My stepmother sent her a scorching glare. “One roll, Jenaris.”
“But Mamma, I’ve already touched it. I cannot put it back.”
“Ashara, take the roll and put it in the dustbin,” my stepmother commanded.
Knowing I could not possibly gainsay her, I stepped forward and took the roll between my thumb and forefinger, then marched it into the kitchen and dropped it in the refuse container. My heart panged as I did so, for there was a time I would have been very covetous of that discarded roll. Today I had eaten my fill at the reception, knowing my dinner would be sparse at best, but there had been many days before this one when I had had no such largesse to supplement my diet.
Claris raised her eyebrows at me as I disposed of the roll, and I could only lift my shoulders.
“Well, here is the soup,” she said, without further comment, and I took it back to the dining room.
“…and the Emperor is going to sit with Brinda Aldrenne tomorrow evening, so you see, he really cannot be that interested in that one girl,” Shelynne was saying as I set the soup tureen on the table and then retreated to a corner in case I should be called upon for some other task.
“I would say that is good news, except he is sitting with Lady Brinda and not you, and so you are in no better a position than you were yesterday,” her mother replied tartly before helping herself to several ladlefuls of soup. Thank goodness our house was not quite so grand that I was expected to actually serve the food instead of simply bringing it to the table.
“Oh, Mamma,” Shelynne said, sounding quite exasperated. “He has not given either Jenaris or me so much as a second glance, so I very much doubt anything is going to change between now and tomorrow evening.”
I was surprised to hear such common sense coming out of Shelynne’s mouth. Perhaps I had misjudged her.
“There is always a chance,” my stepmother said darkly. “But if he is not going to choose either of you, then at least better that it be a baron’s daughter rather than some redheaded chit whose name no one can seem to recall.”
At these words she cast a baleful look in my direction, and I stared down at the floor, not daring to meet her eyes. Of course she could not suspect — not with my aunt here every day to stand in my place and hide my absences — but even so such scrutiny unnerved me.
“How is your hand, Ashara?” she asked abruptly, and I started.
“My — my hand?” I repeated.
“Claris said you cut your hand this morning whilst peeling potatoes. May I see it?”
Oh, good gods. Of course my own hands, although covered in a fairly notable collection of healed and half-healed scars, had no fresh wounds upon them. I gave a nervous laugh and said, “Oh, it was nothing, ma’am. It looked ill enough at the time, for it bled freely, but it is really only a trifle.”
“I will be the judge of that. Come and show me,” she commanded, “for I do not want you getting an infection when I will have so much need of you tomorrow to get the girls ready for the musicale.”
There being nothing else I could do, I went with reluctant steps to stand by her, and extended my right hand. I had cut it earlier in the week, but it was already healing, showing a thin red streak along the forefinger. All I could do was hope that in the flickering candlelight she wouldn’t notice the wound was no longer fresh.
My stepmother frowned as she looked down at it. “Oh, that is nothing. From the way Claris was talking, I thought it was far worse. Well enough. Go on — take the empty soup bowls and bring the next course.”
Feeling limp with relief, I did as she bade me, for once not even caring about her peremptory tone of command. Claris watched as I came into the kitchen and took up the platter of roast beef, and asked, “Are you sure you can manage that with your hand?”
Now she is inquiring as to my hand? Would that she had asked earlier so I might have been more prepared. “It is fine. Really, I hardly notice it.”
Well, that wasn’t even a lie.
I returned to the dining room with the main course and was glad to hear that the conversation had turned away from me — the mysterious redheaded girl, that is — and gone on to a discussion of their preparations for tomorrow evening, of whether to bathe first thing, or wait so that they might be fresh for the festivities, which were not to begin until after sunset. Not that it really mattered, for even if they were to have their baths the moment they rose from their beds, my stepsisters would of course not exert themselves that day, but would instead lounge about as much as possible, wishing to conserve their energy for their all-important assignation at the palace.
Whereas I would be run ragged once again, and would have to do my best to present a good appearance when I was finally able to tear myself away from this wretched house.
No matter, I told myself, for Torric already loves you, and if you appear a trifle weary, he will certainly not hold such a thing against you.
That thought buoyed me a little, and gave me the strength to endure the rest of the evening — the inevitable dishwashing and scrubbing and putting the dishes and pots and pans away, the wiping down of the dining room table. Tomorrow would be tomorrow, and I would live through that as well, for I knew that I would see Torric that evening.
And that was all which mattered.
* * *
Truly, there was a good deal of hubbub the next day, which I had expected, but at least both my stepsisters’ gowns passed muster, and so I was not drafted for any last-minute hemming or other repairs. They had decided to bathe later in the afternoon, and so spent most of their time in their room, Shelynne working at her embroidery, which she actually did excel at, and Jenaris not doing much of anything save lying abed and getting up from time to time to try the effect of a different set of jewels against her gown of celadon-green damask.
My stepmother’s sister, the baroness, had offered the loan of some pieces from her own collection, and so the jewelry in question was quite magnificent — a set of emeralds in heavy gold, or creamy sea pearls in silver with sapphire accents. Jenaris decided on the emeralds, then spent a good deal of time sitting in front of the mirror and trying the heavy necklace about her throat, turning this way and that so the light would catch in the facets of the stones and flash with purest green.
I will admit that I quite envied her those jewels, but tried to console myself that, whatever my aunt had planned for my wardrobe tonight, it promised to be equally magnificent.
But it will not be real, I thought then. No, it wouldn’t, but I knew if I wished for emeralds after I was Empress, Torric would be only too glad to oblige me. Let Jenaris have her peacock moment — her jewels would be borrowed as well, after all.
At last, after a light supper at around half past five, it was time to draw my stepsisters’ baths, and to lay out their gowns and underthings, and their fans and cloaks and the pretty little embroidered pouches made to match their dresses. As usual, Mari attended to their hair, and even brushed powdered stain from a jar onto their cheeks and lips. When she was done, they did look rather lovely, although Jenaris wore a somewhat pinched expression, possibly because her new gown had been constructed with a good deal of whalebone built into the bodice to help slim her down somewhat.
The carriage rattled up to the door, and they sailed off into the night. Several blocks away, the watchman rang the hour. Seven o’clock. I had only half an hour to effect my own transformation and get to the palace.
I gathered up my stepsisters’ discarded towels and made for the door, planning to use a trip to the laundry room off the kitchen as an excuse to get out to the stables, where no doubt my aunt already awaited me. However, I had not gone three paces before my stepmother said, “Ashara, when you go downstairs, fetch me a glass of port. I am feeling quite fatigued after all this tumult.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said obediently, but inside I repeated a few choice curses I’d heard Janks utter over the years. If my stepmother was expecting me to come back upstairs directly, how could I possibly slip out t
o the stables? She’d be sure to notice if I were gone for more than a few minutes.
I fairly flew down the stairs and to the kitchen, where I told Claris that her ladyship requested port. As she went to pour it, I hastened to the laundry room and dropped the towels in the basket reserved for soiled linens and such, then hesitated. Did I dare slip outside and take my chances?
“It’s ready,” Claris called, and I knew I had no choice.
Holding back a sigh, I took up the little tray with the blown-glass goblet of port, as well as the sweet little wafers my stepmother liked to take with it. She had retired to the sitting room off her bedchamber, and I went there and deposited the tray on the table next to her favorite chair.
While my first instinct was to flee the room as soon as I had completed my errand, I knew that would only raise her suspicions. So I made myself pause a few steps away from the door, and asked, “Do you require anything else, ma’am?”
She had been standing at the table with the mirror hung above it where she usually performed her toilette; she did not give me an answer at once, but instead continued with taking the jewels from her ears and around her throat, and then placed them inside a small box of inlaid wood. After that she began to pull out the pins which held her hair in place, until finally a thick rope of unnaturally dark hair hung down her back.
Through all this I waited, all too conscious of the minutes ticking by, knowing I could do nothing about it. Finally she sat down and lifted her glass of port. “Is everything all right, Ashara? I must confess that you seem rather…anxious.”
“Oh, no, ma’am,” I said immediately. “Only that Claris is expecting me in the kitchen to help with the dishes, and if you did not need anything else…”
“Well,” and she tilted her head to one side, as if considering, “that will be all for now, I suppose. I shall ring if I need anything else. Go on, if Claris is needing you.”
I sketched the hastiest of curtseys and all but ran down the stairs, wondering as I did so what excuse I could use to slip out back to the stables. My stepmother had already had her port, so no need for me to go the wine cellar. And Janks had already laid all the fires, which meant I did not have any excuse to fetch more wood.
But Claris, bless her, called out to me as soon as I entered the kitchen, and told me to fetch Janks from his room off the stable, because she needed him to get a combination of dried herbs down from the highest shelf in the pantry.
“Nothing for it, except herself expects me to compound all new hair rinses for the girls, and this is this first chance I have to do it. Go get Janks for me, there’s a love.”
I murmured a breathless “of course” and rushed outside — not to Janks’s quarters, but to the stables themselves. I would have to let Aunt Therissa fetch him while I hastened away.
She shot me an alarmed glance as I burst into the stables. “Ashara, it is so very late — ”
“I know,” I said, “but my stepmother would keep me at the most foolish tasks, and this is the first chance I’ve had to get away. Even now I am supposed to be fetching Janks, but you can do that after I’ve gone.”
Comprehension lit her features. “Of course, my dear. Then here we are.” She murmured the words of her spell, and at once I was resplendent in a gown of a deep blue green, against which my hair shone like pure copper.
“Thank you,” I said. “I have so much to tell you, but no time in which to do it!”
“Don’t fret about that. We can talk later. Just go, and show the Emperor how beautiful you are.” And she murmured a few words again, and transformed herself.
At that I could only nod, now a little more used to seeing my own face staring back at me and smiling. There was time for nothing else besides that, and I hastened out the door, glad that my gown was a dark color so I might have a better chance of hiding amongst the shadows as I made my way to the gate. No sooner had I lifted the latch than I heard my aunt’s voice — my voice — calling for Janks. Using the distraction, I slipped out onto the street and into the waiting carriage.
I couldn’t even think what the time must be. They rang the bell only on the full hour, and so it could be only seven-twenty…or seven forty-five, in which case I was dreadfully late.
True, they had never started precisely on time at any of the other events. I prayed that would be the case this evening, for a late arrival at a musicale would be so much more obvious than at an open-air reception.
There were no carriages in the great courtyard before the palace, and my heart sank. Still, there was nothing I could do but press on and hope that I could slip into a seat in the back row without anyone noticing. For the first time I was glad that Torric had planned to sit with Brinda Aldrenne; it would have been too dreadful if I had had to make my way up to the front row with everyone watching.
An impassive-looking footman directed me to the chamber where the musicale was being held. The plaintive, sweet tones of a harp, viol, and flute drifted out into the corridor, and I swallowed. So they already had begun.
I tiptoed into the room and surveyed the back row. Yes, there was an empty seat on the end — and in the chair next to it sat Gabrinne. That is, I thought it must be she, judging by the riot of dark curls hanging down her back. Thank the gods that the empty seat was in an inconspicuous location.
Moving as silently as I could, I approached the vacant chair and sat down. Gabrinne started, then leaned over and whispered, “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming!”
“I was delayed,” I whispered back.
“A delay that could have cost you dearly,” she replied, prompting a “shh!” from the pinch-faced girl sitting on her right side. Gabrinne grimaced, lowered her voice, and said, “I was supposed to give you this.”
I felt her shove a piece of heavy folded paper into my hand. Puzzled, I stared down at it, saw that it had been sealed with a blob of crimson wax, although the wax had no crest or other identifying mark. Even so, I thought I could guess who it was from.
Wincing at every crackle of the thick paper, I carefully broke the seal and unfolded it. I had never seen his handwriting before, of course, but it seemed uniquely his — heavy and slanting, every stroke strong and sure.
Beloved, I must see you alone. At the midpoint of the musicale, the captain of the guard will come in to call me away. When you see me leave, slip away as well. There is a hidden door behind the tapestry on the south wall; use that, and follow the corridor behind it. You will come to a secret place known only to the imperial household. Your friend has said she will cause a distraction so you may leave unnoticed. Be ready.
This astonishing missive caused me to raise my head and cast a questioning look at Gabrinne. She glanced down at it and grinned, then nodded, as if to indicate she was ready to do her part when the time came.
I hastily refolded the paper and placed it in the pouch my aunt had provided, then folded my hands on my lap and willed myself to be calm. The musicians played on, but I feared I did not pay them much mind, even though I enjoyed music very much and often wished I could hear more of it.
It was nerve-wracking, to say the least, to sit there and maintain a placid expression on my face, to pretend I had nothing more on my mind than the music filling the chamber. Some time later — it felt like hours, although I knew it could not have been that long — a severe-looking man wearing a steel breastplate over his black and silver doublet entered the room, bowed, and went straight to Torric where he sat in the front row. The two of them had some sort of whispered exchange, and then he rose from his seat, appeared to offer some sort of apology to Brinda and the other young women in the row, and went out.
A murmur of voices swept over the room, no doubt of everyone attempting to determine what on earth could have taken the Emperor away from such an important event. I sat rooted in my chair, knowing I should go, but also knowing I could do nothing until Gabrinne began her distraction, whatever that might be.
I was to find out soon enough.
“A mo
use!” she screeched, and gathered up her heavy silk skirts and climbed onto her chair. “A mouse! Right there!” And she pointed a little farther down the row.
At once all the young women began crying out as well, either attempting to get on their own chairs so they would be out of harm’s way, or scrambling to exit the row altogether. While the commotion grew and the music lurched on, the musicians clearly unsure what to do, Gabrinne whispered sharply, “Go on! What are you waiting for?”
I needed no further prompting. As young women began to scatter in all directions and footmen began to converge to seek out the offending rodent, I ran for the tapestry hanging on the south wall and lifted it, then felt along the paneling until my fingers found a small recess. I pressed on it, and a door swung inward. At once I slipped behind the tapestry and went through the door, then closed it behind me.
The corridor was dim, but I thought I saw the faint glow of candlelight some yards ahead. Moving carefully, I made way toward the light and prayed this was the “secret place” Torric had written of.
And so it proved to be, as I emerged into a small chamber some fifteen feet square, with a table and chairs in a heavier, more antique style than how the palace was currently furnished. Torric stood there, holding two silver goblets, while a flask of wine sat on the table itself.
“You were late,” he said, and held out one of the goblets to me. “I began to fear all my plans would be for naught.”
I took the goblet from him. “A thousand apologies. I was…delayed.”
“Apparently.”
Luckily, I saw no anger in his features. “I came as quickly as I could, once I had the chance to get away.”
“‘To get away’?” he repeated, looking more closely at my face. What precisely he saw there, I did not know, but it must not have been good, for I saw his eyes narrow before he asked, “What are you not telling me?”
Ashes of Roses (Tales of the Latter Kingdoms Book 4) Page 15
