbs shaking, I straightened the chair, then laid down in my bed. Whoever was listening would tell King Alder that I wasn’t Captain Gano’s person. Maybe I belonged to Lady Sulat, but she’d be disinherited, too, if Fulsaan’s ghostly nature came to light. I wasn’t a threat. His Majesty could let me live.

  A deluded hope. Why let a liability live, when he could dispose of me so effortlessly?

  “Thanks, Fulsaan, for these two days,” I muttered to myself, “but I don’t think they’re doing me any good.”

  I’d spent one of them sitting there, interrogated by King and Captain alike. What good was dying with Fulsaan’s secrets? King Alder didn’t deserve to rule, but Lady Sulat made the palace a better place. With her teaching Purple Lord Valerian, we’d have a good king one day—if no one revealed Fulsaan and stripped him to Red rank.

  For all my efforts, I hadn�
�t uncovered who’d threatened Lady Sulat in the first place. I’d only got myself trapped and prodded at.

  I felt like a tadpole cupped in a child’s hand. Here, I had nowhere to swim and the water was all dribbling away.

  When night fell, I thought I was done with visitors. I sat on that beautiful bed in the dark alcove, nibbling my last buckwheat branch. The apprentices had charred it, leaving my mouth parched and ashy.

  Maybe I should have cautiously stayed at Lady Sulat’s side until the trial. My venture here meant nothing if the information died with me.

  The stench of rotting peas tumbled through my high, narrow window. Then that lovely lattice shutter of hawks and salmon rattled.

  I’d never been so happy to smell the Hungry Ghost before.

  Dropping my branch, I ran to the window. I tossed the frame open. Fulsaan waited for me, his massive rolls of fat perched just below the window—perfect for mounting.

  His reek twisted down my throat, gagging me, but I still tried to throw a leg up onto the sill. Too high. I grabbed a chair. This time, my foot easily cleared it. I wriggled my shoulder through the window, but my head clunked against the frame.

  It was too narrow.

  I twisted, grinding my head against the wood. I felt like buckwheat between a pair of millstones. Scrapes decorated my cheeks and the wood bit at my ears, but I made no progress.

  Of course King Alder wouldn’t put me in a room where I might slip out the window.

  “Can you eat wood? Can you melt my prison?”

  He whimpered. I lowered myself back onto the chair.

  “Please try. I can’t get out otherwise.”

  The ghost licked the wood with his tiny pin-prick mouth. Ooze from his body coated it like a rotten-egg tar, but the wood remained. I pried at it with my fingers, then tried to use chair legs as a lever. Nothing budged.

  Fulsaan whimpered again, then disappeared, his massive bulk lost in the darkness of night.

  I closed the shutter. Not that it did anything to block the lingering stench.