The Royal Companion

by Tanya Bird

  Aldara could see Hali’s embarrassment growing. ‘Surely you can forgive Hali for her confusion. She was bought by a prince who showed little interest in her education when he met her at a bread stall.’ The words just came out. It was not uncommon for her mouth to get ahead of her good sense.

  Fedora’s expression did not change. ‘You have much to learn, child. Let us hope you are a fast learner, or you will spend the rest of your youth cleaning the prince’s fireplace and fetching water for the women in his bed.’

  Aldara failed to see the downside in that threat but dared not say as much.

  ‘You will both attend church in the mornings,’ Fedora said, moving the conversation along. ‘You will be discreet at all times and stay within your designated area.’

  ‘Is that compulsory?’ Aldara asked.

  Fedora looked taken aback for the first time. ‘Which part?’

  ‘Church attendance, my lady.’

  ‘Are you too busy for God?’

  ‘I don’t believe in God.’ There was an unnerving silence while Fedora waited for her to elaborate. ‘I once saw a six-year-old girl sitting on the side of the road, holding her baby sister. Her sister would have been no more than two years old. It was snowing, and it was far too cold for either of them to be outdoors, but they were hungry and begging for food. I had nothing with me, so I told them I would bring them something on my return trip. When I returned, I found them both dead. Someone had stolen the cloaks off their bodies.’ She could still see them slumped together. Their blue, open mouths. ‘I have doubted God’s existence since that day.’

  ‘God is not to blame—the girl’s parents are,’ Fedora replied, unmoved by the story. ‘You will need to find a way to believe. Your faith is not negotiable here.’ She left them alone with the vision of two dead girls.

  Hali sat on the bed and pressed the soft robe against her chest. She raised her shiny eyes to Aldara. ‘Perhaps God took the girls someplace warm.’

  Aldara gave her a small smile. Her stomach felt tight, and she was swallowing down waves of nausea. She could see her own fear reflected in Hali’s face, and all they could do was move, begin. ‘Let’s go wash,’ she whispered.

  They followed the scent of flowers to a small, steamy room with four wooden tubs. Water was draining from one of the tubs, running across the sloped floor and through a gap at the bottom of the far wall. Two women sat by the stove where a pot of water was bubbling away. Their hair was still wet from bathing. They stopped their quiet conversation and looked curiously at the new arrivals. Aldara swallowed again and checked each tub to see if any were filled. One was. She placed her hand into it to check the temperature of the water and then looked back at the stove where the water continued to boil.

  ‘Help yourselves,’ said one of the women, gesturing towards the pot.

  Aldara tried to be discreet as she came between them, but they were watching her closely. ‘Thank you,’ she said, to no one in particular. She added the hot water to the tub and signalled for Hali to climb in before refilling the pot.

  ‘That one is for Pandarus,’ said the redhead, nodding at Hali.

  The other woman laughed. Aldara pretended not to hear. When it was her turn to bathe, she covered her breasts with one arm as she climbed in. She took soap from the nearby table and smelt it before scrubbing her entire body and lathering up her hair. Two bottles of oil sat next to the soap. She lifted one and sniffed it. It was a familiar flower she could not place. She added a few drops to the water and then used the ceramic jug to rinse herself. When she stood, she felt three sets of eyes on her. She retrieved her robe and secured it tightly around her body. She had never bathed in front of anyone other than her family.

  Hali applied both oils to various parts of her body. The smell took over the air and made Aldara cough.

  ‘Those oils are meant to enhance your natural scent, not drown it,’ said the redhead. She stood up and took them from Hali’s hands. Hali wiped her wrists against her robe. ‘My name is Astra.’

  ‘I’m Hali. And this is Aldara.’

  Aldara gave a nod and watched as Astra gently tipped the oil and barely touched it to her wrist. She pressed her wrists together before opening her robe and lightly touching her collar bone. Aldara looked away then. Astra noticed and laughed. She turned to the other woman. ‘She’s shy,’ she said, in a teasing voice.

  The other woman did not join in the laughter, but there was amusement in her eyes. ‘Leave the poor girl alone, Astra.’ She stood up then. ‘My name is Idalia. You can be forgiven for finding Astra intimidating. She is Pandarus’s little prize.’

  Astra waved a hand. ‘What Idalia always fails to mention is she is the king’s Companion. She has been his only prize for almost five years. Pandarus has had many prizes in that time. They are frequently updated,’ she added, looking at Hali. Her playful tone did not match her expression. ‘And what about you?’ she asked Aldara. ‘You are not his type. I am guessing you are a coming of age present for Stamitos.’

  Aldara shook her head. ‘I am a gift, my lady, but for Prince Tyron.’

  Astra smiled, revealing straight, white teeth. Her lips matched the colour of her hair. ‘You can call me Astra. Save the formalities for Fedora.’

  Aldara realised how ridiculous she must appear to such beautiful women. Their bodies were long and lean and their skin radiant. Idalia’s eyelashes kissed the tops of her cheeks whenever she looked down, but it was her confidence that held Aldara’s attention.

  ‘What can we expect to see from you ladies?’ asked Astra. ‘Pandarus maintains high standards for his Companions. Anything interesting we should know about?’

  ‘Interesting?’ Aldara said.

  ‘Yes. Aside from your obvious traits, what were you bought for?’ Her chin lifted a little, showing off her perfect jaw structure.

  Idalia could see they did not understand. ‘Astra plays the harp like she was born with it in her hands. The king’s most distinguished guests often request that she play for them. I dance, but only if the king is present.’ She began to comb her hair. ‘Companions are not the kingdom’s most beautiful, we are a collection of the most talented, educated, and desired. We are the best parts of all women.’

  ‘Of course being beautiful is part of being desired,’ added Astra. ‘You will not see any talented and educated women here with horse-like teeth and eleven fingers. Let’s not mislead them completely.’

  Hali looked nervous. ‘Does baking count?’ Aldara smiled. The others just blinked. When no one spoke she continued. ‘I make sweet breads that taste so good, people travel from other villages to buy them. I use preserved quince. Not many people are familiar with quince. They are shipped from Galen when the weather cools.’

  Aldara wanted to hug her. The castle had the best cooks in the kingdom. Though it did explain her full curves while the rest of the South were covered only by their clothes.

  Before another word could be spoken Fedora entered the room at a brisk pace. ‘Idalia, the king has returned and is requesting your company before his evening meal.’

  Idalia secured her robe and left them.

  ‘You are to assist Idalia,’ Fedora said to Aldara before turning to leave.

  Aldara had no idea what that entailed. She glanced at Hali before following after them. When they arrived at the dressing room, Aldara stopped in the doorway. The explosion of colour made her breath catch. An endless rainbow of dresses, hanging, folded in neat piles, and draped over purple velvet chairs. To the right there were rolls of luxurious fabrics and a timber stand with rows of shoes. High leather boots weaved with fine leather laces, jewelled slippers, and suede ankle boots with shiny brass buckles.

  ‘Breathe,’ Idalia said, as she made herself comfortable in a chair. She smiled at Aldara in the mirror.

  Aldara exhaled and stepped inside. Fedora searched through one of the piles and selected a blue cotton dress with long fitted sleeves. She handed it to Aldara.

  ‘Put this on and fix your hair. Th
ere are clean undergarments in a trunk over there,’ she said, pointing.

  Aldara took the dress and ran her thumb across the soft fabric. The stitching was faultless. She carefully lifted it so that it fell open and held it at arm’s length by the shoulders. The bust and waist were gathered, and the cuffs trimmed with cream lace. ‘I wear this for chores?’

  Idalia glanced at her. ‘Something needs to set you apart from the maids.’

  Aldara laid the dress over a chair while she retrieved some undergarments. They were different from anything she had previously owned. She held each piece up as she tried to figure out how they might be worn. Fedora saw her struggling and walked over.

  ‘That is a breast band,’ she said. She picked up what appeared to be shortened pants and handed them to her. ‘We do not wear loin clothes here. These should fit you.’

  Aldara was studying the frill around the leg when she realised that Fedora was waiting for her to dress.

  ‘Are you able to fix hair? Paint faces?’ Fedora asked as she corrected the undergarments and helped her into the dress.

  ‘I can do hair. I have never painted a face,’ Aldara replied, pressing her lips together.

  ‘Children do that with their lips when they are shy or nervous. You will need to learn better ways of dealing with nerves.’

  Aldara relaxed her lips. ‘Yes, my lady.’

  By that stage Idalia had slipped into a light green silk dress that gathered at the shoulders. The neck was lined with small emeralds, and the back was open, revealing her creamy skin.

  ‘Fix her hair, and I’ll come back and show you how to paint faces,’ Fedora said.

  Aldara stood with her hands at her side, looking at the mass of chestnut hair. Idalia caught her eye in the mirror and signalled for her to come closer.

  ‘Fedora may seem hard, but the lessons she teaches are essential to your success here,’ she said, handing Aldara a comb. ‘She was the king’s Companion before me, and she has been at Archdale since she was fourteen years old. There is no better teacher for this life.’

  Aldara began to twist Idalia’s hair into a bun. ‘Why is she no longer his Companion?’

  Idalia handed her a jewelled comb. ‘Look around you. I am the oldest Companion here. The novelty does not last long for men who have women at their disposal. Youth does not last. The lucky ones stay on to mentor, but even that cannot last.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because of what they represent.’

  Aldara thought for a moment. ‘And what of the unlucky ones?’

  Idalia looked at her in the mirror. ‘It would be uncomfortable for all to have former Companions running about the castle doing laundry and serving food. Companions have one purpose, and when they are past that purpose, they go.’

  ‘Go where?’ Her eyes did not leave the mirror.

  Idalia shrugged. ‘Some place where beauty and talent go to die.’

  Fedora walked back into the room and picked up paints from the table. ‘Watch and remember,’ she said to Aldara.

  Aldara knew she needed to learn more than she needed to breathe. She did not want to disappear. The only talents she had brought with her were farming and horse related, and she was certain her fence repairing skills would impress no one.

  Fedora finished applying final touches of paint to Idalia’s lips and took a step back to inspect her work. ‘You will accompany Idalia to the king’s quarters and return as soon as she is accepted by the king’s guard. You will speak to no one. When you return, you and Hali will assist some of the others to prepare for a gathering tonight. Am I understood?’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  Aldara had no idea where she was going. She followed Idalia and made mental maps in her head so she could find her way back. She struggled to focus with all the distractions. The coloured glass windows in the corridors depicted graphic images she would have to look at on the walk back. Idalia did not speak one word to her. With her head high, she floated, green silk sweeping the floor behind her. They arrived at a guarded double wooden door. The guard opened it without speaking. He nodded at Idalia and then glanced at Aldara. She kept her eyes on the ground in front of her.

  ‘Thank you, Aldara. You can return to your quarters,’ Idalia said, passing the guard.

  Aldara gave a small curtsy and turned as the doors closed behind her. She paused for a moment and looked both ways down the corridor. Breathe. The sound of approaching footsteps made her hold her breath again. When she looked to her right, she saw four women walking towards her. The woman at the front had a gold crown weaved through her honey hair. Aldara’s eyes went to her slim, youthful face with its well-proportioned features and vibrant green eyes. Those eyes were looking directly at her, filled with disapproval. The giant corridor did not seem wide enough suddenly. She backed up against the door in a panic, but the guard pushed her forward again. Princess Cora’s eyes were locked on hers. She stopped walking, and the other ladies immediately stopped behind her.

  ‘Where is your decency? How dare you not curtsy before the Princess of Syrasan?’

  Her venomous tone did not match her appearance. Aldara’s gaze moved down her embroidered dress before settling on the floor. ‘Forgive me, my lady,’ she said, dropping into a curtsy. She remained there, hoping the princess would move on. No such luck. Before she had a chance to stand, she heard footsteps approaching on her left. She glanced up just as Fedora came to a stop next to her.

  ‘I apologise, my lady,’ Fedora said, lowering into a curtsy next to her. ‘The girl is a peasant and has just arrived at Archdale today.’

  Cora’s eyes remained on Aldara as she returned upright. ‘Perhaps you could keep the whores on a shorter leash and out of my way. We cannot have them lingering outside the king’s quarters, cheapening our home, can we?’

  Aldara felt as though her lungs were being pressed together. She watched Fedora lower into a curtsy once again as Princess Cora continued past her, flanked by her ladies whose icy gazes made her shudder. Fedora said nothing. She turned and began walking away. Aldara followed out of fear of being separated. Only when they had reached the Companions’ quarters did Fedora turn and look at her. Her expression was a mixture of anger and concern.

  ‘Princess Cora…’ She considered her words for a moment. ‘Her ladyship has little patience for…many things, but the Companions most of all.’

  ‘I am sorry.’ Aldara’s voice was barely audible.

  Fedora did not care for apologies. ‘The princess has a lot of power over many aspects of castle life. So unless you want to be scrubbing floors in the kitchen, I suggest you stay out of her way.’

  ‘I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t remember my way back. Why did you send me?’

  ‘Because your lessons start now. If you encounter a member of the royal family, you move out of their way and you curtsy until they have passed.’ Her shoulders dropped a little. ‘You will not forget it now. Go and help Hali in the dressing room, and then you can both return here for the evening meal.’

  Aldara’s feet did not move. Fedora read her expression.

  ‘What is it?’

  She pushed some loose hair back from her eye. ‘I’m not like the others. I am not sure I can do it. Any of it.’

  ‘You are not the first common girl to find your way behind these walls, and as you can see, the Companions here are anything but common. Each is extraordinary. It is a process.’

  Aldara should have felt comforted by those words, but she did not. Watching Fedora walk away only reinforced just how common she was.

  Chapter 4

  Tyron rode his horse alongside a pile of twisted bodies, looking at each face. Typhoid had taken them before the Corneon army could. He was all too familiar with the devastating effects of the disease and knew how fast it could spread in the conditions of war. He stopped his horse to study a boy the same age as Stamitos, a boy who had probably spent his youth waiting to come of age so he could fight alongside his older brothers. Every mother dreaded the arriv
al of her son’s eighteenth year, knowing the dangers that awaited him. That boy’s mother would soon learn of her son’s death, validating every fear she held.

  Tyron turned to face the clearing where eighty-foot pines had stood three months earlier. His men had sawed through their thick trunks and used horses to tear the stubborn roots from the ground. They had needed space for the men to sleep, eat, and kill, a visual border for their enemy, an enemy that did not care for borders. Now it was a festering grave, thick with flies and crows. His remaining men were still sifting through the dead, faces wrapped with cotton to block the smell of so many open wounds. They searched for Syrasan men who deserved something more than to rot beneath their enemy.

  Little grew in the East during the warm season, and nothing seemed to survive the cold. The need for food was forcing the Corneons west onto more fertile land, Syrasan land. Food shortages were a problem everywhere, and survival instincts were making good men do desperate things, like transforming a dense forest into a mass graveyard. During battle these men had collapsed at his feet while he moved about them in an automated state, his technique flawless, his mind closed. He did not hesitate as he drove his sword through the chests and necks of Corneon men, but a small piece of him died alongside each of them. Afterwards, he had crouched on the bloodied earth, panting, listening to the groans and final breaths of the dying. Some of his men fought out of obligation, many out of loyalty to his father. Some of them were knights, a few of them his friends. When the Corneons finally retreated, packing up the few horses that would last the journey and disappearing into the tree line, he was forced reflect on his losses. And he could not bear the sight of it.

  Leksi rode up beside him then, a handkerchief over his mouth. ‘We should leave.’ He was terrified of dying from disease; he wanted to die fighting.

  ‘We should bury the dead,’ Tyron said.