by Caitlin Seal
“Now close your eyes,” Servala said.
Corten did. With his eyes shut, the darkness felt more imposing around him. He had to fight to keep from opening them and running toward the relative safety of the door. He felt Servala’s grip tighten as though she sensed the impulse.
“Listen,” Servala said softly. “The waves are crashing against the shore. The air’s cool, and still damp from the morning mist that’s burning off. Through the last white swirls, you can just see the Gull. She’s a two-mast ship, square rigged, and twenty yards from fore to aft. Her sails are set and waiting for a wind, the cloth so white their tops seem to vanish in the mist. She’s not a fancy ship, but she’s sleek, and her sides are painted blue like sunlight glinting off shallow water. She’s got aether lamps set all along the rails. They’re beacons, set out so that no matter how dark it gets, her sailors can always find their way home.” There was a catch in Servala’s voice on the last words. She shifted until Corten sensed her standing in front of him, still holding his hand tight.
“Can you see her in your mind?” Servala asked, her voice a whisper.
“Yes.” He could imagine the ship, her sides lapped by gentle waves he couldn’t feel. Though he’d lived in Ceramor for years, he’d never spent much time at the docks. Despite that, there was a clarity and detail to the image that he suspected was somehow coming from Servala. He could almost hear the creak of wood and the snap of sailcloth.
“Good,” Servala said. “Now take this.” She pressed a thick rope into his open hand.
Corten opened his eyes in surprise and stared down at the rope. It was half as thick as his wrist, and dripping wet. His eyes followed it slowly through the water that now surged cool against his legs and up to the waiting ship. “Wow,” he said softly.
Servala let out a whoop and dropped his hand. She grinned fiercely at the ship. “You can see her, can’t you?”
“Yeah, what’d you do?” Corten asked.
“It’s in the talking,” Servala said, still grinning. “I had to find a way to get you to believe in the Gull like I do. I had to make you hear what she really means. You’re the first one who’s been able to hear it.”
Corten looked back down at the rope. Memories of Naya rose up through his mind, the soft smile and the longing look in her eyes whenever she’d talk about the ocean and her father’s ship. “I’d heard something like it before. I guess that helps,” he said. His throat felt tight around the words. He looked up at the ship again and had to fight the disappointment as some irrational part of his mind expected to see Naya waiting for him on deck.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” Servala said. “Come aboard.”
Took on four hundred crates of oranges from the west Belvales region before departure. Feels strange leaving without the girl, but it’s time she saw the true nature of our work. Creator willing, Valn will find someone to continue her education. Must be getting soft, nearly called her back as she left the ship. But I’ve watched her grow. She’s clever. She’ll play her part when the time comes.
Naya slammed her father’s logbook shut. She was getting faster at decrypting the new cipher. But after a night spent reading, she was starting to wish she’d thrown the cursed thing into the sea. Most days her father had written only a few notes on weather or prices, or what cargo the Gallant had taken on at various ports. But quite a few of the longer entries were about her. After everything that had happened, reading her father’s praise made the back of her neck prickle.
Felicia arrived a few minutes later to help her prepare for the ball and Naya welcomed the distraction with relief.
“I know you said you don’t need a maidservant,” Felicia said, laying out a dress of blue silk and silver lace. “But the ties on this will be tricky without someone to help.”
Naya ran her fingers over the smooth fabric. The skirt was long and flowing. The sleeves were lace, designed to flare at the wrist and drape over the backs of the hands. “This is beautiful,” she said. The dress was far more elaborate than anything she’d ever worn.
Felicia smiled. “I’ve been thinking about what you said last night. It can’t be easy having to be here with all these people who think you’re a monster. But if you have to face them, you might as well look beautiful while you do it.”
Naya stared at the dress and tried to imagine herself wearing it, striding with her head held high through a ballroom full of startled politicians and Talmiran nobles. There was something powerful about that image that reminded her of aether humming in her bones. A slow smile spread across her lips. “A beautiful monster. I guess we could try that.”
Felicia returned her smile with a grin, then got to work. Naya stared at her reflection as Felicia wove the elaborate network of ribbon ties securing the dress. Her old face stared back at her—hazel eyes and a sharp nose surrounded by a tumble of brown curls. Studying and working for her father hadn’t given her many opportunities to dress up, and she’d always thought herself plain. But tonight the curves of her dress seemed to hug her just right, the blue contrasting prettily with the rich brown of her hair. She looked like herself, yet somehow completely different.
Felicia met Naya’s eyes in the mirror and gave her a satisfied smile. “You look perfect.”
* * *
Naya walked into the hall, her feet feeling strange in a pair of silk slippers. Back in Ceramor, Corten had convinced her to give up shoes. A wraith’s feet couldn’t be hurt by cold or sharp stones, and going barefoot had given her a better grip when running along the rooftops of Belavine. Here bare feet would draw too many whispers. She didn’t want to give the people of Talmir any more reasons than they already had to scorn her.
Naya found Francisco waiting in the hall wearing a fine black suit decorated with silver embroidery. His hair was slicked back in the latest style, and the gash on his forehead was obvious despite an attempt to cover it with powder. The formal clothes made him look older than he had on the ship, and his face was set in the carefully neutral expression of someone used to wearing a mask. But when his eyes met hers, they widened, then drifted down to take in the dress.
“You like it?” Naya asked.
Francisco’s mask returned. He bowed. Naya noticed that his suit had been cut with a higher collar than was usual in Ceramor and that he wore a silver-and-red patterned cravat that hid the ring of tattoos encircling his neck.
“Felicia did a good job,” Francisco said. “Are you ready? The rest of the delegation is gathering at the end of the hall.”
Naya nodded, then followed him to where the others waited. Almost twenty people were gathered in the hallway, every one of them dressed in fine suits and gowns. Naya didn’t recognize all of them, but from her lessons in Ceramor she knew most were scribes, translators, and assistants. Delence waited at the end of the hall with the five others that represented the core of the delegation. He spoke softly with Lady Marcel, a tall, silver-haired woman in an elegant purple dress who served as the delegation’s expert on foreign law. Lord Vanissare, King Allence’s master of trade, stood beside her, his puff of disheveled gray hair making an odd contrast to his sharp suit. To his left, Admiral Artello leaned against the wall, wearing a formal captain’s jacket and fine blue trousers rather than a gown. She gave Naya and Francisco a curt nod as they approached.
Naya stepped sideways as she passed Lady Briello, who was gesturing animatedly while speaking with a middle-aged man with very thick eyebrows and a severe expression. That had to be Lord Falcasio, who represented the interests of the Ceramoran orchard owners—the backbone of Ceramor’s economy after the war.
Once everyone was gathered, the tall steward from the night before escorted them to the central palace. Everywhere Naya looked she saw the sheen of gilt and fine carved wood. The carpet beneath her slippers was thick, and the walls were decorated with paintings of country life so detailed she imagined she could step through the picture frames to
disappear among their fields of shifting wheat.
The hallway intersected with several others, and they joined the richly dressed crowd waiting outside the arched entrance to the central ballroom. Naya tried not to stare as a Banian delegate brushed past in a flowing cotton robe bound at the waist by an elaborate green sash. Near the front of the crowd a group of Silmaran delegates stood close together, speaking softly. The arms of their suits were covered in complex embroidery that served as a sort of public biography for those who knew how to read the colorful designs. Her own dress was more in line with Talmiran styles. Lace had come back into fashion in Talmir while she was away, and everywhere she saw it spilling from jacket cuffs and accenting colorful silk dresses. Unease tightened in Naya’s chest as she felt the aether of the crowd pressing in on her. She’d been to parties with her father, but never anything so grand as this.
She tried to summon again that sense of power she’d felt back in her rooms. The people in this place wanted to dismiss her as something monstrous, but she would show them she was so much more than that.
Naya stood a little straighter. As she did, her eyes were drawn to a man and a woman near the edge of the crowd. They stood a good three inches taller than everyone around them and had light skin and strange hair that shone like burnished copper. Their clothing was like nothing Naya had ever seen. Both wore loose silk pants bunched into high boots and long shirts cinched with heavy belts studded in gems and silver. More gems gleamed from heavy bracelets around their wrists, and delicate black leather gloves covered their hands.
“Who are they?” she whispered to Francisco. He too was staring at the strange pair, as were many others in the waiting crowd.
“They must be the ambassadors from Endra.”
“Endra?” Naya asked. “I didn’t know they had ambassadors.” Endra was the name for the lands east of the Blackspine Mountains. Naya knew little about them save that the region was populated by scattered city-states like the one Reial claimed his last ship had been sent to. It wasn’t unheard of for merchants to try sailing the northern passage, or for caravans to attempt crossing Al Dras Pass to trade with one of the cities. But Naya had never heard of any of the city-states seeking formal contact with their western neighbors.
“According to my father,” Francisco said, “they arrived a few days ago with an entourage of servants and performers. They’ve got a new queen who claims to speak for all the cities. She says she wants to build waystations and open up safer trade routes through the mountain passes.”
“Why are they here tonight? They’re not a part of the alliance, are they?”
“Not that I know of. I’m not sure why Queen Lial invited them,” Francisco said.
Naya wanted to ask more, but before she could they reached the entrance to the ballroom. Up ahead someone called out, “Lord Salno Delence and the Ceramoran delegation.”
As they entered the ballroom, Naya’s eyes widened. She’d heard stories about the center of Queen Lial’s palace, but she’d always assumed they were exaggerations. She craned her neck to stare at the vaulted ceiling—white plaster crossed by gilded beams in a repeated sunburst pattern reminiscent of the shape of the palace’s five wings. The walls were shining white marble covered by fine tapestries displaying the history of Talmir, and the floor mirrored the patterns of the ceiling with inlays of blue and gold stone. Four massive tables had been set up in a half circle facing a raised platform in the center of the room. The chairs were arranged such that everyone seated would have a clear view of the platform.
A fifth table sat off to the right on an even higher platform. There, a squad of wary soldiers watched over Queen Lial and her two young children, the Crown Prince Gel and his sister, Princess Misa. The queen wore a gown of palest blue and gold lace, the bodice crusted with pearls and sapphires so it shone like sunlight on waves. It was a dramatic difference from when Naya had glimpsed her at the Gallows Day festival last year. Apparently, since then, the queen had completed her three years of public mourning over her husband’s passing.
Servants appeared to lead the Ceramoran delegates to their table. Naya found herself seated at the right end of the table, with Francisco on her left. The position gave her a good view of both the platform in the center of the room and the royal table. She was more than a little surprised to see the two Endran ambassadors take seats beside the queen and her children. She glanced to the side and found Francisco watching them as well, a faint frown on his face.
The room’s aether was thick with emotions, and Naya had to concentrate to avoid getting overwhelmed. Conversation swelled around them, and soon servants were moving between tables and laying out food. The first course was a soup, something bright green and fragrant with mingled herbs and vegetables. Naya breathed in the steam, then dipped her spoon and raised it to her lips. She couldn’t eat, but by concentrating she could just taste the sweetness of the summer vegetables and imagine the soup’s creamy texture.
“You don’t have to pretend for their sake,” Francisco said softly.
Naya opened her eyes and found him watching her. “It isn’t about them,” she said. She set the spoon down, feeling suddenly foolish. “Anyway, why do you care? Are you worried I won’t be distracting enough if I try to enjoy myself a little?”
Francisco’s forehead wrinkled in a scowl that disappeared an instant later under his polite mask. “I only meant…never mind.”
Naya held the spoon but didn’t raise it to her lips again. She could feel the gazes focused on them like a heavy cloud looming in the aether. She glanced sideways at Francisco, who was eating his soup with the mechanical determination of a marching soldier. Here she was, sitting at a feast she couldn’t eat, next to a boy she’d watched die. All around them, the most powerful people in the world talked and schemed.
“What are you smiling at?” Francisco asked.
Naya shook her head. “Do you ever wonder if what we’re trying to do here is completely mad?”
Francisco took another bite of his soup. “Every day,” he muttered.
Servants came and went, carrying course after course of delicacies. Naya watched each one go with growing frustration. Once, in Ceramor, she’d tried eating a piece of cake in a fit of impulse. The results had not been pleasant, but watching the endless procession of flaky pastries, spiced vegetables, and buttered fish disappearing back into the kitchens almost made her want to repeat the unfortunate experiment.
It didn’t help that the servant delivering her food shook with fear every time he set a plate in front of her. Naya tried smiling at him, but that only seemed to make things worse. The back of her neck itched as she sensed people from the nearby tables staring at her and Francisco. She distracted herself by focusing on the dancers and musicians performing on the stage in front of the delegates’ tables. Women in flowing gowns twirled and dipped while men in jackets and loose trousers demonstrated the dramatic leaps and flips common in Talmiran folk dances.
When the dancers finally finished, Queen Lial stood, signaling that the formal entertainment was over, and invited the guests to enjoy the remainder of the evening.
“Come on,” Francisco said as he and Naya stepped away from the table. Servants rushed forward to move the long tables to the sides of the room, while musicians with string instruments began playing softly next to the dance floor. “I want to find some of the younger members of the Banian delegation.”
Naya nodded, preparing to follow him. But something out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. She turned, noting one of the servants helping move the table next to theirs. The woman’s hair was more gray than brown, and the way she held her head down made it hard to see her face, but there was something familiar about her.
Shock hit Naya like a cold wave. “Celia?”
“What did you say?” Francisco asked, raising his voice to speak over the growing buzz of conversation and music.
“I’ll
be right back,” Naya said.
“Wait—” Francisco made to grab her wrist, but Naya moved before he could reach her. By the time she managed to squeeze through the small crowd of guests gathering around the dance floor, the servants had already finished their task. An elderly man in a steward’s uniform was giving orders while other servants draped the tables in fresh white cloth and set out a spread of drinks and sweets. Naya scanned their faces, but Celia wasn’t among them.
Naya hesitated. A moment ago she’d felt certain of what she’d seen. But how many times had she imagined catching a glimpse of Corten, only to turn and see a stranger? It didn’t make sense for Celia to be here. Unless…Naya drew in a sharp breath. If Queen Lial had been overseeing Valn’s mission directly, then Celia could have returned to the palace seeking sanctuary. If Celia was here, she could be the key to proving a connection between the queen and Valn’s plot.
“Do you smell something rotting?” said a woman to Naya’s right, her voice loud and faintly slurred with drink.
Naya glanced over and saw two Talmiran women dressed in lace-draped gowns, one young, the other perhaps in her forties. The older woman was staring at Naya like she was something foul dragged in off the street. “Oh dear, it seems the rumors were true.” She held a glass of wine in one hand and from the flush on her cheeks, Naya guessed it wasn’t her first.
Naya felt heat rise on her own face. She was about to turn away from the pair when she recognized the younger woman. She looked about a year or so older than Naya, with dark eyes and brown hair spun up in an elaborate style to highlight her slender neck. “Sai?” Naya asked. “Sai Ayun? What are you doing here?”
The older woman looked at Sai. “You know this creature?”
Sai looked away. “No, of course not,” she said quickly.
A small voice in Naya whispered that she should just walk away. But the older woman’s insults and Sai’s cowardly evasion were more than she could ignore. “Don’t be silly, Sai, I’m Naya Garth, we shared classes at the Merchants Academy,” Naya said in a tone that was perhaps only a little too bright to be taken as sincere. Sai had been a year above her at the academy and had come from a wealthy family just one step shy of nobility. Despite that, she’d been one of the few who’d never looked down on Naya for her parentage.