The unexpected blow made Willow recoil. “What did you say?”
“I see how you look at my brother, and how he looks at you. You do not speak the words you should because you are afraid.”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
Imara made a dismissive sound. “It is not that complicated.”
“Kerish and I have things—problems we can’t resolve. No amount of words can change that.”
“You will never know unless you speak them.” Imara ducked under two of the close-growing trees and set off in the direction of the Residence. Willow watched her go, stunned. Who else had noticed what lay between her and Kerish? Catrela? Janida? Imara was just wrong. It didn’t matter what Willow wanted. Kerish had still chosen his magic over her, and he would do it again if he had to make the choice over again. Love wasn’t enough to overcome that. You wouldn’t change either, a little voice told her, but she ignored it.
Imara had vanished into the crowd when she emerged from the little park. Willow found she didn’t really care. It was remotely possible that Imara’s sneaking out might provide someone access to Felix, but it seemed unlikely, and Willow wasn’t interested in solving Imara’s problem for her. She trudged through the streets toward the Residence, occasionally rubbing the spot where Martin’s golden guilders burned through the cloth. It wasn’t a real burn, wouldn’t leave a mark, but it hurt as much as if it were.
She arrived back at the Residence just before Salveri and Janida took their places at the supper table. Imara regarded her coolly, daring her to speak, but she felt drained by the sun, by the encounter with Amberesh, and she ate in silence, speaking only to answer Felix’s occasional questions. Felix was cheerful and full of commentary about Gianesh’s zoological collection, not at all subdued or frightened, and it eased Willow’s heart.
“Did you learn anything, Willow?”
Janida’s voice brought Willow out of her fugue. “I think so, but we should discuss it after supper,” she said, inclining her head toward Felix. Janida nodded in understanding.
“What did you learn, Willow?” Felix leaned forward and accidentally jostled his glass. Willow made a grab for it and kept it from falling over. “Did I tell you I fed the monkeys today? They’re messy eaters, and they fling their—”
“Yes, I don’t think we need to discuss that at the supper table, Felix,” Kerish said. “I’d like to hear what you learned, Willow. If it concerns…” He nodded slightly in Felix’s direction.
“Very well,” Janida said. “We will discuss later.”
Willow met Kerish’s eyes briefly before he returned his attention to his food, and thought about what Imara had said. She was wrong, much as Willow wished otherwise. They’d already been honest with each other, and it still hurt—but was it really honesty, when it was cruelty, too? She’d said things, horrible things, and maybe the core of them had been truth, but she’d dressed them up in hurtful words and that had been wrong. Maybe she needed to apologize, not for sticking to her principles, but for doing it in a way that hurt him.
When supper was over, Willow put Felix to bed and then went to the harem’s chamber, where the five women and Kerish waited. She stripped the assassin’s purse off the cord around her neck and held it out to Janida. “The assassin’s name was James Martin. This was concealed in his rooms. Somebody made a huge mess trying to find it.”
Janida opened it and poured some of the coin into her hand. “This does not tell us who hired him.”
“No, but I have some more evidence. He was hired by someone wearing purple and silver, with a snake design on his chest.”
Catrela sucked in a breath. “Hajimhi.”
“Unless that’s just what someone wants us to think. Paying in Tremontanan guilders is another hint—or possibly another false clue.” She dug into her own pouch. “And this was in the purse with the money.”
Catrela took the disk from Willow’s hand. “I do not recognize this. It is not Principality insignia.”
“May I?” Kerish held out his hand. He turned it over, brought it close to his eyes, then ran his fingers over the engraving. “It’s the emblem of a men’s organization. The kind rich men join to make themselves seem important. Amberesh—” He shut his mouth abruptly.
“Go on,” Janida said. Catrela had gone pale at the mention of her son.
“Amberesh belongs to this one, which is how I recognize it.” Kerish closed his fist on the pendant. “But so do about five or six hundred other men. It isn’t terribly exclusive. The lines here—” He traced the outer edge of the pendant. “According to Amberesh, these are unique to the owner, but I don’t know enough of the members to be able to identify whose this is. It’s just a famous line of Eskandelic poetry,” he said to Willow.
“I bet that’s what the person who tossed the room was looking for,” Willow said. “It’s unlikely he gave it to Martin freely, so Martin probably stole it, maybe as insurance.”
“Which means whoever hired Martin was a member of this organization.”
“That does not eliminate Terence Valant as behind the assassination attempt,” Catrela said. “He might have influenced one of the Principalities.”
“But it does mean a Principality was immediately responsible,” Willow said. “Hajimhi or not.”
“It makes much work for us,” Catrela said. “I think it impossible to find the owner of that pendant is.”
“But a place to start,” said Alondra.
“Indeed.” Catrela still looked pale. “And I must investigate Hajimhi, though it pains me. Gessala will devastated be if they the culprits are.”
“But we know more than we did. Thank you,” Janida said. “In three days you will join us for…it an evening party is, but not of friends. It is a meeting of the undecided, at which you will attempt the key parjenisur to sway. Until then, rest and prepare. Alondra will help you study.”
“All right,” Willow said. Janida was good at dismissing people without telling them to go.
She left the room and found Kerish following her. “How’s Rafferty?” he said, handing back the pendant, which she dropped into her pouch.
“Well. He seems happy here, though I’m sure he’d rather be home.”
“Is that how you feel?”
They were walking down one of the long covered walkways between the buildings of the Residence. The sea wind had picked up, and the fronds of the trees blew wildly in the air, lashing the arched window openings. Willow’s hair ruffled in the wind, and she smoothed it down. She stopped to look out across the Residence grounds toward where the sun was setting over the ocean. “Umberan is nice, but Aurilien is home. Not that I miss the city in summer.”
“I see. That makes sense.” Kerish sounded as if the conversation didn’t matter to him. Willow remembered her earlier impulse, the feeling that she should apologize, and immediately her palms began to sweat. How could she bring it up without sounding like a fool?
“Willow,” Kerish said, “I want to apologize.”
It startled her so much she could only manage a strangled, “For what?”
“I…wasn’t exactly gracious with you when we set out. You did more than you had to, and I was so caught up in feeling useless I took it out on you. I hope you can forgive me.”
“Kerish…” How to explain she’d forgiven him everything a long time ago? “I haven’t always been kind to you, either. All those years ago—I think calling you Terence’s hound was the least of the things I said to you. I should never have said all that. I’m sorry.”
She risked a glance at him and saw he was looking out over the garden, toward the invisible ocean. “We were awfully hard on each other, for two people in love, don’t you think?”
“We were.” It couldn’t have hurt so badly if she hadn’t loved him, which made no sense. “I’m sorry for that, too.”
“So am I.” Kerish took a breath, as if he were going to say something else, then let it out in a long, thin stream. “I should get to bed. I have an ear
ly day at the scholia tomorrow.”
“Oh.” She struggled with herself briefly, then said, “I still haven’t seen the ocean. Up close, I mean. Do you think…you did say you could arrange it.”
Kerish nodded. “Maybe sometime soon. I’ll talk to Felix’s guards. They shouldn’t have any trouble taking you both.”
“I meant—” Willow’s chest ached, cold and tight like ice lodged in her heart. “Yes. Of course. That would be nice.”
She parted from Kerish at the end of the walkway and trudged the long way through the halls, not seeing much of anything until she reached the top of the stairs and found Felix there, freshly bathed and bouncing on his bed. Ernest trotted back and forth beside him, yipping happily. “Ernest had a bath, too!” Felix shouted. “He likes baths!”
“That’s nice. Stop jumping on the bed, you’ll ruin it.” Willow rescued the wrinkled sheets and tucked Felix in, urging Ernest to cuddle up on his own bed, though she knew he’d end up with Felix once she was gone.
“Are you sad, Willow? You look sad.”
“I’m not sad. Just tired.”
“Hilarion says it’s all right to be sad if something bad happens, but never to let sadness rule your life. Did something bad happen?”
“No, Felix.” Willow straightened the blankets one last time, unnecessarily, and stood. “I just wish I had the chance to make different choices, that’s all.”
“Did you do something wrong?”
Willow sighed. “I don’t know. Probably it wouldn’t make a difference.”
“Hilarion says wishing distracts from the now. But I think wishing is how you get what you want, to start with, anyway.”
“And what do you wish for?”
Felix yawned. “I can’t tell you or it won’t come true. But it’s a nice wish, and you’re in it.”
“Thank you, Felix, I’m happy to be part of your wish. Now, go to sleep.” He was already halfway there, his eyes heavy-lidded and his mouth gone slack. She envied him his ability to fall asleep in seconds. She, on the other hand, was going to lie wakeful in her bed for at least an hour, replaying old arguments and wishing beyond reason she had the chance to make them come out differently.
Chapter Ten
Willow followed Alondra through the arched doorway of the Melikjian Hall, not bothering to disguise her awe at the size of the structure. The sandals Caira had insisted Willow wear had soles thin enough that she could feel the rough surface of the tiled floor through them. The grouted gaps between the diamond-shaped tiles were worn down with time, making the floor feel lumpy, uneven and tricky underfoot. She might as well be wearing her own midnighting shoes, though those weren’t ornamented with tingling brass studs shaped like flowers and would have looked odd with her silken robes. Even so, she’d have been more comfortable, less off-balance.
The walls were tiled, too, though with tiny squares in deep red and rich gold making abstract patterns that spread from the floor to the domed ceiling high above. It wasn’t just a single dome, but many small ones that intersected with each other to create patterns of lines and curves, and Willow couldn’t help but stare, trying to trace each one back to a source. Kerish had told her the Melikjian Hall was one of the oldest buildings in Eskandel, but it didn’t look old, just intimidating.
Willow drew in a breath and smelled the hot tarry charred odor of torches—no newfangled Devices here—and the perfumes of the harem, all five of which mingled into a single delicate scent. Did the harem coordinate its fragrances the way it had its clothing? The five women wore shades of gold that matched the walls perfectly, with plenty of gold jewelry that burned in Willow’s magical sight. The walls burned, too, in places where some of the thumb-sized tiles were actually made of gold.
She couldn’t help comparing the hall to Aurilien. They had buildings of roughly the same age and size, but they looked ancient, all old crumbling stone and frigid drafts even in the heart of summer. On the other hand, Old Tower was taller than anything they had in Umberan, taller than the Jauderish, and the thought was obscurely comforting.
She walked forward, trailing Kerish, toward one of the gaudy statues that stood randomly throughout the room. They were odd, completely out of place in this beautiful, elegant chamber. They stood directly on the white tiles, for one, no plinths or anything. For another, they’d been painted solid colors over their stone, forest green and crimson red and cobalt blue like the gaudy doors of Umberan. Each depicted a young man or woman in perfect physical condition. She could see they were in perfect physical condition because each was carved in a form-fitting bodysuit that went from ankles to throat and turned into a hood covering the statue’s hair.
Willow stopped in front of a red statue of a young woman. “I don’t understand the point of this,” she said, then stifled a shriek with her hand as the statue blinked, slowly.
Kerish laughed. “This is one of Eskandel’s most famous performing troupes. They’re living sculptures. Over the course of the evening they’ll gradually change positions, and if you watch closely, you can see them interact with one another.”
“That’s astounding.” Willow walked around the “statue.” “I could watch this all night.”
“Not that you’ll have the chance. You’re supposed to talk with the other principalities, aren’t you?”
“Now I’m starting to regret the necessity.” She realized, now, that the exposed parts of the woman’s body, her face and hands and feet, were painted over with thick red cosmetic paste. They must have a hell of a time getting cleaned up after a performance. No wonder her hair was covered. “Felix, come and look at this.”
“How do they stand so still, Willow? I couldn’t do that.” Felix circled the statue the way Willow had done. He was dressed, like Kerish, in black trousers and formal knee-length robes embroidered all over with fanciful creatures. Willow’s robes were unadorned dark blue silk that reached the floor and would be impossible to run in. She cast a quick glance around the room for Felix’s bodyguards—there they were, standing a discreet distance away, their eyes roving their surroundings without a pause. Willow flexed her wrist slightly. She’d won the battle with Caira about the forearm knife on the grounds that the full sleeve would conceal it completely. She hoped to heaven she didn’t need it tonight.
Kerish nodded toward the doorway. “That’s the first of them. Good luck.” He walked away toward Catrela, standing at the far side of the chamber. It felt like being abandoned. Willow missed his strong presence briefly before reminding herself that she was Felix’s guardian and needed to stand on her own. She looked down at Felix, who stood next to her still admiring the “statue,” and sent up a brief prayer to heaven that she wouldn’t let him down that night.
She didn’t recognize the newcomers, who were dressed far more gaudily than the Serjian Principality and looked like a flight of parrots trying to intimidate swans on their own turf. Was “flight” the right word? Felix would know. “Come on,” she said. “We have to meet them.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Felix said.
“Just be polite, answer their questions, and remember you’re the King and you outrank them.”
Felix nodded. He looked like he wanted to hold her hand. Willow felt the same way.
Janida and Salveri were conversing with the newcomers. The rest of the Serjian harem was spread throughout the room, pretending to be interested in the performers. Janida switched to Tremontanese when she saw Willow and Felix approaching. “Najarhian Yesemia, may I present King Felix Valant of Tremontane to you,” she said, “and his guardian and eskarna, Willow North.”
Najarhian Yesemia looked like sixty pretending to be thirty-five. She wore more cosmetics than Willow had yet seen on an Eskandelic woman, and her black hair had a sheen to it that said it owed its color to artifice rather than nature. She smiled at Willow, a cold expression that didn’t reach her eyes, then turned to Felix and said, “You the King of Tremontane are?”
“Yes,” Felix said, and Willow cheered ins
ide at how his voice didn’t tremble.
“What of Terence Valant?”
“He’s my uncle. He’s not supposed to be King. Ascendants aren’t allowed.”
“Please excuse us to our other guests to speak,” Janida said, and Willow realized the Torossian Principality, headed by the tall blond Kharalin, had just walked through the door. It was a relief to see someone friendly to them—someone not this dried-up woman with her friendly-seeming comments that hid something nasty, Willow was certain.
“Serjian has spared no expense,” Yesemia said to Willow. “But you as strangers will not know this.”
“No, we don’t, but we’re honored to be welcome at this gathering.”
Yesemia cast her eyes down. “We a wealthy Principality are not,” she said, “but we do not flaunt our wealth. Najarhian is a name that means modesty.”
The clothes the five women wore, as well as the robe and trousers of the man who had to be the Najarhian Prince, were woven with real gold threads that made Willow feel as if she were in Aurilien on a sunny day. “That’s quite a name to live up to.”
Yesemia nodded. “We must protect our own interests.” She looked down at Felix again. “You think a boy King can protect what his is?”
This conversation felt uncannily familiar, though Willow was certain she’d never met Yesemia before. “I think with support from strong Eskandelic principalities like yours, he can regain his throne.”
“And what does he promise?”
Willow was ready for this. “Better trade relations. Stronger ties between our governments. A reduction in tariffs. There is a lot Tremontane can offer Eskandel that Terence Valant won’t give you.”
“Hmm.” Yesemia smiled her nasty smile again. “I was thinking of something more…informal. A gift, between two respectable parties.”
You mean a bribe. Willow was utterly certain at that moment that Yesemia would go on dangling the promise of her support in front of Felix, no matter what he gave or promised. Suddenly she realized what was so familiar about it: this was how Nan had made people dance to her pipes, down to the day she died. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. Felix is trying to regain his throne, and all his resources are devoted to that.”
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