Troubled Waters

by Sharon Shinn

  Zoe listened to all this with her head bowed in thought. Once Sarone finished speaking, she said, “I thank you for telling me that. I wondered, when I was younger, why none of my mother’s family came to visit. It didn’t occur to me that you simply didn’t know where I was. My father’s explanation was that you must not have cared about me after all.”

  Sarone made an exclamation of dismay. “That selfish bastard! I’m sorry, Zoe. I don’t mean to speak unkindly of your father, but that was cruel! My mother looked for you for a long time. I’m not sure she ever stopped. My husband and I sometimes walked down through the southern slums, studying the street girls we thought would be about your age. But we never found you.” She pressed her fingers to her mouth. “I try not to, but sometimes I hate your father.”

  Zoe shook her head, smiling sadly. “I loved him. He was—richness, excitement, brilliance, color—a man so alive I still cannot believe he is dead. But I am not surprised to learn of this new flaw. He had very many.” She stretched out her hand across the table. “Feel free to hate him on my behalf, but don’t expect me to feel the same. I am just glad I have found you again after all this time.”

  Over the next few days, Zoe spent a great deal of time replenishing her wardrobe, frequently accompanied by Keeli. Her cousin had strong opinions on where they should buy overrobes and where they should look for accessories, but Zoe insisted that there was only one cobbler’s shop where she would buy shoes.

  A new girl was standing behind the counter when they strolled in—new to Zoe, anyway. She realized the girl could have been there for a quintile or more while Zoe was at her grandmother’s house. The worker was dark-haired, a little chubby, cheerful, and she bounced right over to the newcomers.

  “Are you interested in custom-made footwear or would you like to try one of the ready-made pairs that are suitable for the woman in a hurry?” she asked. “Are you looking for casual wear or something more formal?”

  “I need several pairs, all of them formal,” Zoe said. “But I think ready-made shoes will do.”

  The young woman ushered them to chairs and showed them a dozen of the latest styles. Even Keeli was impressed at the variety and the quality of the samples, all of them constructed of thin, delicate leather and gossamer-thin soles. Between them, they ended up choosing seven pairs.

  The shopgirl approved of their choices. “A special discount applies when you buy more than two pairs,” she told them. “Do you want to pay today or would you like to establish a line of credit? I can do that for you right now.”

  “Today, I think, though you’ve been quite helpful,” Zoe said, handing over the appropriate number of gold pieces. “Would it be possible to talk to one of the owners and let them know how pleased I am at your service?”

  The young woman looked over her shoulder, where—unless Ilene’s habits had greatly changed—the shopkeeper was very likely hovering behind the hidden glass. “I think so,” she said.

  Almost on the words, Ilene came bustling out. She looked exactly the same: lean, fussy, a little dowdy, a little suspicious. “Good afternoon, we’re very happy that you’ve stopped by our shop today,” she rattled off in a businesslike tone. “Is there anything more we can do for you?” Her voice faltered a little as she met Zoe’s gaze; her face showed a faint bewilderment.

  Keeli said, “You know, Zoe, you might want a pair of gloves to match those little blue flats.”

  At the name, Ilene’s gaze sharpened; she stared harder. “It can’t be,” she whispered.

  Zoe smiled. “I wondered if you would recognize me.”

  “Zoe? But Barlow said—and you’ve been gone so long—but I thought you—and then you’re a Lalindar? After all that?”

  Keeli gave Zoe a quick sideways glance, clearly wondering what history lay between her cousin and the shopkeeper, but she didn’t ask any questions. Zoe nodded at Ilene and said, “Yes, after all that. And not just a Lalindar, but the prime.”

  Ilene’s mouth dropped open and she didn’t attempt to say a word.

  “I know. It was a surprise to me, too,” Zoe said. “I’m still getting used to the notion.” She glanced around the shop with its high shelves of shoes lining every wall. “I didn’t know what was in store for me. I thought I was lucky to have a place like this where I could be safe.” She smiled at Ilene again. “I still think I was lucky.”

  Ilene was shaking her head. “Melvin will never believe this. And Barlow! He’ll love your story.”

  Zoe handed her a small silk bag, crusted with gold thread and closed with a tiny diamond clasp. She had bought it yesterday for a fabulous sum of money and refused to tell Keeli why she wanted it. “I have something of yours I need to return, thanking you humbly for the loan,” she said.

  Ilene took the bag, but her expression was bewildered. “I never lent you anything as expensive as this.”

  “You gave me what’s inside—something worth far more to me at the time than this bag cost.”

  Ilene peeked inside, where the key to the shop lay prosaically in its silk cocoon. Now her face showed comprehension and the slightest blush. “It was a simple kindness,” she said, her voice gruff.

  “It was a great treasure,” Zoe said. “I am glad to be in circumstances that allow me to repay it.”

  “Well, then,” Ilene said, and tucked the bag in her pocket. She visibly regained her usual briskness, tinged with a certain calculation. Zoe could almost see what she was thinking: I had no expectation that my small gesture would pay off so handsomely, for now one of the primes will be a patron of my shop. “Come back anytime.” She nodded at Keeli. “Bring your friends. We’ll always have special discounts available for you.”

  Zoe laughed and impulsively gave Ilene a hug, though she could tell the affection took Ilene wholly by surprise. “You can be sure I’ll be back,” she said. “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed everything about Chialto.”

  Zoe had hoped to move into the palace in a more or less unobtrusive manner, but that didn’t appear to be possible. Two days later, Darien Serlast himself arrived at her fashionable inn, riding in a fancy smoker car, and oversaw the stowing of all her belongings into the back compartment. Calvin, strutting around in handsome new livery, enjoyed himself hugely as he directed footmen where to store each trunk and box.

  “Careful with that, my boy!” he roared as one of the younger footmen dropped a box inches away from a puddle. “You don’t want to ruin the prime’s fine underthings by getting them all dirty, do you?”

  Darien Serlast turned to give Zoe one expressive look—You have hired a servant who discusses your undergarments with the hotel staff?—but made no comment aloud. She smiled faintly and said nothing.

  Eventually all the bundles were loaded to Calvin’s satisfaction and the rest of them climbed in. Annova and Calvin crowded into the front compartment with the driver, while Darien and Zoe settled in back. She sat with her face turned slightly away from him so she could watch their progress. Here in the wealthy district at the foot of the mountain, the houses and multistory apartments were made of high-quality stone and marble, set on gracious avenues and surrounded by lush gardens, but the streets were still crowded and noisy, and travel was slow. The line between city and mountain was demarcated by a wide bridge over the northern loop of the canal; once on the other side, the road instantly began to climb. The ascent reminded Zoe a little of the trip to Christara’s house—the gorgeous, solitary building ahead of them like a signal beacon, seeming by its very existence to pull them closer. Her eyes turned from the broad, turreted facade to the white water rushing down the mountain just behind it. It was the very same river that ran by Christara’s house, a fact that she found comforting on this strange day. She had not, perhaps, traveled so far from familiar territory as it seemed.

  “Surely you’re not frightened.”

  Darien had been silent for so long that Zoe actually started at the sound of his voice. She glanced his way and then turned her attention back to the view. “Not frighte
ned,” she murmured. “But—uncertain. I don’t know exactly what is expected of me in this particular role.”

  “Merely that you show yourself to be a loyal subject of the king.”

  She shrugged and did not answer.

  As the road made its final twist, it delivered the elaymotive into a huge, well-maintained courtyard, paved with honey-yellow bricks very close in tone to the weathered stone of the palace itself. The courtyard was almost as busy as the Cinque, for it was filled with smoker cars, carts, horses, and people all threading their way around fountains and big stands of potted trees and shrubs. Horses whickered, grooms shouted, servants dashed between conveyances to deliver messages.

  “Is this what it’s always like?” Zoe asked.

  “More or less. Except on changedays, when it is usually ten times as chaotic.”

  She glanced at him again. “I hope you don’t plan to abandon me until you’ve seen me safely settled to my quarters.”

  He held her gaze. “I thought I made it plain that I don’t intend to abandon you at all.”

  “While I’m at the palace, at any rate,” she said.

  He merely smiled and looked away.

  The instant the driver brought the car to a stop, a footman ran over, bowing to Darien Serlast. “This is Zoe Ardelay Lalindar,” Darien said. “These are her servants, and these are her possessions. See that they all are brought to her quarters with a minimum of fuss.” The footman bowed again.

  Zoe looked toward Annova, prepared to protest if she looked too bewildered, but Annova cheerfully waved her on. “We will get all of these things settled,” she said. “Go on in.”

  Out of the car, across the courtyard, up the broad, shallow steps, and into a great hall. Zoe was not sure when Darien had taken her arm, but she was glad for the support. At first the hall seemed as big as the Plaza of Women. It was a round, echoing space, open for level after level all the way to a rotunda made of shaped glass. The floor was constructed of a rose-white stone cut in squares that were big enough for Zoe to lie down in. Directly across from the grand entrance, a huge bronze fountain was set into the wall; a collection of fanciful pipes and fluted pillars spumed with water that fell into the curved, scalloped bowl of a hammered metal basin. Zoe felt her heart clutch a moment. Her father had kept a small replica of this fountain in their house in the village.

  She turned away from that memory to finish her inspection of the hall. Three great arching corridors opened off the circular bottom story; each higher level overlooked the atrium from terraced balconies lined with carved stone banisters. Right now, sunlight flooded in from overhead, but sconces dotted all the walls on the bottom story to illuminate the space at night.

  It took Zoe a moment to realize that, except for the fountain, the huge space was empty of any furniture or ornamentation. It was a kierten sized for a king.

  “I think I’m lost already,” she said in a low voice.

  “It is an impressive sight,” Darien agreed. “Have you never been here before?”

  “When I was a child,” she said. “I rarely let go of my father’s hand.”

  For a moment, his grip on her arm tightened in a gesture that seemed meant to be comforting. “Surely you’re braver now.”

  “Surely I am.”

  He gestured to his right. “That wing is mostly reserved for the king, his prominent visitors, and the solitary men who have their quarters here.” Next he indicated the hall opening off of his left. “That’s the wing where the king’s wives live and where you will stay. Other women of the court take up residence on that side of the palace. My aunt has quarters there as well. Ahead of us,” he added, nodding toward the final hall a little to the left of the fountain, “are the public spaces—the throne room, a ballroom, several dining halls, and beyond them the kitchens and gardens. It is unlikely you will find occasion to go much beyond public spaces and the wives’ wing.”

  “Then let’s find where I will be staying.”

  They followed the left-hand corridor to a second, smaller atrium, clearly the kierten for the women’s wing. Its central feature was a circular stairwell, one of the most beautiful architectural elements Zoe had ever seen. Each riser was constructed of a different kind of stone—white marble veined with purple, tumbled jasper in yellows and greens, rough red granite, lightless black onyx, lapis lazuli, and marble again, this time streaked with black.

  “I suppose this answers any question I might have about how much wealth the king possesses,” she said.

  “Or the king who built this palace nearly three centuries ago,” Darien replied, tugging her toward the first step. “The wives have their rooms on the second floor, but I’m afraid your suite is one level higher.”

  They climbed up sixty-three stairs, and Zoe never saw the same stone repeated. The stairwell circled on above them, but Darien guided Zoe down the third-story hallway that instantly put her in mind of Christara’s house. One wall consisted largely of windows, the other wall of closed doors that most likely led to bedrooms. The hall windows overlooked the back of the palace, facing the mountain wall. She supposed that meant the view from the bedrooms must be magnificent.

  “Yours is the place of honor, the fifth door down,” Darien said. He escorted her there and handed her a key that was as long as her palm from fingertip to wrist and so heavy she almost dropped it. She thanked him gravely before saying, “I need a key for Annova and Calvin as well.”

  “There is a second one inside.” He hesitated and then added, “You realize it is a courtesy only. The fact that two keys exist, and that I have had one for several days, means that there are likely to be copies, and that someone who wishes you ill could easily find a way into your suite. If there are jewels you do not want to lose or secrets you do not want to be found, they are best kept somewhere besides this room.”

  “Thank you for telling me that,” she said. “Is one of the copies a key that you have retained for yourself?”

  He watched her a long time without answering.

  “I suppose it is,” she said finally.

  “Under normal circumstances, I would never enter your chambers without an invitation,” he said. “But if there was an emergency—if you were missing, if there was cause for alarm—I would want to be able to check your rooms and ascertain that no harm had come to you.”

  “Do you have keys to the rooms of all the guests in this wing?” she asked. They were having this whole conversation outside in the hallway. The afternoon sun filtered in, murky and indirect, reflecting off the mountain and through the glass. “To the rooms of all the wives?”

  He did not answer that question, either.

  “I wonder what exactly it is about you that causes the king to trust you so much,” she said.

  “Probably the very same thing that makes you trust me not at all.”

  She almost laughed. “I think you’re a man who gathers up power like a child gathers up wildflowers in the woods.”

  “Responsibility, maybe,” he said. “Not necessarily power.”

  “Harder to gather handfuls of lake water or rain,” she said.

  “I know,” he said. “I don’t expect to be able to harvest you.”

  She smothered another laugh, turned the key in the door, stepped inside, and quickly looked around.

  Her suite consisted of a small kierten and multiple interior rooms. A comfortably sized sitting room offered graceful furniture groupings and a wall of windows; doors to the right led to smallish rooms that were probably the servants’ quarters. A much larger bedroom opened off the left. Zoe peeked inside to find it admirably furnished with fine materials in coru colors.

  “I can only guess that this is a room where Lalindar women have stayed before me,” Zoe said.

  “If you look closely, you might find evidence of your grandmother’s previous occupancy,” Darien said.

  She crossed the floor to gaze out the windows. The view was everything she’d hoped. From this height, she could look past the bustling courtya
rd to the green-and-brown contours of the mountain, ending in the variegated sprawl of the city. The joyful white froth of the waterfall was too far to the left for her to glimpse it from this angle, but she could see part of the serene blue pool that piled up here on this plateau before the river dove down once more to curl around the western edge of the city.

  From here, she could see the colorful patchwork of the river flats tucked up against one last coil of the Marisi before it straightened itself and galloped south to the very edge of the world.

  “You admire the scene now, but it is magical at night when all the lights come up,” Darien said from behind her. “Sometimes I stand at my window for hours, just watching.”

  She pointed. “From the flats, you can see the palace,” she said. “When night falls and the torches are lit, it is outlined in dozens of wavering lights. It seems to float against the mountain like an apparition from a dream. I don’t know that I like the view from the palace any better than the view of the palace, but I will agree that each one is breathtaking.”

  “Surely the associated marvels of being inside the palace make this the better vantage point,” he said.

  She turned her back on the panorama and smiled at him. “I am not yet convinced that these are marvels that will completely win my heart.”

  “You will have to let me know once you have made up your mind.”

  “So!” she said. “What am I supposed to do now? Sit here with my hands folded until the king calls me down for dinner?”

  “There will be a dinner tonight, and you are expected to attend, but in the interim there will be an intimate gathering in the smaller dining hall of this wing,” he said. “The wives hope you will join them to become acquainted.”

  “And you?”

  “I am not officially invited, but if you want to include me, I will be happy to join all of you.”