by L. K. Rigel
“You’re the counselor.”
“Yes. I’m Counselor.”
“Our counselor died when she was ten,” Mal said. What a relief to have something interesting to say. “King Garrick petitioned the Concord Cities for a nonroyal counselor, but they’re arguing over our counselor’s dagger. Prince Garrick can’t bear to let it go.”
Counselor’s cheeks flushed red and her eyebrows scrunched together.
“Did I say something wrong?” Today it seemed everything Mal knew was wrong.
“The blade should be broken and the dagger returned to the counselor’s breeder. Our regent.”
“Really?” Mal was sure she’d hurt Counselor’s feelings. “Why?”
“A dagger is the sign of a counselor’s commitment to service and her severance from a normal life. She’s cut off from her breeder, from marriage, from children.” Counselor’s hand rested on her dagger’s dragon hilt. “It’s the symbol of our place on the Great Chain. You will have your roses; we have our daggers.”
Mal hadn't noticed, but Counselor had no tattoos or marks. A thousand questions rushed into her mind. She was beginning to see that she knew nothing about the world.
“When Edmund is crowned and I take my position, I’ll belong to my city, and my dagger will properly belong to Allel when I die. But Garrick’s counselor died before she served a day. The dagger has no meaning to the city, does it? It shouldn’t be turned into a memento, a relic. It’s ghoulish.”
“Prince Garrick was destroyed when she died,” Mal said. “He wouldn’t be seen in public for months. I don’t think he’s being ghoulish.”
“At the reception I’ll know.” Counselor sounded like she was stating a fact, not a hope.
“What will you know?”
“I always know if someone’s lying.”
Mal thought of the lie she’d told Sister Jordana earlier. Though it was to protect Palada and Pala, she’d felt bad about it. She hoped Counselor couldn’t tell now. “When will Edmund be king?”
“First he has to complete his guest-host journey. Which he hasn’t started because he never does anything fun. And then the Rites. He’ll be eligible for that when he’s twenty-one.”
“How old are you?” Mal felt her face go red. She’d asked the question before she thought it might be rude.
Counselor just smiled. “I’m seventeen. Edmund is sixteen. Prince Garrick is eighteen, and his sister would have been nineteen. Celia finished her last two contracts in a flash.”
Hormones
At the reception Mal felt like everyone was staring at her. “Don’t mind the citizens.” Counselor stuck one of the escaped curls into the pile on her head. “They’re comparing you to Claire, our bleeder. They can’t help it.”
So she was right; they were staring at her. She looked for another girl in a white jumpsuit and mantle, but no luck. She didn’t see Harriet either.
“The Emissary and the regent are with the others.” Counselor indicated a low stage at the front of the room where dignitaries chatted among themselves. Sister Jordana was talking to a short pretty woman with white hair. That must be the regent, Celia. Guards posted at either side of the stage intimidated all who might approach.
“And Garrick.” Counselor’s voice dropped. It was the first unkind note Mal had heard from her.
“The prince?” You could never be sure what a person meant by Garrick. It could be the city, the province, the king, the prince, the ancient old world corporation.
There were two men with close-cropped red-blond curls who must be the king and prince. They had the same muscular look about them, both handsome – which made Mal feel proud. The king – who looked better than his picture – wore a circlet over his brow and a red and white sash anchored on his right shoulder.
Cutouts in their black leather tunics exposed identical tattoos on their left clavicles. Raptor talons, Garrick’s symbol. It had always seemed befitting of the city’s power and fearlessness, and Mal had always been proud of it. But after what had happened to Palama, it made her sad.
Sister Jordana towered over Prince Garrick in a simple long red dress that bared her right shoulder and arm and her roses. The snake tattoo that covered her head and neck draped over the top of her shoulders like a tattooed scarf. Her eyes flashed at something the prince said, and she turned away to accept another drink from a server.
Prince Garrick didn’t seem bothered by Sister Jordana’s dismissal. He scanned the crowd, caught Mal’s eye, and smiled. Her heart fluttered.
What was happening to her? First Edmund and now Prince Garrick. Prince Garrick! The prince’s gaze moved on. When it fell on Counselor, Mal could swear it was his heart that fluttered.
Counselor must have seen the prince, but she gave him no notice. She raised her glass toward the woman standing beside him who was trying to get his attention. “There’s Lady Drahan.”
The other bleeder’s mother. She wore a multicolored dress that shimmered in the hall’s blazing candlelight. The skirt stuck out so far, she couldn’t get close to anyone. If Mal had seen the lady before meeting Counselor, she would have thought her the grandest, most elegant thing ever.
But she wasn’t grand. She was gaudy. And as unlikely as it seemed, something about her reminded Mal of Ma.
A server brought Mal and Counselor drinks in crystal flutes. Delicious red liquid. Mal finished half of hers before she noticed Counselor took only tiny sips. She was truly elegant.
“I’ve never tasted anything so good,” Mal said. “What is it?”
“Juice of cranberries and blood oranges. And honey. A lot of honey. I hope Harriet enjoys it,” Counselor said. “It took me forever to convince New Melbourne to send the blood oranges.”
“I think they’re her favorite.” Mal pictured Harriet’s delight breathing in the blood orange’s fragrance in the Blackbird before slipping it into her mantle pocket. Mal glanced at the stage. Harriet still hadn’t arrived at the reception.
Counselor greeted two citizens, a man and woman. “Steve, Dix. This is Mallory, one of our guests of honor.”
Mal tried hard not to stare. Dix was as hairless as Sister Jordana, but she was no exotic. She was short, thin as a skeleton, and her eyes were normal. She and Steve held hands like Palama and Palada used to do. They were in love, from the way they looked at each other.
“Hello, Mallory,” Steve said.
“Counselor,” Dix said. “We were thinking of continuing with that project later tonight.”
“Good,” Counselor said. “I’ll pass the word and join you if I can get away.” She turned to Mal. “Let’s keep going. I want you to see the view.”
Counselor linked arms with Mal and they plowed on.
“Is Dix a ghost?” Mal felt queasy. Ghosts were anathema. They were banned from Garrick. If one even showed up anywhere in the province, it wouldn’t last an hour.
“She is,” Counselor said. “But she fights it.” She put a finger under Mal’s chin and lifted her face. “We aren’t prejudiced against ghosts in Allel. If not for a ghost, the world would have no bees. They only need our understanding and help. They can thrive.”
Mal looked back at Dix and Steve. Dix looked normal enough – except for the bald and skinny and no eyelashes part.
“Dix is an architect. A good one. She could be Allel’s head architect one day.”
They walked through the crowd, and Mal felt ashamed. She knew she’d disappointed Counselor. They made it through the guests to the other side of the room and a wall of glass.
“Oh, how pretty!”
It was late in the day, and the white mist that had circled the citadel now blanketed the world. In the harbor, all that showed of the Golden Wasp was the top of its mast. In the distant north, a light from a tower shone out to sea.
Like a dream. A beautiful, magical world. In all the stories about the marvels of Red City, she had never imagined anything so lovely.
“It is.” Prince Garrick had come down from the stage. He was right be
hind Mal, smiling at Counselor. “God has blessed Allel with much beauty.”
Counselor made her face a blank, but Mal thought she didn’t like the compliment. God. What an odd thing to say. If he didn’t want to insult Counselor by saying Samael, why didn’t he just say Asherah?
He reached for Counselor’s hand. “It’s an honor to meet you at last.”
Counselor looked toward the hall’s entrance, moving just out of Prince Garrick’s reach. Her cheeks flushed which only made her prettier. “Ah, at last. Edmund is here,” she said. “You’ll excuse me, Mallory, Prince Garrick.”
She walked away without waiting for an answer. Maybe she was too flummoxed to question him about the dagger.
“I believe my heart has just been broken.” Prince Garrick smiled pleasantly. “I’m not used to being slighted by a woman.” He watched Counselor greet Edmund.
“She must be the most beautiful woman in the world,” Mal said.
“I think you’re right. Well, if at first you don’t succeed … shall we join the others?” Prince Garrick held out his arm and gave Mal a mischievous grin. “I think little Allel wants to impress you now. You wouldn’t want to disappoint them.”
He got her quickly through the crowd to the stage, delivered her to Sister Jordana, and joined his father and the regent.
The regent’s arms and shoulders were covered with signs and symbols. The roses circled her right upper arm. Above the roses was the black Garrick raptor talon, and below them were tattoos down to her wrists. A honeybee occupied her left cheek, and her left shoulder was covered by a dragon with fierce red eyes.
Edmund wore a green and gold sash over his right shoulder but no circlet. He nodded to the king and bowed respectfully to Sister Jordana.
Counselor joined the dignitaries on Mal’s right side, away from Prince Garrick, and whispered, “I’m sorry I left you stranded. I couldn’t bear to talk to him with everyone watching.”
“Where is the other girl, Claire?”
“She’s still with Harriet,” Counselor whispered. “We decided to go on with the presentation and hope they get here soon.”
Edmund came to stand by Mal’s side but turned so the guests could hear.
“On behalf of the people of Allel, I wish you a comfortable journey to Red City. My sister and I, our regent, and all our people hope you will enjoy these small gifts and remember us fondly.”
Servants came forward bearing a plank piled with wonderful stuff: containers filled with honey, bolts of hemp cloth in various pastel colors, flax damask, silk, boxes of ganpishi paper, a set of combs and brushes with mother-of-pearl handles. All fit for a princess, but it was meant for Mal. She wasn’t sure what to do with it. Except for the honey.
Last, there was a small carved wooden treasure chest. The blue amber. Edmund retrieved the stone they’d been looking at together. He handed it to her and winked. “These were meant for you, I believe.”
Her grin probably looked silly, but the present of the stones made her happier than any of the other marvelous things.
The servants unfolded a piece of silk which depicted Allel as Mal had seen it from the air. It showed the bay, the citadel, vineyards to the north and hives to the south, as well as the forest to the east. She looked for the pastel-colored lights she’d glimpsed from the Blackbird, but they weren’t represented on the cloth.
Edmund opened a small rosewood box and held up a bright cut gold bracelet for everyone to see. It glittered in the light. “This bracelet is made of gold from the foothills of Allel.”
Sister Jordana nodded approval. Mal shifted the blue amber to her right hand and held out her left wrist. She trembled as Edmund closed the clasp of the bracelet, but he didn’t seem to notice. Their eyes met, and he smiled again.
“Thank you.” She sounded like Ma squeaking in awe before the Emissary. For one terrifying moment, she was sure Edmund was going to pat her bald head, but he merely kissed the back of her hand. Like a prince.
Someone called out from the back of the hall. “To Mallory!”
And the crowd answered all together. “Rah!”
It was exhilarating – but strange to be applauded merely for existing. She usually had to bring in a bag of rabbits to generate such enthusiasm.
“You’re very generous,” Sister Jordana said, more gloriously elegant than Mal could hope to be if she lived two hundred years. Mal wasn’t completely comfortable with her, but she couldn’t help admiring her. Sister Jordana signaled two Red City guards. They loaded the gifts onto the plank.
Mal tucked the blue amber stone into her mantle pocket with her shades and the Asherah. Now she understood why the pockets were so deep.
Just as the guards left the hall with Mal’s gifts, Harriet stormed in through the same doorway. More Red City guards followed her, escorting a girl around Mal’s age who was definitely flummoxed. Her straight black hair came down to her waist, held back from her face by a green band.
She had the Red City appearance: rounded hips and breasts, thick hair and glowing healthy skin – though her face was splotchy red as she looked at Lady Drahan with bewildered embarrassment.
Lady Drahan said, “What is this?” Behind her, a flicker of satisfaction passed over the regent’s face.
“Hormones!” cried an enraged Harriet.
“Sting me,” Counselor said, and the guests uttered a collective gasp.
“Lady Drahan, I am shocked,” the regent said. Mal didn’t think she was shocked.
“She’s been dosed.” Harriet’s eyebrows were scrunched together in a mix of sorrow and fury.
The regent went on. “To commit such a violation on a potential breeder! To risk the pollution of humanity itself!”
“I swear to you, Regent, Emissary, I know nothing about this.”
“That will be for a tribunal to decide,” the regent said.
Lady Drahan’s face lost its color.
“Drahan household is hereby in receivership.” The regent turned to Sister Jordana. “I assume Sanguibahd will take custody of the pretender?” Sanguibahd. Red City’s official name. This was truly serious.
“Absolutely.” Fire orange flashed in Sister Jordana’s eyes and didn’t go away until she blinked twice.
But it seemed neither the regent nor Sister Jordana was surprised by these events. In fact, Mal was sure the regent was suppressing a bit of malicious glee.
With Harriet it was different. Her anger felt honest and brutal. Great Asherah, let me never make Harriet mad.
Whatever was going on, Claire wasn’t in on it. Her face was a mess of shame and confusion. Her ma, though, was a little too loud about her outrage. A little too practiced. Lady Drahan was guilty – of something.
That’s how she was like Ma – she had meant to profit on her daughter’s good luck, and she cared more about the lost loot than she did about her child.
Edmund’s attention was on Claire. He gave her a supportive nod, and Mal’s stomach felt like it turned over. He must care for her. Claire was much prettier than Mal could ever hope to be, and she was from Allel. Maybe he loved her. It was stupid, but the very idea made Mal miserable.
Edmund leaned behind Mal’s back and spoke to Counselor under his breath. “Lady Drahan should have let Claire wear the brooch.”
In the Tunnel
Mal couldn’t sleep. The events of the day played over in her mind. This morning she’d been a dirt-encrusted settlement girl with a cranky ma and matted hair and a stomach growling for food. Now she was an orphan, clean, bald, admired for her potential instead of her accomplishments, and had a stomach growling for food.
But that’s not all that was keeping her awake.
Claire was in the next room with Harriet. She’d been wailing for hours. The more she went on, the less sympathy Mal felt for her.
Get over it, and get on to the next thing.
Mal’s room looked out on the forest instead of the ocean, but that wasn’t so bad. She found her mantle and fished through the pocket. The color
ed lights in the trees were too far away to see with her eyes, but the shades might work.
She went through a glass double door to an outside deck. The lamps in Claire’s room were lit, and a silhouette of her and Harriet played on the curtain. There was another room in the opposite direction down the deck, but it was dark. And quiet. Too bad Mal wasn’t sleeping there.
The fog below was gone, and in the night sky the crescent moon floated among the blazing stars. The air was cold and smelled of the sea.
She might be falling in love with this place as much as the people who lived here.
She was still amazed about the ghosts. She remembered Sister Jordana’s comment about Allel’s tolerance. It didn’t seem such a bad thing to accept someone like Dix. She must be a citizen if she had such a good job. Did that mean she had a soul? The people back at the settlement would never believe it.
Mal pushed the night button near the shades’ slider and put them on. She laughed out loud and instantly clapped her hand over her mouth. The silhouette on Claire’s door didn’t move.
As she’d hoped, the night button made everything as clear as day, and she trained the shades on the trees outside the wall. Something didn’t work right. She could see the trees fine, even individual leaves and pine needles. But when she focused on the place where the colored lights had been, it was a blurred mess.
The city showed up clearly. Two big buildings – probably hydroponics and the hospital. Beyond them, a big field or park with a small, one-story house in the middle. She could see the individual flowers on the lilac blossoms.
Back to the forest. Blurred. The avenue from the harbor was clear. The Ptery’s tent was still there with the painted cartoon eye on the side.
Without warning, tears rolled down Mal’s cheeks.
The Ptery reminded her of that other Ptery, and Palama, and the peregrine. She was truly alone in the world, despite all the nice attention. Until this moment, she hadn’t fully accepted it that Palama was gone. Ma, she could live without. Mal had never felt close to Ma or safe with her. The Pala family had been her anchor.
