A New Princess

by A. R. Henle

  He put a hand on one shoulder and squeezed to offer comfort. No words sprung to mind.

  But words weren’t necessary. She leaned into him, and again he held her close. He’d never given the matter of having children much thought. He had quite enough siblings and several times as many nieces and nephews. All the same, he understood at least some part of the pain she might feel—of not being able to do something, whether or not he wanted it.

  So he folded an arm around her. Rocked her. Brushed kisses across her hair. Didn’t say it would be all right somehow because it wouldn’t and she’d know that better than him.

  When her rigidness eased, she turned her face toward his. He patted away the dampness in her eyes. She straightened the set of his tunic and mantle along his shoulders.

  The result was two pairs of lips in close proximity.

  He stole a kiss. Soft, warm, gentle. Pulled back and waited for her response, her choice.

  Tilting forward, she lifted her face to his for another kiss.

  “Gisela? Are you—Oh!”

  Having missed the signs of Amara's approach, they sprang apart and rocked against the balustrade with the force of their movement.

  “I am so sorry, I’ll just go back—”

  “No need.” Stevan licked his lips to savor the last sweet taste of Gisela. “I was just pointing out the palace. I’ll go check on dinner.”

  “Stay.” Amara patted his shoulder as she made an arc around him to the far side of Gisela. “I apologize for my interruption. I wanted only a brief word, in case there is not a chance to say this much tomorrow. But it applies to the both of you in different measure.”

  “Both of us?” Gisela shifted back against the railing, away from Amara and Stevan.

  “Do not let the other princesses make you feel less than what you are, Gisela, which is a princess and their equal. Even as you, Stevan, are a match for any of the compeers. But if you ever do . . .” Amara stretched out a hand to touch the streak in Gisela’s hair. The younger woman stood strong without flinching, although her hands tightened on the railing. “Go stand upon a Shadow of the Moon for a little while and you may realize how much power and life you still have in you.”

  “The Shadow of the Moon?” An odd note entered Gisela’s voice. “There’s one here?”

  “Yes. They’re uncanny things.” Cold rippled up Stevan’s spine in memory of the times he’d passed across one, at the summer or winter palace or up in the hills of his youth. He pointed to a small circular area set in a clearing surrounded by trees. A spot that seemed to absorb light and not give back, although it wasn’t dark or shadowy gray in color but rather an unnatural grayish-green. “It’s dead. There’s no life there at all. Deader than dead.”

  Upon which he understood Amara’s reasoning. In such a place, one could not help but feel the presence of one’s own life in contrast.

  “Then why build the palace so close?” Gisela stared at the spot. “I presume it was here first, or after?”

  “The Shadow was here first.” Amara stood next to Gisela, shoulder to shoulder. “Nearly every Terparchon has pursued the goal of building palaces next to all twelve of them someday, even though only eight lie within Codaros’ boundaries.”

  “Twelve?” Gisela shuddered. “An unnatural number, too easily divided.”

  “I heard there were thirteen.” Stevan tried to tote them up in his mind, since Amara continued to linger and Gisela had a distracted air.

  “Twelve.” Amara grunted. “People may claim there's a thirteenth Shadow, but that's not but a shadow of a shadow. Things grow there; only weeds, but they flourish. On the true Shadows nothing grows, they are so far out of balance. But I interrupted you.” She stepped back, a smile on her face. “I will have dinner held for you.”

  Although she left, the mood had changed. Gisela held onto the railing, hands loose although her body vibrated with energy as though a lute string recently plucked.

  Stevan remained at her side. A sliver of the moon rose above the lake—so faint it barely cast a reflection in the glittering waters. Time remained before the moon grew full. The interruption might have set matters back, but they’d made progress toward the next time it grew round.

  He now knew one of her sorrows. The law of balance meant that, if he determined to continue a courtship, he would have to offer her a corresponding sorrow or weakness in turn.

  Yet the way Amara had worded her advice concerned him. That he and Gisela were the equal of any other compeer and princess he accepted.

  But was a compeer a match for a princess outside of Dancing? Compeers' names weren't commonly known the way princesses were. Stevan combed through his memories, but couldn't recall noticing any other than the royal offspring and one of the royal councilors. On the other hand, he'd heard many jokes about how fast the princesses burned through partners, even before being raised to that rank.

  He desired Gisela, but not at the cost of being scorched.

  Chapter 15

  For a day Gisela dreaded, the morning dawned entirely too nice. A hot sun burned as usual overhead, but ample breezes blew in off the lake to cool the procession’s descent. A lovely mix of puffy white and pale-gray clouds marked the otherwise bright blue sky, save for a faint hint of dark gray along the horizon. Thanks to a brief rain shower prior to dawn, feet, hooves, and wheels kicked up little dust from the road, yet faced only a few spots of mud all easily avoided.

  The lightest and loveliest of Gisela’s new tunics flowed about her. Embroidered flowers and stars enlivened the hems of the pale violet gauze. Today’s mantle, of deeper violet, had originally concealed the embroidery, but Emmi managed to take it up.

  “You shouldn’t have. I could have sewn it myself.”

  Emmi had waved off Gisela’s protests. “That’s not your place anymore,” the other dam insisted. “You Dance, I sew.”

  And clean and mend and so many other tasks, not least of which was lining Gisela’s newest sandals with soft cloths. Thus the violet-dyed straps, which criss-crossed her feet at different angles than the previous day’s footwear, didn’t chafe her skin anew.

  To think that Gisela, who’d once rarely worn anything on her feet, now had so many pairs of sandals. And clothes. And needed take little time in caring for them.

  If this were a taste of the luxuries she’d find at court, she stood atop a slippery slope and might be all-too-easily corrupted.

  Yet, Emmi had summed up what Gisela could do in recompense quite neatly.

  She would Dance.

  But what kind of Dances might she work? Drying the road was the merest trifle, no doubt. Easing storms and coaxing water in times of drought, those she would not mind at all assisting with. On the other hand, she now believed previous Dancing Princesses could have destroyed her Escalad, though she did not know whether they had.

  What if she were asked to help mete out destruction to others?

  Ilburna had made clear to Gisela her first duty was to the Escalli through service at court. Dancing in exchange for tax abatement. The use of her eyes and ears to feed news back, as she could.

  When Gisela posed that same question to the older dam, after admitting the power of dancing, Ilburna had closed her eyes and sighed. She had no answer for Gisela then. The next morning, before Gisela left, she passed on only a few pieces of advice.

  “Do as little harm to others as you can.” Ilburna had cupped Gisela’s head within her hands. Her fingers trembled, sending sympathetic resonance through Gisela’s cheeks. “For all else, trust your own judgment. We trust in you.”

  Gisela would have to remain strong and resist temptation.

  First she had to walk downhill.

  This proved trickier than expected. Flat-topped stones lined the road but had settled at a slightly different angle, so that each step required adjusting her stance. After the first few hours, her ankles and legs ached far more than arms and shoulders.

  She spoke less, focusing instead on keeping her breathing even and her ey
es on the road.

  Amara and Stevan kept pace. They gave occasional grunts suggesting they found the descent troublesome as well, but managed to speak off and on, pointing out this feature or that in the town and palace below.

  When they reached flatter lands, the two fell into step behind her. The town walls began to loom in the distance. The gilded palace walls rose beyond.

  The road down the hillside joined with others, with an increase in traffic. Carters and peddlers toted wares in donkey carts and tall backpacks. Traders led convoys with attendant guards to ensure the safety of their goods. The stony surface might be more even, but now Gisela had to keep aware to dodge spots marked with urine or feces the rain had not washed away.

  Amara made changes to the order of their procession on the flats. Two guards led, as before.

  Gisela followed, with Amara and Stevan behind her and two more guards. Then Rik and Emmi with the donkey cart, and the last guards at the end.

  Even as Amara rearranged their order, she drew from the cart a thin circlet of silver twined with gold. Burnished to an impressive brightness, it drew all eyes. The maker had engraved a pattern of hands clasping hands around the edge. No one else might see, unless they came close.

  But all saw the glittering brilliance gracing Gisela’s head.

  The metal itself didn’t weigh much. It sat light across her brow and along the sides. Yet it grew warm, even hot, as she walked. Made her head sweat more than the rest of her.

  The more so as it drew attention.

  First from Stevan, who dropped his chin low and bowed, his light green mantle fluttering and the thick, gold embroidery at throat reflecting light back in dancing circles. When he raised his head, his eyes had a watery sheen. He took a step backward, dropping into formation behind her even though she’d nodded for him to join her if he would.

  Respect—and rejection? His withdrawal to walk behind was only slightly eased by his evident admiration. Which did little good alone. Bitterness flooded her mouth.

  The others’ open approval gave a little balm. Amara, Rik, and Emmi all beamed at Gisela’s new appearance. Although dressed well, in varying shades of blue and purple, their lightweight tunics and mantles were pale and subtle in color, allowing her darker shades to draw attention.

  The guards marching before her stood straighter, shoulders high.

  Before, their procession mingled with the others with little difference. With the addition of the circlet, all changed. Passers-by drew back and gave Gisela and the others more room. Carters and traders pulled to the side and bowed at the waist, shallow or deep, as they passed. Even rich traders bent their heads and offered signs of respect.

  Moreover, they all watched her. So many eyes and unspoken thoughts. The air around seemed to thicken, making it harder to breathe. Not merely a trick of heat and humidity, but something more. As though the breezes lifted hopes and expectations from those watching and draped them upon Gisela.

  The weight of unspoken expectancy grew heavier as they entered the city. The air grew hotter, thicker, as stone walls grew to either side. Gisela snapped her mouth shut more than once, on realizing she gaped at the massive buildings. Some had three, four, and more stories. Plants grew on balconies from some upper levels, dripping the occasional leaf or flower petal. Elsewhere, cords stretched across the street from building to building. Damp tunics and mantles hung to dry, occasionally falling upon those walking below.

  Here and there lay open spaces, gardens and plazas filled with multi-colored blooms, fruit trees, and vegetables plants rising knee- and waist-high.

  Sandals slapping against the stone-lined streets, the guards led a twisting way. Forward several paces, then turn and to the right. To the left. Then left again.

  Gisela would never find her way out without assistance. There was no place to go but forward.

  To the palace.

  A lump formed in her belly. Despite hurried lessons on the road, she only half-remembered how to greet the Terparchon and Marchon. Or anyone at court, for that matter.

  Walls of gray stone stretched out to either side. Flecks of gold and copper within the stones caught select rays of sunlight and magnified them. Soldiers stationed atop appeared as spots against the bright sky. After no more than a breath or two of looking at the wrong section, Gisela blinked several times and turned away. Spots continued to jiggle in her eyes as she focused on a different section of the wall—and the gate.

  Gridded doors set into an arch in the wall lay open. The bars themselves were a dull gray, both up-and-down and side-to-side. Each place where they crossed bore an intricate cast animal or bird, from donkeys and oxen at the bottom to falcons and eagles in flight up high. All different, all with some touch of colored enamel even if only on the eyes or as beads of blood on claws or talons.

  Guards in boiled leather armor and red capes stood watch at the opening. The smells of sweat and leather hung so thick about them Gisela swallowed to dispel the taste. All but one carried spears and had long knives strapped to their waists. The exception, with a sword as well as knife and a copper circlet across his pasty, sweaty forehead, moved forward to block the way.

  The guards marching ahead of Gisela swung to either side, leaving her exposed to move forward alone.

  Her steps slowed, faltered.

  The sword-bearer frowned and squinted at her.

  “I don’t know you. Who comes?”

  Amara and Stevan caught up with Gisela, framing her.

  “We bring the new princess.” Amara waved a hand at him. “Let us pass.”

  The other continued to gaze at Gisela for several breaths. Then moved on to glance Amara’s way, and gave a half-bow.

  “You’ve been much looked for.” Half-turning, they snapped their fingers and jerked their head.

  A tan youngling made of all arms and long legs, dressed only in a red loincloth, leapt from the shadows beyond the gate and streaked off across the wide plaza. His sandaled feet slapped the stones, setting up a mute echo as he went.

  “Has there been trouble?” Amara took Gisela’s arm and urged her forward. “There seems to be no one about. Most unusual.”

  “The Marchon and Terparchon have each gone hunting, taking much of the court with them.” One hand on sword hilt, the guard stood aside to let them through. “There’s little enough business at this gate with them gone, though the south gate still sees much traffic.”

  Amara continued conversation with the guard for some time. Gisela heard both voices, but the words passed through her head with little understanding.

  Mosaics covered the plaza floor and surrounding walls. Minute polished stones added up to immense creations. Giants in white, red, black, and brown gazed out from every wall. Some carried weapons and fought. Others played sports—throwing discs, running, leaping, and more.

  Below her feet lay an ocean of blues and greens studded with purple, red, and golden fish of all sizes and shapes. The plaza stones absorbed sunlight and gave back some heat, warming her feet despite the protective layer of her sandals. The warm air carried a salty aroma that dispelled the sweat and leather of the gate.

  Across the wide-open space lay the only building not decorated with mosaic figures. In sharp contrast, the walls were white-washed until they gleamed so bright as to draw the gaze despite the competition.

  Anyone walking up or down stood out.

  Emmi, Rik, and the other servants and guards slid off along the wall. Donkey hooves clopped against the stone pavement, with a lighter ring than out in the streets. Gisela turned to follow them, but Amara laid a hand on her arm. Pale lavender skin shone bright against Gisela’s violet sleeve.

  “We go in the front. Not the back or side. Chin up, my dear.” White teeth flashed as she smiled. “Remember, we need you here as much or more than your people do.”

  “So you say.” Gisela allowed Amara to lead her across the ocean mosaic to the stairs. Stevan followed behind, his mere presence reassuring even though he said nothing. A warmth and
protection at her back.

  At the top of the stairs, doors parted.

  To Gisela’s intense relief, only three people exited and descended the stairs.

  Princesses all, for each wore a circlet matching hers.

  First a dam reminscent of Amara in form and ease of movement, albeit little else. Bright red hair sprang from the new arrival’s head, scarcely tamed into a long braid down her back. A dull silver-colored mantle barely stood out against a dark gray tunic. The colors combined to leach color save undertones of green from the dam’s skin and give her an appearance of ill-health.

  “Jola.” Amara whispered in Gisela’s ear. “Born and raised near the winter palace. She’s been a princess for a decade. These past years she’s partnered with the Terparchon and Marchon’s elder daughter.”

  Next to Jola strolled a tall, lanky figure. Long limbs connected to a short torso, but they nevertheless moved with liquid grace. Shoulder-length locks of dark brown wreathed a face only a few shades paler. Their face was smooth-shaven, save for a few hints of stubble along the pointed chin. Their light orange tunic bore bright gold embroidery at neck and ankle. An artist had dyed the mantle draped around them, for it featured swirls of three different shades of orange against a red background.

  “Heron.” Amara again provided the name. “An eleee from across the northern river. A princess these past five years. They came to it late, although some of the other princesses started much older than either of you. I think you will find much in common with them.”

  The third princess started down last, but ended first. Short and delicate, but with ample curves at breast and hip, she bounced with every step. Her circlet threatened to slide off her wealth of tight, night-black curls falling to her collarbone. She too wore a silver mantle, but over a deep blue tunic that brought out sapphire undertones in her sepia-colored skin. Her hands and arms rose and fell with each bounding step, graceful as wings on a bird in flight. Seven gold bangles around her right wrist and three silver on her left chimed with the movements.