The room was painted and upholstered in soft browns and muted golds, comforting to the eye. Two chairs were drawn up near a fireplace in which no fire had been laid, though since this was springtime in the south, a fire wasn’t needed. A spindly-legged desk and chair stood near two tall windows, and another one of those elongated chairs had been placed at an angle facing the windows. An open door in the far wall showed a glimpse of another, brighter room.
“This is a sleeping room?” Areli asked doubtfully. “Are you supposed to sleep on that long chair? Kionnal, I hope ours is bigger than that.”
“There were beds in Hrovald’s house, there must be beds here,” Imogen began, but Mistress Schotton, ignoring the conversation she couldn’t understand, went to the far door while the rest of the tiermatha crowded in around the chairs and the fireplace.
“The bedroom,” the housekeeper said, and Imogen went to the door and gasped. There was a bed big enough to fit two of Imogen, assuming another could be found and was willing to share. It was covered with a thick blue blanket and had half a dozen pillows arranged on it. Another table and chair were tucked into a corner, next to one of two other doors in the room. Imogen wondered what all the tables and chairs were for. It seemed Tremontanans were fond of tables.
“Closet,” Mistress Schotton said, opening the door near the table. This turned out to be a tiny, empty room with a dresser and long poles running from wall to wall at head height. Imogen had no idea what it was for, so she tried to look nonchalant, as if closets were part of her everyday experience. “Bathing chamber,” the housekeeper added, opening the other door and revealing a tiled room with an enormous ceramic tub over which a curved pipe protruded. Mistress Schotton twisted a knob on the pipe and water began to flow. “I’m sorry if this is patronizing, but I don’t know that you have much indoor plumbing where you come from. Turn the handle and the water flows; turn it more, and the water heats up.”
Imogen ran her fingers under the water, which was warm—no, it was almost hot enough to burn! She snatched her hand away and rubbed it dry on her trousers. “Come in here and see this!” she called out in Kirkellish. The tiermatha crowded into the bathing chamber and made incredulous noises as she demonstrated the miraculous pipe.
“You realize this housekeeper thinks we’re all a bunch of savages, right?” Kallum drawled.
“I feel like a savage,” Dorenna said.
“Just remember how out of place she’d be roaming the Eidestal with the kinship,” Kionnal said.
Imogen said nothing, but privately she wondered what more they were ignorant of. Eskandel and Veribold were at least as sophisticated as Tremontane. What kind of ambassador could she be if she could only gawk in wonder at the trappings of city life?
Chapter Seventeen
Between getting settled, explaining to Mistress Schotton that Areli and Kionnal were married—she’d looked appalled when the two of them started stowing their gear together—and washing in the beautiful big tub, it seemed like no time at all before Imogen was greeting the household staff, lined up in rows in the foyer, then getting into one of the carts Simon called a carriage, drawn by more unhappy horses, and leaving for the palace. Imogen had told Simon she could ride her own horse, but he insisted this was how people behaved in the city. Imogen filed that away for further consideration. Yes, they were in the city, but she was still Kirkellan; how much of her identity would she be expected to give up? Imogen stared out the window and felt a chill that had nothing to do with the evening air. Her mother had told her she had skills she’d never learned, parts of her personality she’d never explored, but she hadn’t told Imogen to give up who she was already. She was a warrior. That wasn’t going to change.
The palace was even more luxurious than the embassy, though Imogen wouldn’t have thought that possible. It looked old, but in patches; Imogen knew nothing of architecture, but even she could tell it had been built by many different hands over time. She stared up at the dark tower extending high above the palace roofs, a long black finger pointing at ungoverned heaven like a warning, or possibly defiance. Directed by a guard, she walked dazedly through corridors and up stairs until she reached a hallway that led to a door guarded by two soldiers in blue and silver, fully armed and armored. Not knowing what else to do, she saluted them; the soldiers examined her closely, then opened the door and indicated she should enter.
Another hallway paneled in light wood below and painted a creamy white above led to a vast room filled with sofas (Mistress Schotton had supplied this word for the elongated chairs that had mystified them) upholstered in neutral colors and low tables of the same wood that covered the walls. There was a fireplace made of river stones, bare and swept clean of ash, and three other halls led off this room. Imogen inhaled a fresh pine scent that transported her to the forests of Ruskald, a pleasant memory untainted by everything else that had happened there.
“Imogen!” Elspeth squealed, and flung herself on her friend. Imogen hugged her, trying not to show her dismay at how thin the girl still was. Her full-sleeved shirt and loose trousers concealed how skinny her arms and legs were. “I was so happy when Jeffrey said you would be the ambassador! We’ll have so much fun. It’s not all stuffy diplomatic receptions and things.”
“I did not realize there would be stuffy anything,” Imogen said.
“Jeffrey says there’s a lot of talking to people and making deals, but he actually likes that kind of thing. I like dances better.”
“Jeffrey says much business gets done at dances,” Owen said, saluting Imogen, warrior to warrior.
“Will the King join us for supper?” Imogen asked.
Elspeth shrugged. “He’ll try to. He’s been gone for about three weeks and he said the work had piled up. But I know he wants to talk to you again.”
“Let us go in, then, and see if cook will bend his rule about not serving until his Majesty joins us,” Owen said.
“What’s this about his Majesty?” the King asked as he entered the room.
“Cook didn’t listen to you about serving even if you’re not here,” Elspeth said, making a face. Imogen had never seen her so animated. Was it marriage that had done it, or just the freedom of being away from Hrovald’s oppressive house?
“I don’t think I’m going to change his mind. He seems to believe I don’t take my rank seriously. Shall we go in?” The King extended his arm to Imogen, who looked at it blankly for a moment before accepting it. Why did King Jeffrey keep offering to help her, as if she were an invalid? It must be some sort of custom, she decided, but it’s a very odd one, showing respect by impairing a warrior’s freedom of motion.
The dining table was almost three times as long as Hrovald’s had been and was made of a highly polished ruddy brown wood. As he had done in his tent, the King held Imogen’s chair for her before seating himself at the head of the table, which put her on his right. Owen did the same for Elspeth, seating her at the King’s left, then took his place on Elspeth’s other side. Almost as soon as the King fully settled his weight in his chair, a door opened and servants streamed through, bearing covered platters and steaming tureens. “We serve all the courses at once, at these family meals,” he told Imogen, sounding apologetic. “Saves interruptions later, makes it feel more cozy.”
Imogen nodded, though she didn’t understand what he meant by courses. This was just like a supper at home, or in Hrovald’s house, which were Imogen’s only other points of comparison. She should ask Simon if she needed some kind of instruction on fine dining in Aurilien.
There was a clear soup, and fresh vegetables, and some kind of roast, and tiny loaves of bread that were so soft Imogen could have made a meal out of them alone. She ate, and listened to Elspeth chatter about her day, and saw Owen watched Elspeth’s every bite as closely as Imogen did. Elspeth didn’t notice their attention.
“—and then I said—Imogen, are you listening to me at all?”
“I do not remember,” Imogen said, making the men laugh. “You tal
ked of people I do not know, and I lose track of who they are. But I am listening.”
“I’m sorry,” Elspeth exclaimed, contrite. “We should talk about things that are interesting to you. How do you like the embassy?”
“It is large, and my rooms are large. Even the bathing tub is large. It is big enough for me to sit down in it.”
“That’s the point,” Elspeth said. “I love having a good long soak in the morning.”
Imogen, who had had her bath standing up as usual, felt embarrassed at her ignorance. Of course. With hot water available at the turn of a handle, they wouldn’t need to limit their bathing water by how much could be readily heated over a camp-stove or fire. “It is very nice,” she said quickly, to cover her confusion.
“Don’t be afraid to ask Simon for anything. I know, if I came to live with the Kirkellan, I wouldn’t know how to do anything,” the King said, giving her a look that said he understood perfectly the mistake she’d made, and sympathized. She ducked her head and took another bite of green peas.
“We’ll have to go riding in the Park, you and I,” Elspeth said, ignorant. “And I want to show you the hill, and the interesting parts of the palace, and—”
“Elspeth, love, stop overwhelming our guest,” Owen said.
Elspeth blinked at Imogen. “Am I? I’m sorry, I’m just so excited to….” Her face went very still. “You were so good to me, I can’t wait to repay the favor.”
Imogen smiled at her. “I am glad to be here and for you to show me things,” she said. “But I must also be ambassador. And I do not know how to do that.”
“Didn’t Mairen tell you what she expected?” asked the King.
“She said, tell everyone about the Kirkellan so they will understand us. And listen to people talk about themselves so I understand them. But I think there is more than this.”
He nodded. “You will want to find out what other countries need and what you can give them. Then you discuss what they can give you, and then you put it into an agreement. You should always be careful what you promise.” He tapped his finger against his lips, thinking. “And remember you are your country, when you’re an ambassador.”
“I think the matrian will decide what treaties I make, though. She is…experienced, and I am not.”
“In either case, you’re the face of the Kirkellan here in Aurilien.” He laughed. “Sorry, that was more ominous than I meant it to sound.”
“I understand.” She wasn’t entirely sure she did understand. He made it all sound easy. Imogen stirred the shreds of her meat around with her fork. “What do I call you?” she asked the King.
He seemed surprised. “Jeffrey, of course.”
“But I do not think the other ambassadors call you that. And I am not your subject. So what I ask is, what is it the ambassador from the Kirkellan calls the King of Tremontane? Because I think if I say “King of Tremontane, pass the salt,” everyone will see it is a joke.”
“Oh, I see. You say ‘your Majesty’ just as I say ‘madam ambassador.’ But when you aren’t being the ambassador, I’d prefer it if you’d call me Jeffrey.” He smiled at her, the corners of his mouth quirking up.
“Thank you, Jeffrey, I will remember. But I will be the ambassador much of the time.”
“But we’re practically family, Imogen,” Elspeth protested.
“I think it is not fair for the ambassador from the Kirkellan to be….” She couldn’t think how to express herself in Tremontanese. “It looks like favoritism if I’m too friendly with the royal family,” she explained in Kirkellish. “I have to be able to build relationships with the other ambassadors, and I don’t want them thinking I can be influenced by Tremontane.”
Elspeth frowned. “But I want to spend time with you.”
“We can do that, but I can’t look like I favor you, Elspeth.”
“What are you saying?” Jeffrey asked, watching the conversation go back and forth between them.
Elspeth explained, and he said, “She’s absolutely right, Elspeth. Don’t expect Imogen to eat with us every evening.”
“I don’t expect that. I just want to be able to go places with her.” Elspeth sat up straight. “There’s a concert tomorrow night I want to take you to. Just you and me and Jeffrey. We were thinking it might be a good idea to introduce you into society slowly, before your first big appearance as ambassador at my wedding reception next week.”
“I think—thought you are married already.”
“Yes, but the marriage was private, so the reception has to be as public as we can make it. All the diplomats will be there, and there will be food and dancing and it’s going to be wonderful.”
“But it can also be overwhelming, and I say that as someone who’s been dragged to these things his whole life,” Jeffrey said, putting his elbows on the table and lacing his long fingers together.
“So going to the concert will give you a chance to meet a few people, see what society is like…will you come? That won’t be too much like favoritism, will it?”
Imogen looked at Elspeth’s eager face. “I will come,” she said. “It will be interesting to see what life is like in Tremontane society.”
“Wonderful! I’ll call for you at seven o’clock tomorrow night.” Elspeth leaned back as a servant came to collect their plates and bowls. “What’s for dessert? Is it cake? Oh, you’ve never had chocolate before, have you, Imogen? You will love chocolate cake.”
Imogen loved chocolate cake so much she had two pieces. Full and happy, she stretched out in the carriage and thought about how nice everything was here. Nice rooms, nice baths, nice cake. Nice bed with nice pillows. She was looking forward to snuggling into that bed. So much better than sleeping pillows on the ground.
The thought brought her out of her reverie. One day and she was already thinking how much better city life was than that of the Kirkellan. She would be going home in a year; she wouldn’t be able to take that bed with her, or the tub and its tap. She could arrange to trade for chocolate—in fact, she needed to make a note about that—but she doubted they could cook cake in their camp-stoves. Everything she enjoyed here she would have to leave behind. I am a Kirkellan warrior, she reminded herself, and that is the life I want.
Imogen lay naked on her wonderful bed, her damp hair fanned out on the pillow behind her, and sighed with pure contentment at being clean. Elspeth had been right; lying immersed in hot water with her feet dangling over the edge of the tub (it wasn’t quite big enough to fit her long legs) was wonderful. She felt totally relaxed, boneless, as if she were made of warm honey that puddled in the creases of her blanket and would pour off the edge of the bed if she weren’t careful. She’d taken advantage of the limitless hot water to wash her clothing, scrubbing it with the scented soap she’d found in a cupboard with some thick, nappy drying cloths. She wished now she hadn’t washed her shirt; it was the only one she had, and she was starting to feel cold, but it had been so filthy she couldn’t bear to wear it one second longer. She crawled under the blankets and stretched. Her fears about getting too attached to city comforts were less urgent today. Surely it wasn’t wrong to enjoy these pleasures while she had them? In fact, it might be considered part of her ambassador’s position to respect the customs of the land she was in. That was an excellent justification. She’d have to remember it for later.
She rolled out of bed and padded into the sitting room—that was a name that made sense, you sat in the sitting room—to check on her clothes, drying before the fire she’d asked a servant to build while she was in the bathing chamber. And what a fireplace, too, drawing perfectly and letting no smoke into the room or, more importantly, onto her clothes. She fingered the fabric. Her silk undergarments were warm, her shirt was mostly dry now, and her trousers just needed to be turned again. She left her clothing where it lay and sat down on one of the chairs. The fabric was almost as soft as the blanket on her bed. She lay back and put her feet on the low table. It couldn’t be for eating at, she realized; Tremontana
ns, like the Ruskalder, ate sitting on chairs, not propped on cushions. So she might as well make use of it this way.
“Imogen—oh!” Elspeth squeaked and backed out quickly, slamming the door.
“You do not to—you should not enter without being asked,” Imogen called out, laughing. That was a surprise the Princess hadn’t been expecting. She got up and put her clothing on, cringing at the dampness in the seams and crotch of her trousers. She opened the door and found Elspeth still standing there, her face crimson.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t think—why were you—” Elspeth stammered.
“I washed my clothes,” Imogen said. “Now they and I are clean.” She held the door open for Elspeth to enter.
“You washed—” Imogen looked at her in confusion. “Imogen, we have people to do that for us here. You could have…but then of course you wouldn’t know. I’m sorry. I made assumptions.”
“It is all right for me to wash my clothes,” Imogen assured her. “I do—did—have done it many years.”
“Yes, but you don’t have to,” Elspeth said. “We can—did you wash them in your tub?”
“Of course. And the soap is very nice.” Imogen sniffed her own arm. Perfumed, like a flower. She liked the idea. Maybe she could introduce perfumed soap to the kinship. “But I will know now to ask Mistress Schotton to wash them.”
Elspeth closed her eyes. “You smell lovely,” she said. “Do you need help getting ready? I was thinking you might want help dressing, tonight, your first appearance as ambassador of the Kirkellan and all that, and I didn’t know if you had a lady’s maid yet.”
Imogen laughed. “I have dressed myself since I was a small child, Elspeth.”
Rider of the Crown Page 18
