by V. Holmes
At Eras’ raised hand, they were allowed through the courtyard gates. The sounds of the city muted as the gates rolled closed again. The air filled with the sound of water from the drinking fountain in the corner. Stables stretched the length of the palace’s western wall.
A group of palace guards and the steward met them at the dark, double doors to the interior. “Welcome.”
Eras handed her reins to a squire, “Is Her Majesty receiving us already?”
The steward chuckled. “Guest this important? Her Majesty has been ready for the past two days. She understands the value of a bath and fine clothes for such things, however." The north wall of the entry room was glass, behind which was a small aviary and indoor garden. Alea’s wonder at Vielrona’s castle paled in comparison to the awe at Ceir Athrolan’s splendor. The halls were a series of marble arches. The walls in between were inlaid with mosaics or mirrors. Eras and Raven retired to their permanent residences on the other side of the palace, while the rest were shown to their guest chambers. Alea’s were in the corner near the southeast tower, her guard’s beside it and Bren’s next to his. The steward handed them the keys. “Maids will bring whatever you ask and water is being drawn now for your baths. The midday meal can be taken in your rooms, though the gardens are beautiful in such weather.” He smiled. "Might you need anything else?”
“No thank you, sir.”
"If you think of anything, I am Master Valadai.”
Alea giggled nervously when he had gone. “Our own state rooms! Can you believe it?”
Arman grinned. “At times like this it is hard to imagine you being the embodiment of Creation and Destruction, milady.”
She waved a dismissive hand at him. “I suppose it would be terribly embarrassing for either of you to be excited over finery.” She unlocked her door. “I’ll see you at supper, then.” Their laughter was soft as she shut her door behind her. The room was equipped with a large, curtained bed as well as a sitting area and desk. A screen hid the entrance to the private privy and the small dressing area. She could not help the excitement that bubbled from her.
Dhoah’ Laen or not, this is the fanciest room I’ve seen in my entire life! The dove gray and light blue were suspiciously akin to the colors of the Laen and she realized the room had been decorated specifically for her. She turned in a circle to admire the finery, but a knock sounded on the door.
“Dhoah Lyne’alea, your bath,” a maid called through the thick wooden door. The girl was a few years older than Alea and friendly. She bobbed a deep curtsy when Alea let her in. “I’m Girre, my lady. Welcome to Ceir Athrolan.”
Alea smiled. “Thank you, Girre. The city is beautiful!”
The corners of Girre’s eyes crinkled as she bustled into the privy. The tiled room held a large copper tub set into the floor. The water in it steamed and Alea let out a preemptive sigh of pleasure. Girre laid out a box of different scented soaps and scrub brushes, tucking up the skirt of her palace uniform. She dipped a hand into the water and nodded. “That should do, my lady.”
Alea undressed and slipped gratefully into the hot water, submerging herself completely for a few seconds. She leaned back against the heated sides of the bath and let Girre comb out and wash her hair, stiff with salt and travel.
“Have you lived in the city your whole life?”
“I have, Dhoah’. I was raised just above the warehouse district. My Pa owns a lending house for the smaller shipping companies.”
“Your family must be proud that you work here.” She remembered the prestige of working in the manor and assumed it would be the same.
“Indeed.” Girre’s cheeks glowed. “Begging your pardon, but I’m amazed to hear how far you traveled—and almost alone.”
“No need, Girre. Sometimes it surprises me too. I had much help.” She dipped her head back in to rinse the soap from it. "Would you mind if I simply sat here for a spell. My body feels the traveling.”
Girre excused herself, taking the traveling clothes to be cleaned. Alea closed her eyes, letting the heat work the knots from her muscles. Through the stone she heard Arman’s voice, speaking rapidly with excitement as he wondered at his own heated bath. She laughed. He’s just as much a country-lad as ever, despite what he’d have us think.
When she finally emerged, she found a tray of food and an envelope. She pulled on one of the dresses Girre must have brought and knocked on Arman’s door. There was no answer and she was about to knock again when Bren poked his head out from one door down.
“He went into the city with Raven, said he needed something for the ball. I’ve not eaten yet, want to join me?”
His chamber was much like hers, but decorated in brown and Miriken vermillion. They sat at the small table and began to eat, enjoying silence and company. The food was cold soup and rolls with chicken. It was simple and flavored with rosemary. When she had finished, Alea leaned back with a contented sigh. “I wondered if we would ever reach the city.”
“I know. I was growing rather used to the Berrin chasing us. I’m almost sad to see them go.”
Alea threw her napkin at him. “Careful what you wish for there, brothermine.”
He smiled roguishly, “Are you looking forward to Arman and myself making asses of ourselves tomorrow?”
She frowned. “Tomorrow?”
He reached over to his desk and waved an envelope identical to the one she had found. “We’re invited to a ball. It will be our informal introduction to the queen.”
Alea blanched. “I have nothing to wear!
Bren snorted. “I should write Azirik and tell him I’ve found the Dhoah’ Laen’s weakness—she’s completely weak in the face of no fashionable dresses.”
Alea glared at him, then shrugged. “It cannot be that bad. I learned some etiquette. Customs differ but respect does not.”
“It’s a bit easier when everyone is bowing to you and not you to them.” Bren rose abruptly. “I heard the palace library is the best on the continent, care to find out?”
Alea smiled. “I’ll let you explore on your own. I could use some rest.” She waved him off and returned to her chamber and undressed. The coverlet was smooth and the sheets soft. Being this comfortable should be a crime. She closed her eyes contentedly. In the excitement of travel I’ve forgotten the wonders of luxury. She rolled over, looking up at the canopy on the bed. “What happens after war? The tales never tell you that.”
Φ
Arman dangled one leg outside. The wide stone sill of his window provided a perfect seat. The weather was cool, but he enjoyed watching the light of the city grow as dusk approached. Raven’s tour of the main streets had been brief, conducted on the way to the navy barracks beside the harbor.
Arman was curious about everything. He had thought himself a country boy, but his relief at being surrounded by buildings again questioned that. He ran a hand over the lid of the small wooden box in his lap. The expansive storefronts along the main streets impressed him, but nostalgia caused him to dally among the markets.
He glanced at his hand. Each time he looked down part of him wondered whether he would be made of smoke again. The Rakos were dangerous and temperamental by all accounts, so most rumors about them were just that—rumors. I was away from my body, using my power. He closed his eyes and let himself drift. His power rose and he wrapped it around himself, like a cowl. He waited a moment, then opened one eye. His hands rested on the windowsill. They were paler, tan skin all but invisible. The lines of veins, ligature and knots of muscle were like white smoke. Only his bones still appeared solid. A grin blossomed at the macabre sight. This will be useful.
A knock startled him and he quickly shook himself free of the power before answering the door.
Alea smiled at him. “I’m headed to look at the gardens—care to join?”
“Of course.” He grabbed his cloak and followed her down the hall. The entrance was through the base of the southeast tower. Palace Way ran overhead, ivy climbing the supporting pillars and ar
ches. The garden was chill and quiet. Somewhere water trickled. Arman sighed appreciatively.
“It’s beautiful,” Alea agreed. The gravel path crunched underfoot, and Alea stopped to admire the spindly trees and their white, parchment-like bark. “Even the trees match.” The path wound up to an arched entrance to the memorials and cemetery. Instead, Arman found a stairway that led to the guard-walk atop the city wall. It ran to the edge of the cliffs, looking out over the ocean. The sunset was brilliantly orange.
Arman sighed. “In all my dreaming I never thought I would look on the sea. If I’d know it looked like this….” He glanced at her. His gaze caught on her cloak’s familiar silver clasp. “Milady, you should find a new cloak. That one is near to tatters.”
“It is no such thing. I like it. It feels like home.” She peered down at the waves catching the light and rested her hand on his. “I’m glad you came to see the ocean with me.”
Her words were simple, but his chest tightened. He squeezed her hand. “I am too.”
Φ
The 30th Day of Vurgmord, 1251
Girre dropped a large wooden box onto the stand beside Alea’s wardrobe. “Have a look at your gowns, my lady, while I tidy your bed. The one beneath is for the Ceremony of Alliance tomorrow.”
Alea thanked her groggily and opened the box. My first days in a legendary city and all I want to do is sleep! Her fatigue was banished by the sight of the clothes. “I can’t wear this!” Her protest was a whisper as she stared at the mass of silver dupioni.
Girre looked up from making the bed, stricken. “Does it displease you? We used the finest!”
Alea laughed. “Oh it pleases me plenty. I’ve never seen anything so fine.” Steeling herself, she ran a hand down the rich silver silk.
Girre gave her an odd look. “Begging your pardon, but I heard you grew up a noble woman.”
“I did, in part. I was the foster-daughter of a Sunamen ira, like a duke. We had fine things and a beautiful home, but nothing like this.” She fingered the black ribbons gathering the loose sleeves of the underdress before laying it carefully over the stand by her bureau.
Beneath was a more somber gown. The black-on-black brocade gleamed subtly. She drew it out and held it to her body. The shorter overskirt showed the silver cloth beneath, which matched the jahi folded around the shoulders of the sheer sleeves. While the first gown dripped with embellishments, this exuded simplicity. “This is wonderful.” Clothes did not preoccupy Alea they way they did some women, but she understood the confidence a beautiful gown lent. In this, she could conquer the gods.
Φ
“By Toar.” Bren whispered his curse, but Alea glanced over. “This place is huge compared to Mirik!”
Eras led them down the shorter, central hall to broad double doors. Raven was otherwise engaged, but the general had offered to escort the group to their audience with the queen. “Galvanaeu of Ceir Pardelan.” Eras greeted him warmly. “Certainly the most enthusiastic of our squires.”
The boy standing just outside the doors jumped to attention when he saw the general. He bowed before stepping inside. After a moment he returned to beckon them in.
Alea stared. The room was only about ten paces across, but it was beautiful. Banners from each of Athrolan’s cities hung on the walls. Above the stone throne was a small glass dome.
Upon being announced, the general knelt. The others followed suit.
The queen’s height was accentuated by the lacy silver wire edging her purple kokoshnik. The lavender silk dress was square necked and the latest fashion. Her brown eyes appraised them. “Dhoah’ Lyne’alea.” Her voice was soft. “Amazing to have you grace our halls. I trust your journey has been fair.”
Alea rose from the curtsy she had dropped into. She clasped her hands to hide their shaking. She knew how to address nobility, but standing before the Queen of Athrolan was intimidating in the least. “I am honored to be your guest and I am thankful for our lasting alliance.”
“As am I. Your letter stated you brought your guard with you.”
Alea stepped back, gesturing for Arman to stand. “This is Aud’narman Wardyn of Vielrona. He is Rakos.” She heard Arman’s gulped breath and hid a smile. He was as nervous as she. “I also bring a valuable ally in my brother, Lieutenant Brentemir Barrackborn.”
The queen’s eyes narrowed. “That is a Miriken name.”
Alea nodded once. “He defected to our cause.” It was not strictly true, but the more powerful they looked, the better. Three young travelers in a throne room were scarcely impressive.
The queen smiled gently. “We will present you to the city and nobles tonight, and formally ally tomorrow, but I wished to catch a glimpse before then. Forgive me for such a short visit—I must meet with the Banis ambassadors. I trust we will speak more tonight.”
“I look forward to it.” Alea curtseyed again before allowing Eras to show them out. When the doors closed behind them, Alea let out her breath. “Fates.”
“You handled that better than I did the first time I met Her Majesty.” Eras glanced over. “I stumbled and mispronounced my own name.”
Alea laughed. She could hardly picture the general as anything less than controlled. “I met a fair share of nobility while living at the ira’s manor. Queens are a different breed, though.”
“Her Majesty Tzatia is a woman unto herself. We don’t always see on level, but she is a force to reckon with.” The general paused at the front entry chamber where their paths parted. “We’ll meet three hours after sunset to be announced to the ball.”
Arman winced at the reminder. “Will it be as nerve wracking as that was?”
Eras’ brows twitched. “You’ll have the entire court watching you, as opposed to a dozen guards and clerks.”
Bren groaned as she left. “I think I’d prefer to take my chances with Azirik.”
Arman found Alea perched in her window ledge. The thick, rich skirts of her dress were tucked up, one leg trailing against the inside wall. An open book lay forgotten in her lap as she stared at the view. “Milady?” He knocked on the doorframe.
She smiled in greeting.
He took a seat on the ledge beside her. “Athrolan becomes you.”
“Are you looking forward to the ball?”
He made a face. “I’m excited to see the finery and the food, not to be paraded about like a stuffed peacock.”
She snorted. “It’ll be something to tell your grandchildren—your night as a prince.”
“I think this journey has provided me with more interesting stories.” He glanced down at his hand, flexing the fingers. “So much has changed, I expect to wake up from a bizarre dream.”
She watched him a moment, the smile fading from her face, but not leaving her eyes. He had grown into his role without protest. The youthful energy leftover from boyhood was becoming the diligence of a man. And the fire of a Rakos. She thought of the heat radiating from him when he crashed to the ship just before the storm. She tilted her head. “I rather miss the quiet of the forest and the tales you told to pass the time.”
“I do too. My tales seem stale and colorless when we sleep under the dome of Ceir Athrolan’s palace.”
She ran a hand along the spine of her book. “They could never seem stale to me.” Her voice softened. “Whenever I was scared or lost, I’d tell them over to myself. It wasn’t the same, but it was comforting. You spoke the words so factually that is was no small stretch to think them true.”
“I had just become the guard to the Dhoah’ Laen. What could be myth after that?” He held up his hand. “I discovered something, right before the storm. My hands turned to smoke.”
Alea’s brows rose, “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Another thing to study while we’re here.”
Girre’s knock interrupted Alea’s answer. “My lady, we should ready you for the ball.”
Alea called for her to enter and rose to put her book away.
The maid stepped in, a bo
x under one arm. Seeing Arman, she flushed and looked away. “Apologies, I did not know you had a guest.” She curtsied. “Good evening, my lord.”
Arman made for the door. “And to you.” He glanced at Alea, “I’ll see you shortly.”
When he was gone, Girre let out the breath she had held. “Forgive me, but he makes me nervous.”
Alea frowned as she stepped behind the dressing screen. “Truly? He’s a kind man.”
“That may be, but the look in his eyes—he would kill if someone stepped the wrong way about you.” She helped Alea out of her dress and into the several layers of under dresses and petticoats that would go under her gown. “You are lucky to have him.”
“I know.” Seeing the corset Girre was lacing, she exclaimed in dismay. The Sunamen women never wore corsets, but Alea had certainly seen them. The prospect was daunting. Her modest curves would barely fill out the beautiful gown without the tightly laced undergarment. She turned to find Girre watching her with humor.
The maid wrapped the stiff fabric around Alea’s waist and instructed her to breath in and hold.
Alea yelped and squeezed her eyes shut. “I take back everything wonderful I said about your city!” She growled the words, and Girre laughed.
“Now turn about.” She tugged the overdress into place and fastened the buttons. “Now sit, I’ll do your hair and face paint.”
“Do you think I’ll look the part?”
Girre smiled. “Milady, they are not blind.”
Φ
The bells shook the towers when they tolled three hours past sundown. Arman straightened his white tunic for the hundredth time and fussed with his curls again, before stepping into the hall to meet Bren.
The former lieutenant glanced at him wryly. “Toar, we wash-off well!”
Arman mock-scowled. “I did well, but that orange makes you look like a right prat.” He indicated the deep vermillion of Bren’s tunic. They were dressed similarly in breeches—Bren’s a deep burgundy, Arman’s white—with loose shirts under their embroidered tunics. Arman fiddled with the wrist of his green shirt nervously. “Has she come out yet?”
