Chapter Eighteen: Proposals
Enaya Relador sat in an ornately decorated room, replete with gold framed wall hangings, satin dressings, hand-carved furniture, and exquisitely detailed tapestries. She had been led to this room in the Governor’s palace by Captain Davold then told to sit quietly and wait until she was called upon. It had been over an hour. She was nervous, frustrated, and most of all, terrified. Her mind raced with several reasons for why the Governor had broken basic protocol and custom to essentially imprison her in the lavish room while she awaited an attendance with the man over dinner. Each possibility frightened her more than the last. The truth was she had no idea why she was there. The unknown was what made her blood run cold.
In her hands she nursed a cup of tea, Feratta leaves she noted, the finest in the world. So much opulence. None of this makes sense, she thought. Why force me to the palace, make me wait, and serve me tea that costs a small fortune?
There were too many mixed messages. The Captain had offered her nothing during the walk to the palace, in spite of her barrage of questions. He had been stoic and evasive, prepared even. She had gleaned nothing from him. She felt like a silverfin swimming above a fisherman’s net. Was she already caught in a trap?
Givara was another source of concern. Though her bodyguard was elusive and reticent, Enaya felt that she had come to understand Givara over the years. She had been ordered to go back to the inn and wait until morning. Enaya knew that was unlikely. Givara was bound by the will of the Creator to protect her. As much as they both knew that Sim’s life was the only one of true importance, Givara would stay close to her liege. Enaya doubted that Givara would even bother to go back to the inn.
Sim and Farrus would likely realize that something was wrong. Being men, they would most assuredly do something brazen and stupid. If Governor Cantor decided to keep her for too long, she expected to hear about the two foreigners who’d committed a foolish crime and were being strapped up on the headsman’s block.
She sipped her tea. Feratta tea had a strange taste, both bitter and refreshing, bold and sweet. Her foot tapped impatiently on the marble floor. Her eyes strayed every few moments back to the door. How long would he make her wait? She wondered how she should play the dinner. Should she be polite, dignified, cordial, or should she upbraid the fool man for the audacity of his actions? In her heart of hearts, she wanted to walk right into that dining room and slap the man across his face. That, however, would not go over well.
At last, a servant appeared in the door. She was young and beautiful, with flowing black hair and sleepy brown eyes, dressed in a sheer fabric blouse, sleeveless and backless, that practically revealed her ample bosom. It was scandalous. Woman simply did not dress so revealingly. Especially not servants.
“Lady Relador, I am Nehrea. During your stay in the Governor’s Palace, I will be your consort.” Her voice was a spoken whisper, almost seductive, alluring. She made a fluid, graceful wave of her hand. Each finger held a bejeweled ring, her wrists were lined with gold bracelets. “Please follow me, my Lady. I will show you to your room.”
Enaya placed her tea cup down and pursed her lips. Her room? “I’m not sure I understand what’s going on here Nehrea. I don’t need a room. I have no intention of staying here.”
Nehrea smiled pleasantly. “It will be far too late to return to your inn after dinner, Lady Relador. We are simply supplying you with accommodations for the time being.”
Enaya was seething inside, but she would never show it in front of the servant. Instead, she took a deep breath, put on a fake, but gracious smile, and stood.
Nehrea led her through the palace, walking quietly in front, ignoring everyone they passed. Enaya could not ignore the palace’s servants. There were some glaring inconsistencies in the way they dressed. Men she passed wore plain black uniforms, unadorned and forgettable. Of the females she saw, the older women, and to some degree the unattractive ones, wore stiff black dresses, wool she guessed, with pressed white aprons and white hair rags. The rest of the servants were beautiful women, exceptionally so, each with the same racy style of outfit as Nehrea. Enaya’s eyes bulged when she passed one woman in particular who not only had the same thin, backless shirt as her consort, but also wore a skirt that hemmed only half way down her thighs. It wasn’t even close to her knees! Enaya was totally aghast. How could a woman be expected to entice a man if her wares were visible for the whole world to see?
They ascended two very wide flights of stairs before they turned down a long hallway, lined on both sides with paintings and tapestries. Nehrea stopped in front of a door halfway down the hall and led Enaya into her room. An ornately carved mahogany, four-post bed with spun silk canopies and satin sheets sat against the far wall. There was a beautiful dresser with a gold-rimmed mirror and small racks that held jeweled necklaces and bracelets, as well as items and accessories necessary for primping. The room had a bathing tub filled with warm, steaming water, and a dressing area complete with a rack of baroque gowns. It was lavish and showy. One gown, a dark brown satin strapless with a cornsilk colored sash, hung separately.
“Dinner will be served in one hour. Please bath, and prepare,” Nehrea said. She pointed out the brown dress. “The Governor has chosen this gown for you to wear at dinner. Is there anything else that you may require, my Lady?”
Enaya looked around the room lingering on the gown, which was hideous and far too revealing for her taste. Despite a hundred different protests, she remained composed and thanked Nehrea for her graciousness. The beautiful young servant left her alone, closing the door quietly.
Alone, in a gorgeously extravagant room, Enaya wanted to break down and cry. So much time was wasting away. Was she a prisoner or a guest?
First she decided to try the door. It was locked. She rattled it several times, just in case it was jammed, but gave up. Nehrea had locked the door when she left. She truly was a prisoner in the Governor’s Palace. What in heaven’s name was going on?
There were three windows in her room. She checked each one, with the slim hope that one might open. As expected the windows were just a part of the wall, incapable of being opened. She might have tried breaking one to get out if she thought she could have made the jump, but she knew that it was far too high. She stamped her foot in frustration. What choice did she have?
Giving in for the time being, though she would never give up, Enaya undressed and took a bath. If nothing else, the bath was enjoyable, the water was just warm enough. Her legs ached from a day walking about the city, and a nice warm bath was just what she needed.
When she had finished and dried off, she put on the ridiculous dress. She didn’t appreciate showing so much of her shoulders. It made her feel exposed. And the colors... so drab and unflattering she thought, looking at herself in the mirror on the dresser. Why would anyone favor such plain colors?
There was an assortment of powders and perfumes which she used. There was no point in denying herself the simple pleasure of feeling beautiful after all. She brushed her hair and selected a few items of jewelry to wear, an emerald inlaid necklace as well as a bracelet to match. Then sat and waited for Nehrea to return.
She didn’t have to wait long. Nehrea opened the door, not even bothering to knock first, and walked in. Rarely had Enaya seen such an egregious act of disrespect perpetrated by a servant. To simply walk in to a noble’s quarters, unannounced, was borderline criminal behavior. She would be certain to mention it to the Governor over dinner.
“The Governor is ready for you, Lady Relador,” she declared. “Please follow me.”
Enaya kept her objections to herself, and let Nehrea lead the way. They descended the stairs back down to the first floor and entered an expansive room with an impossibly long table, set for dining. Though there must have been seating for at least one hundred people, only two seats at the very end of the table had settings. A rack of tall white candles was lit near the dinner settings, providing a soft light for the atmosphere.
; Nehrea led her to the corner seat and asked her to sit.
“The Governor will be here in a moment,” she said, then stepped back and stood along the wall behind Enaya.
She sat in silence, painfully aware of her scantily clad consort. It was time to muster her nerve and composure. The dinner, she suspected would be nothing more than a game of posturing. The Governor had surely requested her attendance to incur information about the political state of affairs in Fandrall. She would need to feed his appetite for gossip and massage his ego.
When he entered, he seemed a different man than she remembered. In their previous meeting, he had been a moderately handsome man with young features. She might have thought more of him had his personality not been so humorless and mundane. She particularly had recalled that he had barely looked her in the eyes during their brief encounter.
The man that sat down in the seat at the head of the table seemed far too old to be the same man. Gray hair marked his temples like the wings of a bird, accenting the rest of his slicked raven black coiffure. Aged wrinkles creased his face. His brown eyes were sunken and hollow, devoid of life, lacking caring or compassion. He was incredibly tall, much more so than Sim, and lanky. There were scars all over both of his hands. A few appeared to be freshly closed.
When he looked at Enaya, his face appeared hungry and covetous, though nothing in his gaze spoke of attraction. He sat very erect in his seat and studied her.
“Thank you for joining me this evening, Enaya,” he said. His words came quickly, pronounced with a forced precision. “It is not often I get to dine in the presence of such startling beauty.”
Enaya was immediately put off. Calling her by her first name? How far would the scope of his impudence reach? Her rational side begged her for comportment, but she lost the battle with her impulsive temper. In a tone that was far too aggressive, she addressed him.
“Your thanks is unnecessary, Errick, seeing that I was forced into this attendance.” She made certain to over-emphasize the use of his first name.
He visibly grimaced and blinked at her several times. A team of scantily clad beauties entered carrying the first course, as well as a decanter of wine and a plate of fresh bread and cheese. Enaya watched them work with disgust. Their nearly exposed breasts may as well have been soaking in her soup.
“I must apologize, Enaya, but I’m afraid I could take no chances that you would reject a more formal invitation,” he said, leaning forward to sample his soup. The servants took up positions along the wall, just as Nehrea had, rather than leaving them to their privacy.
Enaya crooked an uncertain eyebrow as she regarded the man. He sipped his soup casually as though there was no inference in his statement.
“You could take no chances?” she said, surprised that she had managed not to scream at him. “What are you talking about? What kind of game are you playing at here, Errick?”
Cantor was calm, hauntingly so. “No game, Enaya. Simply law.”
“Law!?” she shouted in disbelief. “What law are you referring to? What law allows noblewomen to be essentially taken prisoner? What law forces a lady to dismiss her bodyguards without reason or warrant?”
He looked up at her with those cold, emotionless eyes and smiled wickedly. “Why Desirmor’s Law of course. More specifically, his eighth law.”
“The law of marriage?” she asked dumbfounded.
“Yes, Enaya.” His smile widened to an outright grin. “The law of marriage.”
Enaya’s mind raced. The law of marriage stated that any man of nobility or high military rank, could choose any woman of common status that was unwed, to be his wife. Once chosen, the woman had no say in the matter. Wars had been caused because of the ridiculous law. She tried to guess at his reasoning but could think of nothing that would allow for the garish way he had handled her thus far.
“I’m of nobility, Errick. You have no right to invoke the eighth law. You can’t force me to marry you.”
The Governor continued to calmly sip his soup. When he wasn’t speaking to her, his eyes stayed fixed on his meal. “Your father was murdered, was he not?”
The question hit her like a slap in the face. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Quite a bit, I’m afraid.” His smile was unsettling. “It is not clearly stated in the written law, but there have been several precedents made over the years. You see, Enaya, your father’s death has left no male heirs in your bloodline. Once your grandfather, who is quite elderly I might add, passes, the entirety of his vast wealth will pass on to you. As I’m sure you are aware, Desirmor’s Law requires that the heads of all noble families be male. Once your grandfather dies, your hand will be given to the highest ranking man who chooses to court you. You will have no choice in the matter.” Cantor took another sip from his bowl while Enaya stared at him in disbelief. When he finished, he pushed the bowl away and sat back with his hands folded across his lap, watching his servants clamor to clear away his dish. “Now I will admit that I most assuredly will not be the highest ranking man who will seek your hand. That’s why I’m taking advantage of this opportunity. I will send a petition to the Council of Nine to allow my marriage to Lady Enaya Relador of Merrame. You will consent of course, and we will be wed right here in this palace, man and wife. Unless of course, King Desirmor invites us to exchange vows at the Castle Desirmor in Fandrall. A woman of your stature, I think, would incite a grand ball. King Desirmor, himself, might very well preside over the ceremony, don’t you think?”
Enaya stared at him with wide-eyed incredulity. The man was mad. He horrified her. She could feel sweat breaking out across her brow. Chills stretched like willowy tendrils of ice, drawing menacingly up her back, reducing her to shivers. The worst of it all was that he was right. Everything he said was the absolute truth. It galled her that she had overlooked such an obvious aspect of her life. How many other cunning, ambitious men of nobility and military rank had been waiting for her grandfather to pass so they might claim her as their prize?
Still, through all of the crushing despair, there was a ray of hope. He had no true advantage unless he could obtain her consent for marriage. Without her written signature and family seal, she would be free of entanglement until her grandfather’s passing.
And then there were her friends. Once she failed to appear at the inn by the next afternoon, Givara would come for her. Sim and Farrus could surely be counted on to aid her. Sim was so cavalier and foolhardy that he’d probably tear the palace apart with his negligible hold on his theurgy, to save her. He was stubborn and half-witted, but he was fiercely loyal. He wouldn’t rest until she was free. She was certain of that.
“I’ll never sign,” she spat defiantly, slapping her hand down on the table with conviction.
Again, the Governor reacted with an almost brazen casualness. “You will sign, Enaya. I promise you that.”
He clapped his hands twice, the unnerving smile frozen on his thin lips. A woman dressed in a black cloak with her face veiled entered. She briskly moved around the table and came to stand between them. In her hand, she produced a small flat black rock. Enaya knew at once that this woman was a Seer. After she made an inaudible whisper, a cloud of smoke burst up from the rock and formed into a large ball in the air, hovering steadily over the stone in her outstretched hand. A scene slowly spun into focus within the cloud of smoke. It was blurry at first, but in moments the visage became as clear as if they were looking through a window.
The blood drained from Enaya’s face. It was Givara. She was held upside down by ropes that bound her feet and dangled her from an unseen ceiling. Her face was bloodied and one of her eyes was swollen shut. She appeared unconscious. It was possible she was already dead.
Enaya couldn’t contain the tears that erupted from her eyes. She pitched forward, covering her face in her hands. It was too much to bear. Through her cries and sobbing protests, she could hear the Governor begin to laugh, low and quiet at first, then rising into a skin-crawling cackle
that echoed across the expanse of the dining room.
“I told you Enaya, you will sign. If you want your guardian to live, you will give me your written consent.”
Servants entered the room again carrying the night’s entrée. None flinched at the horrific scene. They simply went about their business as though everything that was happening was perfectly normal and common place.
“You won’t get away with this,” she whispered hoarsely, though it was an idle threat. All of the hope and optimism that she had held onto was gone. Her situation was impossible. The vile madman had her trapped. She could see no resolution.
“Eat, Enaya,” he said, taking a deep breath of the roasted fowl on his plate. “Things won’t be so bad. You’ve no need to fear for your virtue. Though, some day, I suppose, I will want an heir.” He made a long sweeping gesture to the row of scantily clad servants standing along the wall. “These servants appease my desires for flesh. If you like, you may consider our marriage a political partnership.”
With tear soaked eyes she shook her head at him. “A political partnership? Are you so devoid of basic decency that you would force a woman into a union against her will?”
His tone grew icy. “It doesn’t matter what you want. You’re a woman. Thanks to our great King, your opinion is irrelevant.”
Enaya picked up a cloth from the table and dabbed at her eyes. There had to be a way out of this. She thought of Givara. “How do I know if my guardian is even alive?” she asked.
“She lives,” he said, off-handedly, “though you are fortunate that my orders were to take her alive.” His mouth twisted into an odious grimace. “She killed sixteen of my men. We had to use a trival to subdue her.”
Enaya smiled at that. “I want proof. I want to see her.”
Cantor looked up at her with his hollow sunken eyes. “If I allow you to see her, will you then consent to sign the marriage petition?”
The Innkeeper's Son Page 42
