Ashes of Roses (Tales of the Latter Kingdoms Book 4)

by Pope, Christine

  I opened my mouth to reply, but somehow the words became caught in my throat. And that choking sensation seemed to overwhelm me as the tears rose in my eyes, and I bent my head and sobbed, sobbed in a way I hadn’t done since I lost my father. Then I felt my aunt’s arms go around me, smelled the sweet rose scent of her perfume as she held me close, not saying anything, as if she understood that I needed to weep, to let that part of myself break down before I could go on with any part of her mad plan. At last, though, my tears were spent, and I pulled away, sniffling.

  Any expectation that she might materialize a handkerchief out of thin air was dashed when she fished one prosaically enough from a pocket in her gown and handed it to me. I blotted my eyes, even as I began to stammer an apology.

  “None of that,” she said. “You’ve been through enough to make a lesser girl weep for a year, so I think I can excuse five minutes or so of it. But now you’ve seen that I can make this happen for you — if you will let me. Will you not take the risk? I have seen this Emperor of yours, and for once the stories do not exaggerate. He is a very handsome man, and the sort any girl might fall in love with, even were he not the ruler of the greatest country in the world.”

  Oh, the tumult that raged in my breast then! For I did want to go and see him, and perhaps, if I were very lucky, share a dance. I did not possess the sort of vanity which would allow me to think it would be anything more than that, but it would be enough. Only —

  “There is no way it will work,” I said sadly, loath to abandon that hope, brief and short-lived as it was. “My stepmother watches everything I do. Even now while she is gone she has set the others to keep a watch on me so that I might not run off. There is simply no way I could disappear for hours and hours to these tournaments and dances and whatnot without her knowing I was gone, and punishing me for my absence when I returned.”

  Despite these depressing words, my aunt did not appear to be terribly dismayed. She smiled, and shook her head, and uttered more words under her breath. Then it was as if I looked upon myself, saw the messy braid and the meager chemise, and, yes, the dark smudge on the tip of my nose. Even her voice when she spoke sounded like mine, lighter in tone, soft, with none of the heartiness she had displayed only moments earlier.

  “You see?” she said. “She will never know that you have gone. I will mind the house for you while you are off attracting the Emperor’s notice. The only chancy part will be trading places when you return, but even that can be managed. So fret not, Ashara.”

  I stared at her, stared at words I had not spoken coming from what appeared to be my own mouth. So this was magic. In that moment I saw why it might have been suppressed, why wars were fought over it so many years ago. For if my aunt could imitate me so precisely, what would have stopped some long-ago mage from taking on the semblance of a great lord…or even the Emperor himself?

  A shiver went over me. My aunt must have seen it, for she reached out and placed a gentle hand — my hand, complete with calluses and broken fingernails — on my arm. “It can be a little unsettling, I know. But you must also know that I am doing this for you.”

  The words burst from me. “But — but why?”

  “Because I was not there when you needed me. I had my reasons for leaving Sirlende, and they were good ones, but I stayed too long away. I should never have let things come to such a pass. This is my chance to make it right. I have watched you for a while, actually…seen how you can still laugh with Janks, when you think no one is looking. I’ve seen the way you pause at the well to watch the sky if the sunset is especially beautiful. And I saw today how you offered that messenger a drink of your water, even though giving him too much would have meant more work for you.” She lifted her shoulders, and the semblance of myself melted away, leaving behind the pretty bright-eyed woman she actually was. Those eyes were not so bright now, but sad, and somehow pleading. “Let me do this for you, Ashara.”

  I found I could not tear myself away from that earnest gaze. This meant a great deal to her, I knew. And was this not something I had dreamed of, finding a way to tear myself from the bonds my stepmother had placed upon me? Now such an escape seemed to be handed me, wrapped up with bright ribbons the way presents had been long ago, back when I had been lucky enough to receive such things.

  But oh, the consequences if we should be caught! It had been a very long time since anyone in Sirlende had been put to death for using magic — long, long before I was born — but the laws still existed. If anyone caught me in the lie, discovered that I had been using magic to attract the Emperor’s attention…

  So what? I thought then. This life you live is not even half a life. How precious can it possibly be? Better to risk all, than condemn yourself to the prison your stepmother has created.

  Put that way…

  “All right,” I said firmly. “I will do it.”

  * * *

  I had a hard time falling asleep after that. My aunt left, promising that she would make all the necessary plans, and that all I had to do was wait — and, if possible, watch my stepsisters as closely as I could, that I might soak up as many bits of etiquette and courtly behavior as I could.

  That probably wouldn’t be too difficult. I had no doubt that as soon as my stepmother returned to Iselfex and heard the news, she’d be drilling Jenaris and Shelynne on which fork to use and which forms of address were proper and how deeply to curtsey to a duke as opposed to a baron. All I would have to do is lurk in the background, listening and watching while pretending to scrub the floor, and I had no doubt I would have my own education easily enough. Probably more easily than they; neither of my stepsisters was particularly quick of mind, although Shelynne did have a facility with numbers that rather astonished me, given that she was not much of a scholar otherwise.

  No, I lay there on my pallet, and stared at the ceiling and wondered if I had signed my own death warrant by agreeing to my aunt’s mad plan. After all, so many things could go wrong.

  …And so many things might, just might, go right.

  Escape was something I had dreamed of over and over again, hoping I might find the perfect opportunity, the one chance that would allow me to escape servitude to my stepmother. Some might say it had been foolish of me to stay under her roof for so long, to suffer the abuses visited upon me, but I was not completely naïve — I knew the sorts of perils a young woman alone in a great city might face, and they were far worse than being forced to empty chamberpots or polish the silver until one’s fingers were red and aching.

  Even so, I had tried to plan for that day by picking up the odd coin in the street and secreting it among my meager possessions, or collecting odd items that might be of some worth to a tinker or metalsmith — a brass button, a silver hair comb with several of its tines of deer horn broken off. Small things in and of themselves, but I had hoped against hope that perhaps one day they might be enough to allow me to run away, to give me enough security that I would not have to fall prey to the hazards which usually dogged young women on their own. It had never been enough, not yet.

  And now…well, now I had truly put my foot in it, as Claris might say. Perhaps when my aunt appeared on the fateful day, on the first of Octevre, my resolve would fail me, and I would tell her to go, and leave me to my miserable existence. Better that than to take such a terrible risk.

  I would only have to hope I had more backbone than that.

  * * *

  My stepmother and stepsisters returned late the following day, sending the household into a frenzy of unpacking and cleaning and cooking. It appeared the news of the Emperor’s quest for a bride had reached all the way to my stepmother’s friend’s estate, for she was plotting almost as soon as she alighted from her hired carriage.

  “I’ll be having the dressmaker in tomorrow, Ashara, so make sure the front steps are well-scrubbed, and do get rid of those dreadful cobwebs in the entry hall. Are you blind? They should have been knocked down days ago. And dust the second salon and polish the floor. We
want to make a good impression.”

  Knowing I would attract attention if I did anything more than bob my head and drop a curtsey, I hastily did both those things. Perhaps there was a little too much ready acquiescence in my manner, for her eyes narrowed as she looked at me. But then she appeared to be distracted by yet another thought, because she went on, directing her next words to her daughters, “And the day after I must have a dancing master in. Oh, I knew I should not have neglected teaching you the steps! Well, we must do what we can, and luckily only one of the Emperor’s gatherings involves dancing. I know he will be too distracted by your pretty faces to note any particular clumsiness.”

  This was too much, even for me, and I let out a sound rather too close to a snort. At once my stepmother’s piercing dark eyes were upon me, and I pretended to cough, and wipe my eyes, as if some bit of dust had irritated my throat. She glared at me for a long moment, and I worried she would use this excuse to manufacture yet more tasks for me. But apparently the excitement of preparing for the Emperor’s bride-hunt overcame her dislike for me, and she turned to her daughters and said, “Well, there will be more, but I must decide which must take precedence. In the meantime, it will be dinner soon. Speaking of which…” She trailed off, and appeared almost hesitant, for her.

  “What of dinner, Mamma?” inquired Jenaris, her tones weighted with suspicion.

  “Only that — well, I believe it might be good for you to not have any bread, or potatoes, and only one piece of meat and some field greens. I have heard that the Emperor likes slender girls, and — ”

  “And what?” Jenaris demanded, hands on her ample hips.

  “And Mamma thinks you are too fat,” Shelynne helpfully supplied with a giggle. “I daresay she is right. Not that it is necessarily a bad thing — at least I don’t have to worry about you borrowing any of my gowns, as none of them would fit.”

  “Ma-MA!” Jenaris shrieked in outrage, and reached out to give one of her sister’s shining dark curls a sharp tug, eliciting a howl of pain.

  “Girls,” my stepmother said in quelling tones. “None of this is behavior that befits a lady, let alone a future Empress. Jenaris, you are not fat, but I do think that it behooves you to be careful in what you eat for the next several weeks. And Shelynne, it is not ladylike to point out another’s shortcomings. You may one day find yourself on the receiving end of such observations.”

  While these were fine, salutary words, they did not appear to have the desired effect. Jenaris stuck out a mutinous lower lip; I had no doubt she planned a few more midnight raids on the larder. And Shelynne only rolled her eyes, as if to indicate that she didn’t believe she had any shortcomings in need of pointing out.

  As usually happened when my stepmother lost patience with her daughters, she turned her ire on me. “And you, miss, standing there as if you hadn’t a care in the world. You have work to do, so why are you still here?”

  “I was only waiting to see if you had any further instructions for me, ma’am,” I replied meekly.

  “Get to the kitchen and help Claris with dinner! No doubt she’s been missing you these five minutes, you lazy, idle girl!”

  I bobbed my head and made my escape to the relative refuge of the kitchen. My stepmother rarely ventured in there, as she thought it more genteel to call for Claris and have any necessary consultations with her in the dining room.

  The cook was bending over a saucepan as I entered, her greying hair wisping in the steamy heat of the kitchen. “Goodness, what a ruckus,” she said. “And of course she would be wanting pork medallions in wine sauce right off, as if she were having company.”

  “Perhaps she missed your cooking,” I suggested, at which Claris shot me a very jaundiced look.

  “Wanted to remind me who was in charge, more like,” she responded. “Ah, well, at least we had a few days’ rest. There’s some who don’t even get that.”

  I nodded, not quite trusting myself to speak.

  “Well, don’t stand there bobbing your head like one of those foolish dolls in the marketplace. Those greens need to be shredded, and Miss Jenaris’s must have no sauce, so hers has to go in a separate bowl.”

  No sauce? My stepmother really must be serious about this. Somehow I thought it would be difficult to reverse years of indulgent sweet-eating in only a few short weeks, especially if I knew my stepsister. She would find a way to sneak the things she wanted, no matter that her mother had forbidden that she touch even a single piece of bread.

  But I knew better than to say such a thing aloud, even to Claris. Word had a way of getting around, especially in a household as small as ours. I realized then that I had not caught a glimpse of Mari — our resident tattletale — but guessed she must have been up in the room my stepsisters shared, unpacking their things and setting aside the ones that needed to be laundered.

  I went instead to the pile of field greens and began to rinse them off, setting the clean ones aside to drain as I did so. This was a relatively simple task, so my mind began to wander as I worked, imagining what the inside of the palace might look like, and what the music played at the balls would sound like, and what sort of food would be served at these gatherings. My stomach fairly rumbled at the thought. My stepmother did not precisely starve me, but I ate last, and of everyone’s leftovers, save for the bits that Claris slipped to me here and there.

  Well, at least the Emperor liked slender girls, or so the rumors said…

  * * *

  Master Mellenden, the dancing instructor, arrived promptly at ten in the morning the next day. I heard my stepsisters groaning about the time scheduled for their lessons, as neither of them preferred to be up and dressed much sooner than luncheon, but on that point my stepmother put her foot down.

  “That is the only time he has available!” she’d snapped, as I lingered in the background of the large salon, studiously dusting her collection of small enameled birds. They’d been quite the fad some years ago, apparently. In fact, the whole house had become quite cluttered due to her tendency to latch on to the newest and most fashionable mode, no matter how frivolous it might be. “Master Mellenden is highly in demand! It was either ten o’clock or nothing! Do you want to look like left-footed fools in front of the Emperor?”

  Apparently neither of my stepsisters did, for at that comment they’d muttered and sighed and rolled their eyes, but did not offer any further argument. And so it was set that Master Mellenden would come three days a week for the next month.

  He was a handsome fellow, somewhere in his early thirties, I thought, and I could see why he would be so in demand among the ladies of the town. My stepmother was lucky to get him, even at the unfashionable hour of ten in the morning.

  Our house was not grand enough for a ballroom, but Janks and I rolled up the rug in the second salon and moved all the furniture against the walls, leaving enough space for several couples to dance there. My stepmother did most of her receiving in the main salon, and so having the smaller room out of commission for the next month probably would not discommode her too much.

  Janks’s service was not done there, either, for Master Mellenden declared that the only way for a young woman to learn to dance properly was with a man, and so the poor footman had to suffer through learning the verdralle and the linotte and the padrane, all the while handling both of my stepsisters as if they were made of eggshells. For their part, they tended to wear a look of disgust any time they were unlucky enough to be partnered with Janks rather than the dancing master, which I thought exceedingly ill-mannered of them…even though such behavior was only to be expected.

  I, of course, could take no part in these proceedings, but could only pretend to be useful by fetching fresh water for them to drink, or to run and get Jenaris a new pair of slippers when she tore the stitching on hers, or to be there to open the windows when it became too warm and the girls declared they couldn’t dance another step without some fresh air. To be sure, the air in Iselfex was none too fresh in early Sevendre, but I wasn�
��t about to say such a thing out loud.

  No, I only wanted to be present as much as possible so I could see how one was to place a hand on one’s partner’s shoulder during the verdralle, or how to do the complicated underhand turn during the linotte, or the way one must always start a dance with one’s right foot first. All this, and so much more, catching a faint whisper of what the tunes must sound like when played by a full quintet and not the one pointy-faced young man Master Mellenden brought along with him to play the flute as accompaniment.

  It all seemed so complicated, and yet wonderful at the same time. I was not completely unschooled; my father had had a dancing master for me when I was young, as well as a tutor to teach me how to read and write and figure. He had taught me how to ride a horse himself, not trusting anyone else to do it — and also because I thought he wanted any chance he could take to ride the fields of his beloved estate, and taking his young daughter out on her pony afforded him the opportunity to be out in the wind and the sun, and not cooped up in the house.

  Even so, it had been many years since my last dancing lesson, and I drank in what I could and prayed it would be enough. I wished there were some way I could coerce Janks into practicing with me, but of course he would think it foolish of me to want to dance, and if Mari should ever catch us at it, even if he were to agree — I shuddered at the thought. No, best to commit the various steps to memory, the same way I had learnt my multiplication tables, and to hope I would be able to recall the padrane as easily as I could remember six times nine.

  Besides Master Mellenden, there was Mistress Rhandil, the seamstress, who was in and out of the house so often I rather began to wonder whether she could have saved herself some time and taken up residence in one of the unused bedrooms on the third floor. And I didn’t even want to think what all those bolts of shining fabric were costing, and the trims woven with precious metals, and the silk stockings and embroidered purses and feathered fans! True, last year had provided a bountiful harvest, and my stepmother always took the lion’s share of such income from her tenants, but even so, I could not see how she was possibly able to afford all this.