by Kate Elliott
A squad of veterans under the command of Captain Helias sets up a tight guard at the red door. Once they’ve secured the entrance the captain cuts across the hall to where I’m standing at the back.
“King Kalliarkos commanded me to make sure you are safe, Doma.”
He offers a smile, then blushes as if he’s been caught trying to filch a cake that belongs to someone else. He’s a nice-looking young man who has been nothing but punctiliously polite. I want to break out laughing because he’s exactly the sort of promising young highborn captain Amaya once chattered incessantly about snaring. But I’m afraid anything I say or do might reflect poorly on Kal, might make me a liability to his moments-old claim to the throne.
Father appears, shedding dust and disapproval. “Captain, I will take charge of my daughter. Your responsibility is to guard the king.”
The captain salutes. “Yes, General.”
Father ushers me through the red door into a part of the palace I would never in a hundred years have dreamed I would see. A path bisects a lovely garden, its twin pools lush with lotus flowers. Gray-robed stewards and palace guards in gold tabards watch me like they wish they could pluck me from where I’ve fallen amid the blossoms and toss me out with the rubbish. Whispers catch at the edge of my hearing, making me flush at such demeaning comments.
“…shameful… embarrassing…”
“The general dangling his daughter like ripe fruit before a hungry boy…”
Father halts, and they cease whispering at once. Nevertheless he takes his time memorizing the features of each official who has dared to gossip in his presence.
At the far end of the garden, Kal has halted on the steps leading up to a luxurious audience pavilion for noble visitors. A splendid couch embroidered with a sea-phoenix stands above the rest, placed on a dais.
“I will take reports here,” he says to the officials who have arrayed themselves on the steps to block his ascent.
A senior steward bows. “Your Gracious Majesty. Of course you must first wish to bathe after your arduous journey. I will assign attendants to oversee your ablutions in the private residence.” He gestures toward a gate on the other side of the garden. “Once you are clean and properly attired, you will be fit to preside over any immediate administrative duties.”
Kal’s voice is clipped with annoyance. “We must secure the palace and clear the city of all East Saroese soldiers before I can consider a bath and proper attire.”
“But Your Gracious Majesty—”
“No.”
I would laugh at his blunt tone but there is nothing to laugh about. Palace officials make their lives serving the king and queen. Did these men greet Nikonos with the same obsequious flattery with which they flutter about Kal? Are they just putting on a show for him, waiting to betray him the moment his back is turned?
He glances toward me. I lift my chin, and he breaks away from the officials and walks over.
“General Esladas, what do you recommend? I never thought we would get this far. It happened so fast.”
“The palace should fall under our control quickly, Your Gracious Majesty. It will take longer to be sure we have the city under our full jurisdiction.”
“I have no concern about the military aspect of our enterprise, not with you in command, General. I meant, how should we direct these officials who are so determined to cage my every step in protocol?”
“As far as I can see, the palace stewards are like dogs fighting over scraps. One to polish the king’s boots and another to adjust his sleeves. I would never allow so many useless hangers-on in any army I command. But your understanding of palace politics far exceeds mine, Your Gracious Majesty.”
“Before, I never had to give the orders or worry that I would make a mistake in protocol that would open me up to derision and insubordination.” Kal glances at the waiting officials, then at me again. But now that we are here, I have no idea how to proceed, no way to help him, no thought at all. I’ve run into a trap I don’t know how to get out of.
“If I may make a suggestion, Your Gracious Majesty. I was raised at court.” Captain Helias salutes, fist to heart.
“I wish you would.”
“Allow the royal officials to feel useful and not to feel threatened. Let them go about their routine, as they are trained to do in exacting detail. But do not be ruled by their whims if they go against your wishes, lest you be seen as weak. Meanwhile, assign a trusted officer to interview each official separately over the next few days. Those who criticize their comrades in hope of gaining your favor can be eased aside into positions where they do not wait directly upon Your Gracious Majesty.”
I break in, still thinking of the surprised look on Temnos’s face when his uncle stabbed him, the moment when the shock of his mother’s betrayal hadn’t started to hurt yet. “I would not put it past Queen Serenissima to have insinuated knife-carrying men among the officials, willing to murder anyone she points to.”
“Jessamy!” Father’s tone is cutting. “I did not give you permission to speak.”
“The doma is not incorrect.” The captain has the highborn ability to speak in a perfectly modulated tone but the tension in his shoulders makes him seem annoyed. “Nikonos ruled as king for less than ten days. He was never popular. He’s still a threat with the East Saroese army, of course. But here in the palaces it is Queen Serenissima of whom Your Gracious Majesty must beware. Besides ruling the queen’s palace, she will have loyal servants and spies insinuated into every corner of the king’s palace.”
Kal nods with a resigned glance toward the officials, who are waiting with prim disapproval for him to summon them. “So to begin with, I must confront Serenissima.”
“Not yet, Your Gracious Majesty,” says Helias. “It is imperative you meet Queen Serenissima on your terms, not hers. Make her wait and wonder. Furthermore, do not summon her until you can show yourself before her in kingly splendor.”
“Very well. I will take a bath. I will ask—”
“Command,” I murmur, with a glance at Father.
“I will command the royal stewards to assign to you, General Esladas, a suite of rooms next to mine until matters are more settled.”
Kal carefully does not look at me as, with a kingly nod, he leaves us and walks to the stewards, but everyone has seen whose advice he values most.
Father bids Captain Helias stay behind. “You and your company will guard his person at all times, day and night. Secure the royal kitchen. Let no food or drink touch his lips that has not been sampled in front of you by the head cook.”
“Yes, General. I had understood that to be my duty.”
“You may go.”
Captain Helias taps his chest twice, to signal obedience, and Father answers in the same way.
Yet the instant the captain is out of earshot, Father is the same strict disciplinarian I’ve always known. “Do not again speak to the king until I give you permission. We will discuss your relationship with him later.” He keeps his voice low as a stout man dressed in steward gray glides up.
“General Esladas, I am Junior Royal Steward Sarnon.” He punctuates his speech with so many bows they begin to seem disrespectful. “His Gracious Majesty has given me the honor of escorting you to your new apartments and arranging for a bath and refreshment.”
“Jessamy, come with me and do not stray.”
Sarnon gives a visible start at my inclusion. “My orders—”
“Are to settle me securely. Find women attendants who can help my daughter bathe.” Sarnon glances toward an older steward for orders, and the older man signals with hand signs I can’t interpret. “This way, General.”
The bustling streets of Saryenia and the obstacles of a Fives court seem like child’s play compared to the maze of the palace, with gardens nested inside gardens, corridors lined with paper lanterns trailing ribbons in every color, statues of poets and playwrights flanking doors like literary guards congealed into stone. Accompanied by Father’s entourage of
officers and military stewards, we are shown into a suite of rooms so magnificent I can’t help but think they must belong to the king, until Sarnon informs Father these are the apartments that belonged to Prince Nikonos, back before he made his play for the throne.
Haredas takes over as Father’s traveling chest is brought in and a clean uniform unwrapped from a layer of protective cloth. I sit on a stool as Father vanishes with the doctor and an aide into another part of the suite. Haredas does not allow the scarcely concealed sneers of the royal stewards to deter him from clearing jewel-encrusted ink pots and a lacquered writing board off a desk and setting out Father’s writing board, ink, and pens, all crafted out of ordinary materials that can withstand the rigors of a campaign.
Two soldiers wearing different regimental badges appear to give reports and have to wait. They work very hard not to look at me while the royal stewards, also relegated to waiting, stare at me and whisper. I wish I could be anywhere but here. No wonder Kal tried to convince me that we should run away together. He understood what awaited us. And yet to abandon Efea would mean to abandon my beloved mother, my sisters, everyone I care for, and I can’t do it.
At last Father returns, freshly bathed. The two soldiers report that the palace has been secured. Father gives a new string of orders, directing a brisk roundup of the East Saroese troops in the city, then sits down and begins writing the daily report he has kept all his life.
A stir at the door startles us. A trio of women enter. They wear calf-length orange jackets over pale yellow sheath dresses. The eldest wears her age-whitened hair in a plain braid but the two younger ones are highborn women with beaded and beribboned hair in the most fashionable style. The instant these two get their first glimpse of Father they look surprised, then exchange glances hot with unspoken words.
Father rises politely, his steely gaze more intimidating than any weapon.
The youngest speaks to Sarnon, who speaks to Haredas, who tells Father that the chamber ladies, the king’s own attendants, have come in response to his request.
The youngest simpers, “General, I am Lady Volua. Please know that my companion Lady Galaia and I can provide any service you need.”
His frown kills her ingratiating smile. “Very well. Please assist my daughter Jessamy with bathing and an appropriate change of clothes.”
All this time the women have been too busy ogling my father to see me seated against the wall. But they notice me when I stand.
“Junior Steward Sarnon, we are royal attendants, not stable hands.” Lady Volua taps her nose as if to object to the smell.
Father tenses with outrage, but when his glare merely makes her smirk, I break in because I am not about to let them think they intimidate me.
“It’s all right, Father. I can manage on my own.”
“She speaks Saroese, and so well!” exclaims the shorter one, Galaia.
“Yes, I don’t only bray.” I’m so much taller and bigger than they are, with my mother’s height and my brawny shoulders honed in the Fives, that Volua and Galaia take a hasty step back as if to get out of the way of my kick.
Father shakes his head and I can’t tell whether he’s about to correct me for my rude manners or is suppressing a rude comment of his own. I don’t want him to get into trouble, so I nod respectfully at the older woman, hoping she’ll be more cooperative.
“Perhaps you can assist me, Doma.”
She nods in reply, looking as if she’d like to express her opinion of the other two ladies but age has given her the wisdom to remain silent. I want to like her, but I know better. She might be an asp in disguise.
She shows me through a curtained sleeping chamber and onto a shaded portico overlooking a private bathing courtyard tiled with jade. Three walls form a long mural depicting a royal garden party with a queen presiding over the festivities. The depictions of food and drink flowing out of a gigantic double-horned cornucopia are created with actual pearls and jewels. Its casual splendor takes me aback.
The attendant clears her throat.
“I am Jessamy, Doma,” I say in my most courteous voice, and I’m embarrassed when she doesn’t even bother to reply or give her own name.
In formal silence she helps me remove my clothing. The ties and clasps are clogged with dirt and grit; the scarf wrapped over my hair is stiff with dried blood. Unlike the other women with their sneers and pretended surprise, she makes no comment as she sets each disgustingly filthy item into a large brass basin beside my father’s discarded gear. Once I am naked she hands me a shift, then goes inside some kind of steward’s cupboard full of vials and unguents and soaps.
I pull on the shift, woven of a sheer cotton that leaves little to the imagination, but I’m still glad of even this much covering when the other two ladies hurry onto the portico, all smiles and graciousness.
“There you are. Larissa is just collecting a few things for your bath. If you’ll come with us, we will take you.”
Do they intend to escort me to the actual stables? Doma Larissa has not looked away from the shelves and her silence makes me feel I have no choice but to go. The last thing I want is to make my father look bad.
“Are you sure I’m not supposed to bathe in this courtyard?” I ask.
“That pool is for swimming and cooling off and entertainment. You don’t wash there.”
We pass through a gate onto another portico that overlooks the most splendid garden I have ever seen, saturated with the intense colors of flowering vines and shrubs. The fragrance alone is staggering, like pots of incense. My companions hurry me along a winding path. I hate the way they urge me along, like they don’t want me to get my feet under me, like they want me to stumble. They cover their mouths, trying not to laugh, as we emerge onto a polished marble pavement surrounding two bathing pools and an awning furnished with painted screens and embroidered couches. The larger pool is rectangular, tiled in a blue lapis so incandescent it hurts my eyes. In the small pool Kalliarkos reclines at his ease, eyes closed as water is poured over his head by one of a squad of eager attendants, all male. He’s freshly shaved, and his hair has been clipped. Rose petals float around him. Seeing him is like seeing a dream of what I’ve always been told is most desirable in the world.
I know instantly that I am not supposed to be here.
Lady Volua lifts her chin with a gloating smirk. “Your Gracious Majesty, we have brought you a special gift lightly wrapped. I confess the girl has picked up some mud along the way, and I fear not even the strongest soap will scrub off all the dirt.”
Kal opens his eyes.
His double take would be funny if everyone weren’t looking thunderously disapproving. My own furious blush doesn’t amuse me at all. Should I run back the way we came? Or refuse to budge, to show I can’t be bullied?
Of course at that very moment Captain Helias strides into view, escorting in several high-ranking palace stewards for some manner of royal consultation. When he sees me he stops dead. Lady Volua’s glee turns positively radiant as the officials take in the full degrading glory of the scene. All my proud defiance dissolves under the scrutiny of so many censorious eyes. I wish I could sink into the ground and vanish.
Kal looks angrier than I have ever seen him, as if rage has stolen his voice.
Brisk footfalls interrupt our tableau. Larissa enters, carrying a tray, which she sets down on a table beside the pool. Without a word, she whisks a clean towel off the table, snaps it out, and holds it open to conceal Kal from the rest of us as he gratefully stands and allows her to wrap it around him. She then sweeps off her orange calf-length jacket and settles it over my shoulders as an extra layer of modesty.
“Out!” Kal’s curt command stirs them to immediate obedience. All the attendants and officials hurry away into the garden. “Except you, Doma Larissa. If you please.”
The old woman nods, and only now, because she’s no longer wearing the jacket over her sheath underdress, do I realize she wears an ill-wisher’s beads around her neck!
“Jes, it’s all right. Doma Larissa is no danger to you. She was my ill-wisher. Mine and Menoë’s.”
Kal’s sweet smile burns through the air, and the old woman offers a proud bow in acknowledgment. Honor shines in her face. What she thinks of me I cannot know but that she cares for him is apparent in the wordless exchange that passes between them.
“I didn’t know you had an ill-wisher,” I say awkwardly, still flushed.
“When I was little, she acted as our nurse because Grandmother did not trust anyone, so I can assure you no harm will come to you if you allow her to help you bathe, not even if she touches you.” He worries at his lower lip, glances coyly at the marble paving, and looks up. “Unless you would like me to help you bathe.”
Doma Larissa gives a negative slice of her hand through the air.
“Perhaps not,” he adds obediently, and I wish my cheeks weren’t burning, but they are, and I can’t help but meet his gaze and remember everything that has passed between us.
We smile at each other as if we two are alone.
Leaves rustle in the garden and whispers float on the air.
A king is never alone. Not really.
With an emphatic gesture, Doma Larissa indicates the screened awning and the royal clothing neatly folded atop a table inside.
“Yes, yes, just like when I was five and you dressed me,” says Kal with a rueful glance that makes me stifle a laugh.
