by Mark Robson
‘Oh, I’m sure he will,’ Femke declared confidently. ‘He seems like a competent enough fellow. After all, there must have been others who have needed the services of a dressmaker. I’m hardly unique in needing new clothes every now and again.’
‘Yes, my Lady. I’ll go and ask at once, my Lady.’
Versande’s young daughter left with a flustered curtsy. The man was clearly resourceful, for within the hour a dressmaker was knocking at Lady Alyssa’s door.
The dressmaker, a small, stout woman with a face that expressed little emotion, worked swiftly and with virtually no deference to Lady Alyssa’s rank or station. The moment Alyssa raised her voice in complaint at the woman’s brusque voice and no-nonsense manner, the little dress-maker stopped what she was doing and fixed her with a firm stare.
‘Do you want a new dress by tomorrow, or not?’ she asked.
‘Well, of course I do—’
‘Very well,’ the dressmaker interrupted abruptly, ‘if you’re serious, then do as I tell you and give me no grief, or I’ll walk out of here right now. I can guarantee that you’ll find no other willing to make you a dress in less than a day, and if they did, they would not have my skill. So, what will it be?’
Femke was genuinely taken aback by the little woman’s manner and realised that she had met her match. There was little to be gained by playing the stuck-up Noblewoman, so she acquiesced with a demure nod and allowed herself to be pulled and pushed around without a murmur as the dressmaker took a myriad of measurements. There were no others in the room to see her so humbled, and Femke somehow doubted the dressmaker would speak of it. She did not seem the sort to gossip.
The woman acclaimed herself the best dressmaker in Shandrim and refused to be told what to make.
‘I’ll make you a dress and you’ll like it, or you’ll not. It will matter little to me. I can always sell my wares,’ she stated, her head held high. With Femke’s measurements all noted on a piece of slate, the woman whisked out of the room, leaving Femke to wonder what manner of garment she would be brought the next day.
Femke need not have worried; the woman had not been bragging. The dress was stunning. It was made with a deep red silk and was perfectly complemented by superbly detailed silver thread-work. The subtle cut of the neckline, the beautifully stitched bodice and the delicate trim around neck and cuffs were all exquisite. It was incredible that something so beautiful could be created in less than a day.
‘Oh, wow!’ she breathed in awe. ‘That’s incredible. May I try it on, please?’
‘With that manner, you may,’ the dressmaker responded, clearly pleased by the effect of her work.
‘How is it that I’ve never heard of you before?’ Femke asked, unconsciously slipping out of character for a moment.
‘Well, I don’t just work for anyone, young Lady. Friends earn my work, and Versande has been a good friend over the years.’
‘Please, I have been terribly rude to you, for which I apologise. May I ask your name, for I would very much like to order clothes from you again in the future. You’re a genius.’
‘You may ask, Lady Alyssa, and I’ll not turn down such an honest request. My name is Rikala, but giving you my name does not automatically grant you the right to my services.’
Rikala helped Femke into the dress, carefully fastening the long double row of tiny buttons up the full length of the back. It fitted perfectly, and Femke admired herself in the mirror.
‘It’s beautiful, Rikala. Thank you – thank you so much. How much do I owe you? Whatever the price it will be worth the result.’
‘Treat my work well, Lady Alyssa,’ Rikala replied. ‘I will know if you have not. You may pay Versande my fee. I’m sure that he will exact a fair price. Good day now.’
Incredible, she thought, twirling again in front of the glass. No matter how much I learn about Shandrim, there are always more surprises around the corner.
To prove herself worthy of Rikala’s trust, Femke ordered a carriage to take her the short distance to the Palace that afternoon. Though it was no more than a minute’s walk to the gates, Femke felt that Alyssa should arrive in a style befitting her new outfit. Besides, the Emperor’s treasury was paying for her to be a rich young Lady, so she felt duty bound to play the role properly.
When she climbed out of the carriage at the Imperial Palace gates, there was no shortage of volunteers to help her down the steps. Lords and Ladies aplenty were arriving for the coronation ceremony. All were dressed in their finest for the occasion, but none failed to notice the stunningly elegant figure of Lady Alyssa. It felt wrong that eyes should be on her, as she spent most of her life being inconspicuous, yet here she was – centre stage, and loving every second of it. By being so noticeable, Femke had made herself invisible. Nobody would fail to notice her presence, but all they would see was a beautiful Noblewoman.
‘Ceremonial guard duty,’ grumbled Nelek from the other side of the tent. He was sitting cross-legged on his pile of blankets with a piece of armour in one hand and a cloth in the other. ‘Five years in the General’s Elite Legion and I’m reduced to ceremonial guard duty! What’s wrong with the regulars? Why can’t they polish their buckles and stand in a line?’
Reynik smiled to himself. Some people were never satisfied. The idea of standing on display for all the Nobility of Shandrim to see appealed to his pride in being a part of the General’s special force. To be chosen for this Legion was an honour. Those taken straight from basic infantry training were a select few, and competition was fierce for the handful of places available each year. Reynik was one of only two members in the entire Legion who had not yet celebrated his eighteenth birthday, so the achievement felt all the more special.
The young man stared for a moment at his reflection in the shining breastplate that he was polishing. Even distorted as it was by the curving surface of the metal, Reynik was pleased to see that the face looking back at him was no longer that of a boy. The intense training programme that he had undergone had matured him both physically and mentally. Only when he grinned did the boyish exuberance still shine through in his features.
Nobody deigned to answer Nelek’s grumbling. Instead, the men concentrated on getting their ceremonial armour as immaculately polished as they could. The file leader would be quick to chastise if he found so much as the slightest of blemishes in their uniform. No one with any sense upset the file leader. As far as the soldiers were concerned the file leader was a god. It followed that the file second was a demi-god, and therefore also to be obeyed without question.
Commanders, generals and those Noblemen who involved themselves with military matters were largely viewed by the men as strutting peacocks, full of their own importance but out of touch with the tough realities of front-line military life. Reynik, however, had a unique perspective on the officer ranks. Both Reynik’s father and his uncle had been Commanders in the Legions. Now that he had completed both basic infantry training and advanced training for his current post, Reynik appreciated just how extensive the officers’ knowledge had to be. He viewed neither his father nor his uncle as anything but the most professional soldiers he knew, and his ultimate goal was to emulate them by progressing through the ranks to the top levels. He desperately wanted to make his father proud.
Reynik had been subtly trained from the moment he took his first steps. His father had shown him first how to walk in step and then how to swing his arms like a marching soldier, making the whole process a child’s game which Reynik had loved playing. As he had grown, so had the games. The father and son rough-and-tumble games that he had enjoyed had not been like those of most children. Where some dads simply rolled around on the floor in fun, Reynik’s father gently introduced the techniques of unarmed combat, subtly training his son in skills that many grown men struggled to master.
As a boy, Reynik had loved to listen to his father and uncle debating tactics and military strategy. Looking back now at those discussions, it was easy to see how an officer’s pe
rspective had to differ from that of the average soldier. If his uncle had not been killed a little over two years ago, Reynik would have enjoyed listening to those debates even more now.
The memory of his uncle’s murder caused a momentary knot of anger to spasm in Reynik’s gut. He had been there when it happened. His uncle had not stood a chance. There had been no warning, no discernible motive, no provocation that could excuse the cold-blooded killing. One moment Reynik, his cousin and his uncle had been playing a game together in the street. The next moment a stranger had appeared as if from nowhere, stabbed Reynik’s uncle in the chest and run off into a nearby alley.
Reynik had gained a fleeting glimpse of the killer’s face. He knew he would never forget it. He had chased the man into the alley, but had stopped after a few paces. His cousin’s cry for help had halted him in his tracks, torn with indecision. Looking back now, it was plain to see that his choice to comfort his distraught cousin was the correct one. If he had followed the killer, it was unlikely that Reynik would have survived an encounter with him.
According to his father, the killer was most likely an assassin. It was, therefore, not surprising that the authorities had never caught him. Even now Reynik always scanned faces in public places on the off chance that he could spot the killer with the idea of bringing him to justice.
‘Right, men! Look lively.’
The powerful voice of the file second disrupted Reynik’s reverie. Everyone scrambled to their feet and stood to attention at the end of their beds.
‘Ceremonial dress. Inspection. Outside. NOW! We march to the Palace at the next call, men. Look lively now. We don’t have all day.’
CHAPTER TWO
‘Who is that?’ Lord Danar breathed, his voice low and conspiratorial.
The small group of young Noblemen around him followed Danar’s eyes with subtle glances and noted the progress of an attractive young woman in a regal, deep-red dress. One of the men coughed slightly.
‘A fascinating match for you, Danar. Lady Alyssa has an interesting reputation.’
‘Interesting? In what way, Sharyll? Speak up, man – I’ve never heard of Lady Alyssa before, nor seen her in Court.’
‘Perhaps she has deliberately avoided you, Danar. You do have something of a predatory reputation when it comes to the ladies,’ laughed one of the others in a low voice.
‘No, I doubt that,’ Sharyll said with a slight shake of his head. ‘Lady Alyssa is a random element in Shandrim. There are times when she will attend formal functions and private parties for a week or two, and then she is not seen for months. When she next shows up, it’s as if she has never been away. Where she goes and how she keeps herself so well abreast of the tattle of Court, nobody knows. She is something of an enigma.’
‘Ah, I do love a challenge,’ Danar muttered, his eyes still following Alyssa through the Great Hall.
‘Well, you could have fooled me, after some of the young ladies you have chosen to share your affections with recently! You can hardly say your last conquest was a challenge now, can you? She was all over you like a rash the moment you showed the first sign of interest in her.’ Sharyll’s eyes danced with amusement as he observed Danar’s intense gaze. ‘Lady Alyssa is very different to your usual fare. One might say her lack of relationships is what makes her unique – she’s the impossible catch. It’s said she’s the only daughter of a wealthy Merchant Lord from one of the coastal cities, though which city I’ve never heard confirmed. Money drips from her fingers, but her moods are capricious and she shuns the slightest hint of any romantic advance. You may as well try to catch the dawn mist in a jar, Danar – you’ll get nowhere.’
The young Lord tore his gaze away from Lady Alyssa and fixed his eyes on his friend’s grinning face. An expression of amusement lit his roguishly handsome features and he ran his fingers unconsciously through his jet-black hair. With a grin that accentuated his boyish dimples and set a light in his bright blue eyes, Danar gave a chuckle.
‘That’s a gauntlet I can’t resist. Ten gold sen says that I’ll have her walking by my side within a week,’ he announced.
‘Done,’ accepted Sharyll without hesitation. ‘I can feel the extra weight of your gold in my purse already. You’re throwing your money away, my friend. The old Danar charm will work no wonders on Lady Alyssa. She’ll see through you in an instant. You’re setting yourself up for a fall, Danar, and we’ll all have a laugh at your expense and a keg of ale when you pay up.’
The other young Noblemen sniggered, but Danar ignored them, choosing instead to scan the crowd for Alyssa again, his mind whirling with ideas on how he should approach her.
The gathering in the Great Hall of the Imperial Palace included Shandrim’s entire high-society clique. Everyone who was anyone milled amongst the towering pillars of the Hall, but far from being civilised and light-hearted, the buzz of conversation harboured a potentially explosive mixture of emotion. Pockets of anger and outrage were interspersed with excitement and jubilation. Facial expressions ranged from sober to virtually ecstatic; from eager anticipation to foreboding frowns. Femke was glad that Surabar had decided on a heavy military presence. Her senses were screaming warnings that the event was a disaster waiting to happen.
Maintaining a serene visage, Femke breezed through the crowd, turning heads wherever she went. It was easy to play the Lady looking as she did. She silently blessed Rikala again. With subtle curtsies to the more senior Lords and nods to the junior ones, Femke walked the length of the Great Hall identifying groups that looked to be brewing trouble. Several looked hostile to the forthcoming coronation, but her knowledge of those characters gave her confidence that they would not do anything foolish. Despite the fact that enough bile flowed amongst the Nobility to spawn a thousand assassination attempts, Femke started to relax.
‘Maybe I’ll get to enjoy the occasion after all,’ she muttered.
It was the old-school Noblemen who worried Femke most; those Lords who believed nobility came from one’s bloodline. They would never welcome an Emperor born out of the military – even if he were a General. Surabar had no Noble lineage and no ‘House’ to back his claim to the Emperor’s Mantle. The old school did not care about Surabar’s fitness to rule. To them he was a pretender to the Mantle, and they were unlikely to rest until one of true Noble blood held it in his stead.
Despite the pockets of bad feeling, Femke felt no air of imminent action within the Hall. The announcement of the coronation had been too sudden and surprising for any attempts at plotting. Surabar’s plan of keeping the Nobles off balance was starting well.
When Femke spotted Lord Danar moving through the crowd towards her she groaned inwardly. There was nowhere to escape to and he was homing in on her like a moth drawn to light. ‘Of all the venues for him to single me out at!’ she cursed silently. There could be no quick excuse here, followed by a swift exit. Femke would have to politely negotiate his inevitable advances as diplomatically as possible. Danar was a notorious womaniser. He was also the eldest son of Lord Tremarle, one of the most powerful Lords in Shandrim. Therefore, despite an insane urge to kick him between the legs, she curtsied and met his sparkling blue eyes with appropriate respect for his rank. His sweeping approach and ridiculously low bow for one of such seniority set her teeth on edge before he had even opened his mouth to speak.
‘Well met, my Lady,’ he said, flashing a smile that was clearly reserved for the ladies.
‘Indeed, Lord Danar, it is an auspicious day for meetings, is it not?’
‘You have me at a disadvantage, my Lady. Whilst you obviously know my name, I do not yet have the pleasure of knowing yours.’
‘Come now, Lord Danar, you’re not trying to tell me that amongst the notable group of young Lords you were with as I entered the Hall, not one could tell you my name? I find that hard to believe,’ she said, with a tone of gentle reproof. ‘I would have thought Lord Sharyll at least would have remembered me, for we had a lengthy conversation not six months ago.’
‘Unmasked as a rascal from the start,’ he admitted with a shrug, employing the boyish grin that he knew to be devastating. ‘Alas, I merely wanted to hear the name from your own lips, my Lady, for I did wonder if they were setting me up. It’s not uncommon for my friends to play practical jokes, and I’m sure that if you look at the group you mentioned, you’ll see eyes that follow us closely.’
Femke looked. Sure enough heads turned away rapidly, causing her to laugh aloud. She also used the moment to sweep the crowd with her eyes again, but there was no sign of imminent trouble. Femke returned her focus to Lord Danar, and despite her irritation at his interruption to her task she felt a flutter of attraction. Under other circumstances, Femke knew she would have enjoyed being courted by Danar – even though she knew him to be a philanderer. But Femke would not risk her cover identity to pursue a frivolous flirtation on this occasion.
‘I am Alyssa,’ Femke said, deliberately dropping the ‘Lady’ title as was appropriate when speaking to a more senior Lord.
‘Lady Alyssa,’ Danar acknowledged with another polite bow. ‘Curious. It seems that Sharyll not only remembers you, but he chose to tell me your real name. Do you think he was double-bluffing me? Or maybe . . . oh, whatever! The connivances and games of the young men of the Court are unlikely to interest a beautiful young Lady like you.’
‘“A beautiful young Lady like you?” And what exactly does that mean, Lord Danar?’ Femke asked with raised eyebrows, her focus slipping over his shoulder for a second to observe the groups of Noblemen behind him before meeting his gaze again.
‘Oh, nothing sinister, I assure you,’ he replied easily, not noticing her split attention. ‘I merely observed that you didn’t seek out those of your own kind on entering the Hall. Indeed, seldom have I seen someone so at home with her own company.’
‘Very perceptive, my Lord, but why then did you choose to invade my comfort space? I’m not known for my love of male company, so you must have a reason other than your own loneliness. A bet, maybe? A wager with those conniving friends?’
