It wouldn’t do, after all, for me to slip and let it be known that I knew more than a woman should. She’d equipped me with all the tools I needed to assemble the knowledge of the empire into the framework she’d given me. Everything would fall into place once I left the seraglio as wife to a powerful king. For the King of Arynherk was the most powerful king—that’s why the empress and my Elskadyr family had picked him—it only remained to be seen if the emperor had chosen as they had plotted he would.
Tonight I would meet my father, the emperor. I would see my childhood playmate, Hestar, along with my one full brother and four other half-brothers, Even baby Harlan, the last boy to leave the seraglio—at least of our immediate family—whose sweet nature I’d missed more than I’d imagined I would. And I would meet my Elskadyr grandfather. The moment loomed ahead of me.
In a short time, my world would explode.
I’d go through the doors, and at last begin to fully live. Inga caught my eye, her smile slight and appropriately restrained, but her extraordinary eyes glittering bright with excitement. With Helva gone, we could show our delight.
With our hair finished, our ladies began the intricate task of wrapping us in our fancy klúts, the finest we’d ever worn—ones for grown women, not girlish ones for lounging about the seraglio. Inga’s was of turquoise silk, a shade deeper than her eyes, and the delicate silk shimmered with hints of violet and green as it snugged around her waist and emphasized her generous bosom. She wore little jewelry, as befitted an unmarried maiden, but the simple silver chains adorning her throat and wrists shone with elegance. Her finger and toenails had been polished a subtle silver, too, and her ladies draped her klút to frame her slender bare feet, the silver rings on her toes connected to the graceful chains that looped to her ankle bracelets, all studded with aquamarines.
A woman’s feet reveal her status, and ours were perfect in every way.
I wore more jewelry, as a betrothed woman. Mother had given me the Elskadyr pearls she’d worn to her wedding. They suited my virginal status, and would also serve to remind my future husband—and all present—of the wealth of the Elskadyr family.
“And you, the greatest pearl of them all,” Mother had said the night before when she gifted me with the heavy chest. Kaia had to call three girls to carry it back to my apartments. “You will shine like the jewel you are, until your husband can think of nothing but having you for his own—the most valuable of all his treasures.”
“But… I will be first wife, yes?” I’d asked, pausing in my gleeful enjoyment of sliding a rope of pearls as long as I stood tall through my fingers.
The empress gave me an impatient look. “You are His Imperial Majesty’s firstborn daughter—of course you’ll be first wife.”
I breathed an internal sigh of relief. The phrasing that put me as one of his treasures had given me a start. I would not wish for a life such as Saira or Jilliya led. I’d been obedient all this time so I would have the power my mother wielded.
More, even.
And so I wore white. Pearlescent white, the shimmering silk matched to my skin over painstaking weeks of effort, the dye girls suffering under my mother’s whip-sharp attention and Hede’s actual whip. Other ladies had spent the entire morning gluing opalescent shells to my finger and toenails, extending them to elegant lengths and filing them to perfectly matched and even rounds. I’d been wearing practice ones on my toes for months, so I’d learn to walk and dance without breaking them off.
With the priceless silk so fragile, so carefully perfected with effort and suffering, I had not worn it until this moment. Where the quantities of pearls weighed on me like nothing I’d felt before—from the swaying bands on my feet to the strings of them wound into the hair falling down my back—the klút seemed to be hardly there at all. Perhaps because it matched my skin so exactly, it seemed as if all of me showed through.
Surely not, though, for that would be unforgivably immodest in an imperial princess. Still…
“Do I look all right?” I whispered to Inga.
Her face showed guileless sympathy and she took my hand. “You look like a pearl come to life. You will dazzle them all.”
“You will,” I returned, wishing I could be the one wearing the lovely turquoise klút.
She shook her head. “No one will notice me. I’m happy to be in your shadow. I’m so excited to go with you!”
I squeezed her hand. “This will be a night we’ll remember always, and we’ll tell our own daughters the story.”
“Always,” she agreed.
~ 4 ~
Side by side, though no longer hand in hand, as it would ruin the lines of our klúts, Inga and I walked to the great doors of the seraglio.
They were very old—as old as the Imperial Palace itself, my mother said, as the seraglio had been built first—heavy and ornate. Hede herself guarded them, her dark eyes surveying us, an odd smile on her hard mouth. “All grown up, our imperial princesses,” she said, her eyes lingering on me. Ever since the night she’d stripped and beaten me at my mother’s bidding, Hede’s gaze felt unclean to me, as if she forever saw me that way, helpless and weeping under her lash.
I met her eyes boldly, keeping my chin at an imperious tilt. I would leave this place and she’d live out her days here as my mother’s puppet. She would no longer have power over me. That felt good, too.
As if receiving that message, Hede bowed to us, unlocked the doors, and opened them. She banged on the opposing doors. Where the ones facing the seraglio were ornately decorated, inlaid with jewels and tiles that matched the rest of our home, the outside doors were featureless. With no locks or keyholes, they sealed close together, made of heavy iron, black and dull with it. As kids, we’d sometimes tried to hide nearby, to catch a glimpse of those other doors when some of the ladies went out or returned, but there wasn’t much of a place to hide.
That made this my first time to see them up close—and their dour ugliness disappointed me. Hopefully that wasn’t an omen for all of the outside world, though Mother always emphasized the magical perfection of the seraglio compared to the outside.
Hede banged on the doors and a small slot opened in one, at eye height. It closed as fast as it had opened, then the massive door—only on that side—swung wide. More women stood outside. Not gray-garbed servants with their shorn heads, and not rekjabrel, concubines, or noble ladies, but women like Hede. They had hard eyes and carried whips at their belts. Belts made of leather, like their garments. I’d seen leather, but only in small pieces, usually holding beads for stringing onto more graceful wires.
They gestured us forward, and I led the way, as we had to go single-file through the narrow opening. A long stairway rose above us, rising nine steps to a landing, then turning to rise again. Relieved that our mothers had made us practice this, too, albeit on the much shorter flights of stairs that led to some of the ladies’ apartments, including my own, I laid a hand on the rail and began to ascend, carefully setting my feet to preserve the long toenails. Inga did likewise on the other side. We’d both been scolded repeatedly to resist the urge to gather our klúts in our hands. The meticulous draping meant we didn’t need to, but the habit remained. The silk we wore, however, would show every stain from an inappropriately sweaty palm.
Imperial princesses did not sweat.
Indeed, it seemed unlikely I would, as chill air filled the stairwell. I shivered, my nipples going tight with it, and I fervently hoped they wouldn’t show through the barely-there silk. Fortunately, the light remained dim, not even illuminating the shadows. My feet sank into the plush carpet of each step as we climbed at a serenely slow pace. Though my heart fluttered with exhilarated excitement, I focused on slow breathing, controlling it as I did while dancing. Beside me, Inga did the same. We must appear as unruffled as a still lagoon, providing a perfect reflection to the world.
Our guards followed several steps behind.
Courteous, but oddly they did not make me feel safe as I’d expected.
We reached the top, and one of the guards stepped around us to unlock the doors. They handed us over to another pair of lady guards just like them, complete with identical whips. All this time, Inga and I had not spoken and we still didn’t. But she caught my eye and raised a perfectly arched brow just a twitch. I had to look away not to laugh, grateful again to have her with me on this long walk.
For it was longer than I’d ever walked before. I’d thought the seraglio large, but the palace that surrounded it stretched on forever. Of course, I’d understood that the seraglio lay in the heart of the Imperial Palace, nested within it like a child protected in the womb. But I’d somehow pictured it as just slightly bigger—enough so we wouldn’t rattle around. Now I understood that my home, the small seraglio, was like a single pearl within a great, bulky chest.
Which made me much smaller than that. Though an imperial princess doesn’t sweat, a cold line of it formed under the weight of my pearl-laden hair, dripping down my spine. I felt impossibly tiny and vulnerable. Ironic how much I’d looked forward to leaving the seraglio—and now all I wanted was to run back to its warm safety and the security of the enclosed space.
“When does it end?” Inga whispered, and in her face I glimpsed the same terror that sucked at me. No longer caring if it disturbed the pristine lines of my klút, I took her hand, and she clutched mine gratefully.
“Seven more doors, Your Imperial Highness,” said one of the women behind us, an older one with gray hair in a bun. “Just count and you’ll be fine.”
It was a kindness she offered us, a rare one that evening. The counting did help as we followed one corridor lined with closed doors on either side to another set of locked doors at the end. Our guards would bang on them, the sound of locks would echo through the metal or wood, and the doors would swing open, allowing us out again. Then, at the fourth set of doors, we saw our first men in the flesh.
We’d been braced for the encounter. The other ladies had warned us that seeing men for the first time would be alarming. They’d shown us paintings of them, to help educate us. Those images, however, did little to prepare me for the reality.
They were big. The two men, garbed in imperial blue, the Konyngrr fist embroidered over their hearts, towered over us, their shoulders twice as wide as ours, with hands as big as my face. These didn’t have facial hair as some of the paintings had shown, but their faces looked hard and foreign anyway. They wore swords and knives—also things I’d only seen in paintings—though I couldn’t imagine why they’d need such things, as huge and strong as they looked. Even Hede would be no match for men.
And the way they looked at me… my skin crawled as if a spider had escaped from a date palm and skittered under my klút. Inga cringed against me, her hand slick in mine, and I remembered to avert my eyes. A good reason for that rule, as looking men in the face clearly led only to this sapping fear and sensation of being naked while clothed.
“Their Imperial Highnesses Princesses Jenna and Inga,” the bun woman snapped, her voice like metal. “Make your obeisance.”
From the edges of my vision, I could see the men bow deeply. “Lucky us, to draw the shift where we get to be the first to lay eyes on the imperial princesses,” one of the men said, his voice low and growly like a dog grown too big for the seraglio.
“Greetings, Your Imperial Highnesses,” said the other, more smoothly, but with a voice just as low, so it resonated deeper in my bones than in my ears. “Forgive us. Your loveliness has rattled our feeble brains. You honor us with your beauty.”
Bun woman hmphed and gestured us past them. We went, faster than we had, but I still remembered, even in my relief, to be careful of my toenails and the delicate strands of pearls decorating my feet. Behind us, the men laughed, a coarse sound that made me want to hunch my shoulders. I felt sure they laughed at some joke about us.
“Don’t mind them, Your Imperial Highnesses,” bun woman said. “All of this is for your protection. They would never harm you in any way.”
And yet, I felt that they already had, on some invisible level where an intangible bruise already purpled. Looking back on this, I understand how deliberately we were manipulated. We could have been gradually introduced to the world outside the seraglio, to the presence and ways of men. Instead, over the course of a few hours, Inga and I were barraged with the new and—by its very nature—terrifying world outside. Like newborn kittens, we stumbled out, wide-eyed and seeking approval, and they set the dogs on us.
It left us with no ability but to be obedient, as that provided the only safety left to us.
The same pair of guards stayed with us until the final set of doors. Both women bowed to us and bun woman wished us well—I don’t even remember her exact words, everything had become a dull roar in my ears.
As numb as if I’d drunk a pot of gryth tea, I stepped through the final doors and onto a balcony rimmed by a fanciful railing. Directly before us hung a chandelier easily three times my height, made entirely of crystal and lit by thousands of candles. This wasn’t the soft, warming light of the seraglio, but one like the weapons the men wore, sharp and shattering.
Below the rail, a dizzying drop to a grand room larger than the seraglio, and filled with more people than I’d ever seen in my entire life. They sent up a roar, making me want to stick my fingers in my ears. When Inga tugged our hands apart, I thought that must be why, but she dropped her hands to her sides. “Appearances!” she hissed at me.
I couldn’t imagine how she could be thinking of such things, but she had it right. We had one responsibility tonight: to be serenely beautiful. The crowd of people continued to cheer and I pasted a smile on my face, wondering if the cold sweat popping out all over my skin showed to them. The mob quieted and two men ascended the curving stairs to either side of the balcony.
Big, as all men were. Tall and blond, with swords and carrying flowers. The one on my side wore mostly silver, blindingly bright. Inga’s was in deep blue, but with far more silver than the guards. Mine stepped up to me, a tentative smile on his face.
“Jenna?” He said my name like a question, then proffered the elaborate bouquet of white flowers. “It’s good to see you again.”
I searched his face, seeing nothing of my childhood playmate. “Hestar?”
He nodded. “Who else. I brought you something.”
He held out a gray thing, and I took it awkwardly, balancing the bouquet in one arm while trying to keep the flowers from touching the delicate silk of my klút. An animal, but not alive. A toy. Still remarkably lifelike. My memory stirred.
“An elephant,” he said, somewhat impatient. “Don’t you remember?”
I did, and it made me feel ill to recall that day. That endless night, and the long recovery that followed. Though he likely didn’t know any of that had happened to me. “Thank you,” I said, reaching for my best poise, which seemed to have abandoned me somewhere around the second set of doors. “It’s a lovely gift and I shall treasure it.”
He nodded again, seeming pleased. Then offered an arm. I knew I was to take it so he could escort me down the curving staircase, but with the flowers in one arm and the elephant in the other hand, I didn’t know what to do. I hadn’t practiced this part.
“Here.” Hestar took the elephant from me and tossed it to one of the guards at the door. “You can get it later.”
I took his arm, glancing over to see that Inga had done the same with the other man, who must be Kral. Leaner and more handsome than Hestar, with sharp cheekbones and icy blue eyes, he touched a finger to his temple.
“Hello Jenna.” He grinned at me, seeming much happier to see me than Hestar had. Though my mother had warned me, hadn’t she? Kral was my full brother and blood looked after blood. “You’ve grown into an incredibly beautiful woman.” He glanced down at Inga and patted her hand where it rested
on his forearm. “You both have.”
“Indeed,” Hestar agreed.
“The four of us, together again,” Kral declared, still smiling widely. “Everyone is so excited to meet you. Ready?”
We agreed that we were. Despite all we’d gone through already, however, we had no idea just how not ready we were.
~ 5 ~
It all reminded me of being poisoned. The incessant noise, the too-bright light, the oppressive heat of so many bodies pressed around me. People spoke to me and I couldn’t process what they said. I clung to Hestar’s arm, kept my gaze modestly lowered and murmured the polite replies my mother had drilled into me.
Later, they told me I had presented the perfect image of virginal innocence and maidenly propriety. Exactly what they’d molded me to be.
I lost sight of Inga, though occasionally her turquoise klút caught my eye in a vivid flash. The men I could hardly tell apart. I couldn’t have picked out Kral from the other men given all the time in the world, much less the bare seconds afforded me before someone else introduced himself.
And they were almost all men, and almost all looked me up and down, speculating and making me feel that skin-crawling naked vulnerability. After exchanging greetings with me, along with the standard phrases praising my beauty, they inevitably began speaking only to Hestar. They deferred to him, as obsequious as the lowest tier rekjabrel kowtowing to a wife. For his part, Hestar puffed and strutted. Things outside weren’t so different from the seraglio after all, however, and I began to discern who Hestar thought worthy of his time and who he couldn’t be bothered with.
It reminded me starkly of our one afternoon of playing emperor and empress. Except he’d continued to play the game and I’d fallen out of practice.
Prisoner of the Crown Page 4
