by J. D. Vaughn
“That’s right, Brin, we heard you and Layna had quite a scare this afternoon,” said Tali. “Good thing you noticed that frayed rope, Eagle Eye.”
“Zarif says your swift action was nothing short of heroic,” Chey agreed.
Brindl glanced at Zarif, trying to keep the blush from her cheeks. Zarif nodded, but did not meet her eyes. “So, Tali, what’s this surprise you’ve been teasing us with?” he asked, pointing his chin to the box on the table.
Brindl wasn’t sure whether to feel hurt or relieved by Zarif’s swift change of subject. Though she didn’t wish to dwell on the incident with the chandelier, she couldn’t deny the pleasure she felt at being complimented by her friends. It had been so long since anything she’d done had received a kind word or recognition.
“I’ve brought the most magnificent treat,” Tali said, reaching for the box and lifting the lid. “I scavenged it from the kitchens. Look, cake!”
The group leaned forward as Tali opened the box with a flourish, the sides dropping away to reveal a miniature masterpiece. For the cake was an exact replica of the palace itself, with every balustrade and balcony in its place. Even the giant windows looked real somehow, reflecting light in their candied incarnations.
“You scavenged this or stole it?” Zarif furrowed his brow at Tali, though his eyes betrayed amusement.
“I scavenged it fair and square, Zarif Baz Hasan,” replied Tali, poking Zarif in the ribs. “Ask Chey if you don’t believe me.”
“It’s true,” Chey answered. “Tali’s teaching the night cook’s daughter how to spar. The girl’s a second-born, off to the Alcazar in a few years. In exchange, the cook lets Tali raid the kitchens at will.”
“Ah. That explains the plump cheeks,” Zarif answered, raising a hand as if to pinch Tali’s face, but she swatted it away.
“Don’t listen to him, Tali,” Brindl said. “You look like you could eat cake every night and still have room in that uniform. But this cake’s too pretty to eat by half.”
“Oh no it’s not,” said Tali, pulling a dagger from the holster in her boot.
Zarif grabbed her arm before she could start hacking away at the cake. “We’re not eating in my library.”
“Your library?” asked Tali. “I thought it was the Queen’s Library. And since she never steps foot in here, why not?”
Brindl exchanged a look of amusement with Chey, while Zarif peered around nervously, as if Queen Twenty-two herself might be eavesdropping. Then he shook his head with a small laugh. “Sometimes I don’t know if you’re brave or stupid, Tali. Now if you’ll turn the conversation to something less blasphemous, I’ll get a proper knife and tablecloth for you heathens.”
Brindl watched as Zarif left the room. He moved more quickly on his crutches now, and his lean body looked less frail. Most of the old vigor had returned to his face, Brindl decided, though it still pained her to see his pant leg pinned up where his missing leg should be. Tali and Chey had been gravely injured in battle as well, but their wounds were no longer visible, save a few scars. Together the two of them had kept Zarif alive in the Battle for the Alcazar, protecting his fallen body from certain death. Sometimes it seemed a lifetime ago, other times just a day. Brindl shivered in the drafty room.
“So how fares our Master of Messages?” Chey asked, leaning forward. The delicate teacup he held looked like a doll’s toy in his large hands.
“As Saavedra used to say, I’m a humble pigeonkeep with a fancy title,” Brindl answered, relaxing into her chair. “And how is your new position guarding the heir to the throne?”
Chey shrugged. “I can’t complain. Though some days I feel more like a footstool than a soldier of the realm, to be honest.”
“In other words, we do a lot of standing around,” explained Tali. “So far the only threats to Xiomara have come from palace gossip and fawning suitors. Sometimes I’m so bored I actually miss our old training days at the Alcazar.”
“Still, we should be grateful after all that’s happened,” said Chey. “I’d rather be bored than fighting for my life again.”
The group sobered as their thoughts flew to that long night, when so many of their fellow pledges and comrades lost their lives. Chey rubbed his arm and Tali tugged on her own braid, as if grief had slipped into the empty chair beside them, solemn and gray.
Zarif returned then, a large basket hanging from one arm as he slowly maneuvered his way through the room on a single crutch.
Brindl leapt up at once. I should have gone with him, she scolded herself.
“Sit,” Zarif commanded. “I’m fine.”
Brindl sank back into the chair and stared at their reflection in the windows. Would they never be close again, the way they used to be?
“But would you please serve the cake for us, Brindl?” Zarif asked, his tone kinder this time. “If we leave it to Tali, we’ll be wearing the cake instead of eating it.”
Tali made a face at Zarif, and the mood lightened as Chey took a yellow tablecloth from the basket and spread it over the table.
Brindl scrutinized the cake, unsure how to slice it. “It seems a shame to ruin it,” she said, as Zarif handed her the knife. “I can’t believe the cook let you have it, Tali. Surely it must have been made for a special occasion?”
Tali shook her head. “It’s a practice cake. And trust me, it’ll be even lovelier in our bellies.”
“What do you mean it’s a ‘practice’ cake?” Zarif asked, settling into the seat across from Brindl, as she reluctantly carved up the work of art.
Tali shrugged. “The cake makers like to experiment, I’m told. They’re testing new designs and recipes to prepare for the upcoming Treaty Talks.”
Once everyone was served, Chey immediately lifted his cake and took a huge bite from it. Crumbs spilled down his uniform like a star shower. Zarif shook his head and pointed at the forks.
“Fussy old Moon Guilder,” Chey said, pulling up his chair, then grabbed a fork and winked at the girls.
The friends stopped talking as they ate, pausing only to let out a few appreciative grunts and sighs. “It’s heavenly,” Brindl finally said, after eating several bites. “Like long afternoons in the sun.”
“The best thing I’ve ever tasted,” Chey agreed, licking icing off his fingers, “save Nel’s cooking, of course.”
“Even my twin would agree this is food for the Gods,” Tali answered.
“How is it that we have cake makers in Tequende anyway—isn’t it a Far World delicacy?” Brindl asked.
“Who cares?” Tali stuffed another bite into her mouth. “As long as the cake makers keep baking.”
Brindl and Zarif shook their heads and looked on as Tali and Chey fought for the last few crumbs in the cake box.
“Enjoy yourselves now, for when the regents come, I doubt the night cooks will be as generous with handouts,” Zarif said. “The chamberlain has given strict orders for all palace staff and servants to be on their best behavior.”
“So we’ve heard,” replied Tali. “The Queen has decreed that her realm will ‘sparkle like an emerald’ so the regents can go back and tell their Far World masters what a jewel we are.”
“Such folly—” began Brindl, then stopped herself. Palace servants were strictly forbidden to comment on royal matters, let alone question the Queen’s orders. The chamberlain had made that more than clear.
Zarif gave her a look. “Go on, Brindl,” he prompted. “You’re among friends. Folly how?”
“Well…the Andorians and Castillians have nearly carved up the rest of the Nigh World for themselves. Tequende is one of the only native realms still standing. Why?” she asked, remembering how Saavedra used to prompt discussion by posing questions.
“Because until now we’ve had no gold,” answered Zarif, playing along. “Our treasures lay in art and knowledge, commodities of little interest to Far World conquerors.”
“Besides, we’re too remote,” added Chey, leaning back in his chair. “Our highlands are difficult
to reach, not worth the trek for those seeking easy riches.”
“And we have the Second Guard, the best-trained army in the Nigh World,” said Tali, though she, like her friends, sounded more subdued than smug.
“Yet all that has changed now,” said Brindl, giving voice to that which everyone at the table already knew. The Battle for the Alcazar. Not five moons ago, Jorge Telendor, the commander of the realm’s army, had betrayed their Queen and nearly taken Tequende by force. His army of Oest Andorian mercenaries, funded by a hidden vein of gold deep within Tequende’s salt mines, had laid siege to the Second Guard’s island fortress, leaving hundreds of dead in its wake. The invaders would have succeeded, too, had it not been for Jaden Telendor, the commander’s own son, and a brave group of tradeboaters, miners, and packhounds who turned the tide of the battle just when all was thought lost.
Zarif’s eyes flickered down to the stump of his leg. “Much has altered within our realm, that is so,” he agreed.
“And the Far World knows it,” Brindl said. “Tequende has gold now. We were breached and nearly beaten. And the commander of our own army turned out to be a turncoat, which hardly speaks well for Queen Twenty-two…or the Second Guard,” she added, with an apologetic look at her two uniformed friends.
“But Jaden is the Queen’s Sword now,” said Tali, her voice rising. “He’s worked tirelessly to unify our forces, mend alliances, strengthen our border patrols these past several months. We’ve barely seen him, he’s been so busy. The Second Guard will be—is—stronger than ever now.”
Brindl nodded at her friend kindly. Tali kept her feelings for Jaden Telendor tucked deep inside, but Brindl knew they were there, however much Tali tried to hide them. “I know, Tali. I’m sure you’re right.”
“Still, your point is well taken, Brin,” said Chey. “Our peaceful highlands are no longer so peaceful. Even worse, now we’ve turned the heads of the Far World monarchs, who once had little use for us.”
Tali crossed her arms over her chest. “So let their regents sniff around us like dogs next month. They’ll see we’re not a people to be trifled with.”
Zarif rubbed a hand down his cheek. “The Blood Queen of Andoria doesn’t trifle with her enemies,” he said quietly. “She kills them.”
The room grew silent again.
“Perhaps our Queen means to trade in peace at the Treaty Talks rather than riches,” acknowledged Brindl, wishing it to be true.
“Let’s hope so,” said Chey, tidying up the empty plates and napkins. “I hate to end our party, but Tali and I must report back to Guard quarters now.”
Tali licked the last bit of icing off her plate before passing it to him. “All the palace guards are on strict curfew these days. Larus, the Palace Centurio, has woken us every morning at five bells for the past week, quizzing us on every nook and cranny of this place. Did you know there are one hundred and eighty-seven rooms, not counting water closets and broom cupboards?” she asked Brindl. “And we’re to memorize every door, every window, every balcony, every alcove where danger might lurk. Though if you ask me, the only danger in this palace is getting lost in it.”
As Tali and Chey left the library, waving their good-byes, Brindl rose and took the basket from the table. “I’ll return this, Zarif. I’m going to the kitchens anyway and—”
Zarif put up a hand. “No need to talk me into it, Brindl. I’m tired tonight and grateful for the offer, thank you. But before you go, may I have a quick word?”
Brindl set the basket back on the table. “Of course,” she said, though her stomach turned over when she saw the somber look in his eyes.
“What made you notice the chandelier this afternoon?”
Brindl bit the inside of her cheek. The voice told me. But she couldn’t tell Zarif that. She couldn’t explain it without seeming crazy. “I’m not sure,” she answered, avoiding his gaze. “I just happened to see the rope splitting, I guess.”
“Ah,” said Zarif, scratching his chin. “The rope. Chamberlain Tasca assures me the chandelier was freshly strung not two weeks ago. She herself inspected it. Yet when I examined the rope earlier, it almost looked as if it had been cut…as if someone had sliced the rope down to the last few fibers.”
Brindl’s head flew up. “Are you saying that someone cut the rope on purpose?”
Zarif sighed. “No. I don’t know. I realize it seems far-fetched, but I can’t come to any other logical explanation if the chamberlain is telling the truth. Did you happen to see anyone on your way to the drawing room earlier? Anyone at all?”
“I passed several palace servants in the hallways, but no one out of the ordinary,” she said, trying to jog her memory. “There was a young man polishing the wall sconces outside the drawing room as I went in, though I didn’t see his face.”
“Did you notice any other details that might identify him? I’d like to speak with the man if I could.”
Brindl shook her head. “He wore the same servant uniform as everyone else. His hair short, black…again, same as most. Average build.” Brindl closed her eyes and tried to retrieve the image from her memory. She could see the shape of him in her mind, the stiff way he held himself, the methodical back and forth of his polishing rag. But nothing that would help place him. “I’m sorry, Zarif. Perhaps you could ask the chamberlain? She would know who was assigned to polish the sconces today. That woman knows everything,” she added, unable to keep the irritation from her voice.
“Indeed she does,” replied Zarif, grinning. “Good idea. I’ll ask her.”
Brindl nodded and reluctantly took the basket. She wished Zarif would ask her to stay. Spending an hour in the company of her old friends made her miss them more than ever. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“No thank you. Good night, Brindl.”
Brindl tried not to let her shoulders fall. “Good night, Zarif.”
The palace village exists to serve the Queen and her guests. Villagers should never be allowed to enter the palace unless necessary, and directly ordered to do so by the chamberlain.
—CH. N. TASCA, Palace Etiquette
Brindl stepped out of her small tower just as Intiq peeked out from the clouds. She turned her face toward the warmth, grateful for the comforting rays after several days of rain, which had kept her cooped inside since her visit to the library. This is how the bluejackets must feel when I open their cage doors, she thought, stretching under the vast blue sky.
At home in Zipa, Brindl and her family had always worked well below the earth inside the complex world of salt mining. Weather was never an issue, good or bad. But here in the high hills of Fugaza, the damp, chilly air, which gusted across the palace roof, always seemed coldest in the mornings. This particular morning was an exception, and Brindl paused to give the Sun God an appreciative smile.
As she entered the aviary, the fourteen birds in her care chirped and rustled expectantly. “Soon enough, little birds, you’ll each have your chance to fly,” she said, filling the empty feed tins one at a time. “But for now you must eat and grow strong.” As she scooped the last of the grain from the bin by the door, only a few dusty crumbs remained, making her sneeze. She stared at the empty container, wondering what to do next. The bin had been full when she’d taken over as pigeonkeep. No one had told her what to do when the grain ran out.
“Find the grainery, I suppose,” Brindl said to the birds, “before you get hungry for dinner.”
After she’d let out each bird to spread its wings in the fresh air, Brindl tucked the last one into its cage with a pat, then grabbed a bucket and left the sanctuary of her rooftop. She took several staircases down to the lower level of the palace, where she knew of at least one door by the kitchens that would take her to the outer grounds. As she turned down the final hallway, Brindl came to an abrupt halt. A half-dozen servants were polishing the parquet flooring, the tiles still damp with their work.
“Oh!” Brindl said, looking down at the wax she’d just marred.
&nb
sp; “Must you come this way?” one of the servants asked, a polite smile plastered to her face, though Brindl could see the exasperation in her eyes.
“I suppose I could try another way, it’s just that I’m not familiar—”
“Never mind,” the maidservant answered. “Pass now, but quickly please.”
“Truly, I am sorry for the inconvenience,” Brindl said, scurrying on tiptoes across the floor, the bucket clanging against her legs.
Can I do nothing right in this place?
When she had first arrived, she had tried to engage in conversation with the other palace servants, but more often than not she had felt their response to be cool and distant. Whether this was due to her Earth Guild status or the chamberlain’s strict rules about proper behavior, she was unsure. Both perhaps. In any case, after the first month, she’d learned to stay out of their way, taking her meals in the tower and keeping to herself.
As soon as she was outside the palace, she stopped to let out a long breath, as if she’d been holding it for weeks. She looked around and felt a sudden rush of joy. The palace village, with its many outbuildings, animals, and bustling Earth Guilders, almost reminded her of Zipa. Even the ground itself was a comfort, the damp springy grass a luxury beneath her slippers instead of the graveled pebbles of the rooftop.
She began walking through the bustle, smiling to herself as she did so. Though she had missed the feel of the Earth Goddess Machué beneath her feet these past few months, more than that, she realized, she had missed the presence of people. Her people. Inside the palace walls, most servants were born and raised Moon Guilders, quiet and orderly in their countenance, neat to a fault in their spotless white uniforms. Out here, the servants wore the garb of the Earth Guilders back home—tunics, trousers, and skirts of browns and greens, their long hair left loose to swing at their shoulders or tied simply with string. Though they hurried along with their tasks, they seemed cheerful while doing so, calling greetings to one another or sharing snatches of news and gossip.
