Elise cast an acrid glare at the intruders, and I did likewise. Merile had to understand that the world couldn’t always revolve around her, even if she’d been caught experimenting with dusk, even if that had resulted in a sprained ankle and a limp that wouldn’t quite heal. Merile halted, realizing it wasn’t just Elise and me in the room, but also little Alina. The problem with acting older than you are, I’ve been told, is when you misjudge a situation, you end up acting like a fool.
“Dear Merile,” Elise said sweetly, but anyone who’s ever tasted Nurse Nookes’s concoctions knows that syrupy tones often hide a bitter aftertaste. She gently guided Alina around, so that our little sister could see that it was only Merile who’d arrived, not anything one should be afraid of. Unless one counted the fashion disaster the cloak was, too big, too white for someone of Merile’s dark complexion. “Would you be so kind as to take Alina back to her room?”
Merile squatted down to pick up one of her rats, and cooed at it. The other one—sure, she repeats the names often enough, but I have long ago decided not to encourage her in this unhealthy affection she feels toward them—rose to its hind legs to lean against her. “I . . .”
Merile struggled so badly to say something coherent that little Alina managed to recover before her. She wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffed. “Would you, Merile?”
Merile cradled the rat against her chest. She stared adoringly down at the pile of steel gray legs and the whipping tip of the tail. Her brown face lit up with her smile. “I just might. Bedtime. It was bedtime for Rafa and Mufu already an hour ago.”
“Merile!” I stared at her with my eyes about to burst out from the sockets. I swear, dear Notes, sometimes she acts as though her rats were more important to her than her little sister. Can you believe that!
Merile shrugged as if nothing whatsoever under the Moon could affect her as long as she had her rats. But Alina’s eyes shone, and not with tears. She wavered a step toward Merile. The brown rat bounced to greet her. She giggled. “Can I help you tuck them into their beds?”
Merile placed the gray rat down and strolled—that is, attempted to stroll despite her limp—to Alina. Though five years older, she’s only a head taller than her. Perhaps that’s the reason why Alina doesn’t find Merile that intimidating—even when Merile acts like she did tonight. “Perhaps. Let me think about it.”
“Thank you!” Alina swooped the brown rat up, and it proceeded to lick her face with gusto. Its thin-skinned ears flopped as though she tasted particularly fine. “Oh, you’re so silly, Rafa!”
“Isn’t she a silly dog? Oh, yes she is! My precious, silly little friend.”
And in an eyeblink, Merile and Alina were both completely immersed in scratching and praising the rats. Elise rolled her eyes at me.
I mouthed back at her, “I know.”
It took a precious amount of petting and cooing before Merile and Alina were done with the rats. When Merile finally picked the brown rat from Alina and seemed satisfied enough to actually leave, we got yet another visitor.
“Good evening, Daughters of the Moon.” And at that moment, when we heard the serene voice, every single one of us halted what we were doing and turned as one to meet our honored eldest sister.
Celestia glided in, every step immensely graceful and equal in length. Dressed in a white gown embroidered with dove pearls, with a mink sash wrapped around her shoulders, she was as regal as ever. Her skin was so fair, almost translucent, her hair so pale, as if spun from silver. A platinum diadem with dove pearls rested on her steep forehead. Her narrow nose divided her face into two symmetrical halves. Her ocean blue eyes . . . They bore a dreamy glow.
I could but stare at her, for she is everything that I’m not. When she steps into a room, everyone will turn to look at her, hearken their ears to hear her precious words, bask in her glorious presence. For she is the empress-to-be, the very promise of prosperity and peace. But tonight, as I admired her, I wondered, had she always radiated such warmth, or was Elise right in her speculations? Dear Notes, I certainly wish she is!
“What is this about?” Celestia tilted her head slightly as though finding her little sisters up well past their bedtime intrigued rather than annoyed her.
I hurried to reclaim the peacock from the tile stove’s sill. I’m not sure why I did so, but it seemed important to show rather than tell, to bring the mechanical creature to life, for that was what it had been created for.
But it was Elise who spoke. “Poor little Alina is afraid of the thing.”
Merile, her arm wrapped around Alina either for support or for comfort, looked like she might say something. But Celestia lifted a forefinger to her red, red lips. She glided to me—or to the peacock—like a down feather drifts in a winter breeze.
“I will take it then,” she said, cupping her palms. She wore long kid gloves. Her arms were svelte, her fingers slim and nimble.
For some reason I still can’t figure out, I hesitated to let go of Alina’s name day gift. It didn’t feel right to part with it, though it wasn’t mine to begin with.
“Would you be so kind?” Alina asked, as though Celestia was doing her a favor. Merile’s rats gazed up at her, too. Though animals don’t like automatons in general either, they seemed perplexed by my little sister’s eagerness to rid herself of something that was both beautiful and unique.
Celestia smiled in a hazy, almost distant way. Yes, there was something truly different in that smile compared to the ones with which she’d favored us earlier. Was it one of a woman who’d fallen in love, who’d kissed a man she found to her liking? Perhaps I’d find this out soon myself. She said, “You will never have to see it again.”
Alina squealed with joy, and I had no choice but to hand the peacock over to Celestia. Without further words or ceremony, she slipped it into her evening bag. “Merile, would you see Alina to her room?”
And so it was that Merile led Alina out of the room, and along with them went the rats, bouncing to avoid contact with the cold floor tiles. We all, Celestia included, gazed after them. For a moment I thought she might shake her head, but that she didn’t do. Instead she turned to Elise and said, “Are you ready to go? The carriage is waiting for us.”
This was my cue to exit, and that I did, though Celestia hadn’t really said anything to me. It was as if I didn’t really exist, as if my presence didn’t matter to her. I must admit that this was a most peculiar feeling, something I must have no doubt only imagined.
Dear Notes, this is everything of relevance that came to pass today. Some things mightn’t make much sense, but I can’t be bothered to think of them now. For I have many reasons to be happy. Happy, happy, happy! I think I’ll stop writing now and start dreaming of K.
For one day soon there will be kisses and caresses.
Chapter 4: Elise
As I undress in the dim-lit room, a thought crosses my mind. I never asked to be born a Daughter of the Moon, to be placed on a pedestal, to be admired as pristine and white. But that’s a lame excuse. The poor never asked to be hungry and cold either.
Ever since I met my love, I knew I had to change. I knew it to be true like a toddler who knows that her first wavering steps are just the beginning, like a child who realizes that letters form words that unfold into countless stories, like a sailor who upon stepping on a foreign shore realizes that even if he were to ever return home, it wouldn’t be the same place he left behind.
“Shawl,” Lily, my governess, hums as she holds her right arm out for me. Hers is a voice that comforts me, the buzzing of bees collecting honey.
I swirl and unwrap the fur-trimmed cashmere from around my shoulders. And although the fair hair on my arms jumps up instantly, I fold it on her arms. It’s chilly in this room that isn’t mine, but which I have started to think of as belonging to me. Hidden somewhere under the vast garden, reachable only by servants’ corridors—no one will see me enter or leave. There’s no stove here, no fireplac
e, only a few candles of the rougher sort on the rickety table accompanied by two equally forgotten chairs. The air smells of tallow and burning hair.
“Gloves.” Lily’s tune veers toward the melancholy paths that I have grown so accustomed to. Perhaps it was as much my darker moods as it was her family’s tragedy that shaped her such as she is. A woman twice my age. Wiry, but kind. Though she has been told to keep her gaze down her whole life, her angular chin always points up. Her gaze is sharp, and she sees everything. Sometimes this frightens me a little.
I pull off my white satin gloves, first the left one, then the right. I never complained of how unhappy I felt, but it could hardly have escaped my governess. For the longest time, I tried to bury my darker feelings and feign that I only knew joy. For everyone wanted to see and know the sparkling, giggling Elise. And so I practiced before my mirrors how to hide my anxiety until no one, not even dear Sibs, could see through the mask I had so carefully crafted.
“The dress.”
Lily and I go through this ritual every night, but lately it has meant more to me. One garment, now one button at a time, I cease to be an obsolete leftover from an age that’s about to come to an end. It’s all because of him, the captain of my heart.
The undusted, crooked floorboards creak as I step out of the dress, the white chiffon creation draped to resemble a midsummer rose in bloom. Lily swoops the dress up and pauses her humming. “What shall I do with this one?”
Without hesitation I answer, “Sell it and donate the funds for the cause.”
Lily nods, her lips pressing into a timid smile. The cause, whatever it turns out to be in the end, is important to her, too. She was born into a noble bloodline, but her family lost its fortune. At ten, she was sent away and brought up to serve. To me, she’s a servant only in name. She’s my confidante.
“Jewelry.”
Dressed only in my silk undergarments, I hold my hair bundled atop my head. Lily unclips the necklace with one practiced move. The dove pearls and diamonds shine in the flickering light, as if to mock me for wanting to leave my privileged life behind. If it were up to me, I would be very glad to never see the wretched thing again. But as it is, I’m already tiptoeing on thin ice.
Lily’s beady eyes glint with longing, anger even, as she holds the glittering arc of the necklace. She doesn’t yearn to wear such once more, doesn’t grieve after her lost life, of that I’m sure. She dreams of a world where people are equal and not burdened by their parents’ mistakes. “And this one?”
I don’t know what to say, and so I stroll to the closest chair. I pick up the simple dress folded there. Thin black and blue stripes with a wild floral pattern run down the front of the dress. The frayed hem has worn smooth. The smell of root cellar fills my nostrils. I was nervous the first time I abandoned white in favor of the colors of my people. I’m more nervous now. “I . . .”
Lily pads to stand behind me, so close that I feel her breath against my shoulder blades. She hums an encouraging little tune. She means well, but . . .
“Please stop.” I clutch the dress against my chest. Every lie I tell to Sibs adds more weight on my shoulders. She suspects already that I’m up to something more than a simple romance, and it’s just a matter of time until I plunge through the shards into a coldness that will never leave my bones. “I can’t do it.”
Lily clicks her tongue, in sympathy I hope, for she has never disapproved of me. Not even when I led a life of leisure, wasting what could have been cherished. The veins on her sinewy arms seem more pronounced as she places the necklace on the table. She straightens it out of old habit.
As I step into the simple dress, I shiver, but not from cold. A Daughter of the Moon should only ever wear white. That’s her right. That’s her duty. If my celestial father could see me now, he might curse me or merely laugh at me. But he can’t, and he won’t. I can’t go to where I need to go as a Daughter of the Moon.
“Do you know where he’ll take me tonight?” I ask Lily. I never know the destination my love has in mind beforehand, but I suspect Lily knows the details. Every time he shows me more. I feel akin to a novice in a cloister who is tested to see if she’s really devoted enough to take the vows. Perhaps my love and Lily still doubt my commitment to the cause or fear my tongue might slip. I can only continue to strive to show my worth to them.
“All in good time,” Lily replies.
Though I have practiced, I’m still slow at dressing on my own. Who could believe two full-length sleeves and a few buttons can pose such a challenge to me? It embarrasses me how useless I was. Still am. The captain of my heart, he knows this, and yet he loves me.
“How do I look?” I ask as I finally finish fumbling with the dress.
“Hmh . . .” Lily eyes me from head to toe. She pulls my sleeves straight and nods at the buttons I had forgotten to do. I’m not used to long sleeves. “The cause has come to rely on your contribution.”
I lick my lips and taste tallow. I think of those who would be glad of these candles, who must live in darkness through the cruel winter months because they need their meager coins for rye bread and salted herring. The necklace, lounging lazily on the table, dares to glitter.
How many mouths could one feed with its cost? Many. So many, and I wouldn’t even miss it. There would be a new one to replace it before too long. Some nobleman would send one as a token of love that would never be. Or worse, a poor town might spend what they can’t afford to send me a gift to gain my favor. All the same, both useless acts doomed to fail. I don’t want an aristocratic lover. Political favors are not for me to grant.
“There won’t be more if I get caught,” I reply at last. This isn’t about the superstition that I should look after the beads gifted to me. No, not about that. If Celestia or my mother or anyone else were to ever learn that I conspire to change the empire, I would . . . I have often thought of it. I would be sentenced to death or exile. And yet, I have never felt more alive than I do now.
“Sell the dress”—I nudge my fine slippers off my feet and step into the borrowed sabots—“Sell the shoes. Sell the shawl and gloves. But we must find some other way to milk money from the empire than selling my jewelry.”
Lily nods, the veins on her neck tight and taut. I think that sometimes she fears I’m not fully dedicated. That this is just a phase for me.
But it’s not. I—my kind—can’t exist with the cause. But I can’t exist without it anymore. It has brought an end to my ennui. It fuels me and gives my existence a purpose.
I button my sleeves around my wrists. It’s time to become what I was meant to be.
* * *
A knock on the door—short and short, long and short—means that my love is here at last. I give my woolen scarf one last tug. Tied tight under my chin, the poppy petals shift, but the scarf itself won’t budge. Good. For if my true identity were revealed, if I were caught unprotected outside the palace grounds . . . How curious it is that I’m risking so much, and both sides would wish ill for me if they knew.
Lily strides to slide off the bolt. Her low heels clack against the floorboards. The bolt squeals. These sounds, no matter how normal, itch my nerves. Yet at the same time my heart pangs with indecipherable joy. Even a moment apart from my love feels too much for me to bear. A day is pure torture.
The door opens, and I see my love at last.
Captain Janlav is handsome, though he’s no longer dressed in his midnight blue uniform with silver epaulets and gleaming crescent buttons. A black newsboy hat, with flaps tied under his strong chin, hides his loosened topknot and the shaved sides of his head. He has pulled up the collar of his factory-woven coat. It has a stained, murky brown hem, and it stinks of wet lambs. A knitted red scarf bulges out from the front. He wears workman’s leather gloves, likewise red. He doesn’t look at all like an imperial soldier, which is good. A disguise is almost as important to him as it is to me.
My love meets my gaze from across the room, and a ripple of tingles runs through my b
ody. His brown eyes—the shade of young pines—are bright and full of love. As he smiles at me, his glorious brown moustache rises with the curve of his lips. His is uniquely the boyish mischief mixed with a grown man’s seriousness.
“Are you ready?” he asks with a lopsided grin, as if he were truly a railway man courting a factory girl.
I cant my head in a somewhat coquettish fashion before I can stop myself. He shouldn’t have needed to even ask. I will follow him wherever he leads me. For ever since our gazes met at Alina’s name day ball three months ago, I knew, I simply knew he was the one. My destiny.
“I am,” I reply, even as I dash to him. I fling my arms around his neck and rise on my toes. Our lips touch, and we breathe the same air. But only shortly, for romantics come later. First we shall make the world a better place.
As we leave the room, he doesn’t say where he’s taking me, and I don’t ask. I simply follow behind him, never glancing back. It drizzles in the tunnels, and I can’t keep track of the turns. We are somewhere under the palace garden, in the tunnels between the canals. That is all I know.
Though this isn’t my first time in the tunnels, I would get lost without my love, for we always take a different route, always go to a different destination. It’s warmer here than outside, and yet my toes go numb in the slightly-too-small sabots. Algae and mold cling to the rough walls. My eyes water and nose dribbles. My sisters and I, we have always known of the existence of these tunnels, but not about their true extent. I suspect my sisters don’t know the truth about many things, my younger sisters even less.
I fell in love with my captain upon first laying eyes on him. In the beginning, when our romance was merely budding, we slipped out of concerts and balls, into balconies and courtyards, just to talk and gaze at the stars. Gradually we grew bolder. We sneaked into the forgotten parts of the garden and sought shelter from abandoned pavilions. He could see straight into my lonely heart, how I longed to be more than beautiful, how I yearned to do more than just exist, to see what lay behind the palace grounds. He listened to me, and then after a month or so, on one starlit night, he promised to show me the world as it truly was. And though he warned me that there would be no turning back, I didn’t hesitate.
The Five Daughters of the Moon Page 6
