The Land of Night

by Kirby Crow

  Will I be enough for him?

  Nenos would not leave Scarlet alone to dress after the che, but laid out a set of clothing on the silken bed. Scarlet balked at the colors, blue and gold velvet, with so many rows of shiny buttons that they dazzled the eye.

  “Where do you expect me to wear this, a bhoros house?” Of course, the old man couldn’t have understood the words. Perhaps there weren’t even bhoros houses here! But Scarlet reasoned that Nenos could read the disgust on his face, at least.

  Nenos sighed and urged Scarlet in low, incomprehensible tones to accept the clothing, but Scarlet continued to refuse. Eventually Nenos handed Scarlet a robe and called Chos in. Chos’s round, placid face reflected concern and his voice rose, but Nenos silenced the servant with a look and gave curt orders that Scarlet did not understand.

  Chos vanished and soon returned with a sulky expression and a gray, knee-length woolen jacket that Nenos indicated was called a hapcoat. Scarlet had glimpsed other men in the palace and in the city wear these, and it did not disturb him as it might have if they had brought him a version of the virca – a sort of tunic joined with a full skirt – which Liall had worn on their first night in this palace. He may be a stranger to Rshan, but he'd be damned if they were going to dress him up like a girl!

  As far as Scarlet could tell, only men wore the hapcoat. They were long, somewhat slender coats with tailored sleeves that came past the wrist almost to the knuckles. This coat, somber gray with silver stitches, was held closed by discreet ties down the side that ran from under the arm to the gathered waist, and from there the coat fell in folds and pleats to the knee and was left halfway open in front and in back. For ease of movement, Scarlet presumed. They also brought him breeches of some kind of soft, ash-colored material. There were new boots, too, brushed leather, surely to be worn only inside. The hapcoat was made of wool that was soft as velvet, but there was little embroidery on it and none of the rows of glittery buttons Scarlet was beginning to dislike. He signaled to Nenos his acceptance of the garment, but he could not manage the laces up the sides, so he had to submit to more of their attentions. The shirt they wanted him to wear beneath the coat was dark gray silk which felt oddly cool on his skin, but at least he felt comfortably clothed when they were finished.

  Properly plumed and trussed, Scarlet stood in front of the tall mirror and made a face.

  “Well, I don’t look as bad as I feared,” he said to Nenos, who did not speak Bizye and would not understand, “and nowhere near as frilly and primped as some of the men I’ve seen in this palace, but I don’t look like myself either.” He flexed his left hand. At home, he usually hid the mark with a special glove, but here, where everyone had already seen his too-slender hand with its missing fifth finger, there was no need.

  Uncomprehending, Nenos stood a little behind him with Chos, smiling and nodding, and Scarlet could not help but make comparisons between his reflection and theirs. Nenos was as tall as Liall, if not taller, with wide shoulders and long legs. The top of Scarlet’s head barely reached Nenos’s chin, and Scarlet was slender and compact beside them. Their hair was pale gold or white and their skins amber. Scarlet had hair black as jet and skin like a white rose. Their eyes were blue, his were black. Hilurin and Rshani. Opposites.

  Scarlet brushed a nervous hand down the front of his hapcoat. Nenos smiled again and stepped forward. The old man made a gesture as if to cover his face with both hands, then extended his palms outward, and Scarlet got the gist of what the old man was trying to tell him: that he was beautiful.

  “Want-wit,” Scarlet growled at him, and then was ashamed at his lack of respect for an old man. At least Nenos could not understand him. Scarlet was embarrassed but also grateful for the reassurance.

  Nenos chuckled, but there was one last thing before the old man was satisfied with Scarlet’s appearance. Nenos opened the drawer of an elaborate wooden wardrobe with fittings of silver and withdrew a little green ceramic pot with a tight-fitting lid. He handed it to Scarlet, who stared at it.

  “What’s this, then?” he asked, trying the lid. There was a type of waxy salve within, yellow and sharp-smelling. Nenos took pity on his confusion and swiped his fingertip over the top of the ointment, and then gently brushed it across the healing scar under Scarlet’s right eye.

  “Oh, too late for that,” Scarlet shrugged. The cut that the mariner, Oleksei, had given him aboard the Ostre Sul had already mended into a pale red line just above his cheekbone. He surveyed it critically in the mirror, turning his head. “I’m afraid it’s there to stay.”

  Nenos shrugged as well, as if to say it can’t hurt to try, and took the pot from Scarlet. He signaled for Scarlet to follow, and the servant led him into the more formal common room where Chos was at the stone and glass casement, pulling the curtains open. Outside, the everlasting Rshani night glittered sapphire blue with bands of dark silver and twinkles of pale stars. Though logically Scarlet knew it was morning, the twilight disoriented him. He began to wonder if he would ever see the sun again.

  Nenos patted Scarlet’s shoulder and turned him toward the table, where dishes were laid out. Scarlet recognized fried eggs, porridge, and the small brown cakes with red fruits. There were also huge slabs of bread spread with yellow butter, although the butter was a deeper color than he was used to back home. Che was noticeably absent, but Nenos excused himself and returned a moment later with a brown earthenware che pot wrapped in a thick towel.

  “Orna,” Nenos said warningly, tapping his finger on the pot and jerking it back.

  “Hot?” Scarlet said.

  Nenos smiled, like Scarlet was inviting him to a game, and pointed at the eggs.

  “Terg.”

  “Eggs.”

  Nenos chuckled and poured the che for him, which was not green, but dark and savory amber. He tasted it and nodded his thanks. Nenos’s attention was not unlike a genial innkeeper Scarlet had known in Morturii, and even with the language barrier, he could sense the old man’s kindness. He was just trying to make the guest comfortable. Scarlet repeated one of the stock phrases for thank you that Liall had taught him, and Nenos sketched a short bow before leaving him to enjoy his meal in silence.

  The food was plain but good, and Scarlet had been eating salted fish and waybread for so long that almost anything would have tasted like heaven. He devoured all the cakes and the oat porridge, but the eggs had a musky taste that he could not get used to. He was finishing up the che when Nenos entered with a man he did not recognize.

  The stranger was carrying a small case and bowed to Scarlet. He had a thin but not unpleasant face, and he was tall, which for Rshani was like saying he breathed air, but his honey-gold hair was done up in a strange braided style that Scarlet had not seen before.

  Nenos indicated the man and spoke several sentences in Sinha. Scarlet let him get into it a bit before he shook his head.

  “Sun man’an neth tueth degal,” he said. I do not understand.

  “Ah.” Nenos hesitated. He made a motion for Scarlet to wait and left quickly, returning a moment later with a maid, presumably from one of the neighboring apartments.

  Nenos made an expansive gesture to the maid. She cleared her throat, clearly nervous. “Excuse me, ser,” she said in halting Bizye, “but this man that Nenos has... bringing... he is a man of cloth.”

  “What?”

  “Cloth. Cloths.” She fingered the collar of her blouse. “For wear.”

  “Oh! Clothes.”

  “San ma suenma. Yes, clothes. He will make you clothes.”

  “What’s wrong with the clothes I have on now?”

  She seemed momentarily distressed. “But of course, ser, you must have new clothes. All new. All your own.”

  I must, must I? It didn’t seem worth it to argue. He nodded at the tailor and the man took it for assent and laid his case on the brocaded couch, opening it and taking out tools that any pedlar would recognize: measuring tape, a pack of iron pins, small pieces of charcoal-stick for marking. Ne
nos signaled that the maid should stay and the next three hours were one long, very polite quarrel between Scarlet and the servants of the Nauhinir. First, once the tailor was finally done with measuring him, Scarlet expected him to go. Instead, Nenos went to the foyer and rang a little bell, and the room began to fill with servants carrying bolts of bright cloth and silk and boxes of colored spools of thread.

  “What’s all this?” Scarlet exclaimed in alarm, looking to Nenos.

  Nenos only smiled and nodded, pushing forward one maid who carried a bolt of red wool shot with deeper red embroidery and little silver knots like flowers. She bowed and extended the bolt to him, signaling that he should feel its softness.

  “What? No, it looks like something my sister would wear.”

  “Edsite’ hnn?”

  “Flow-ers” he said emphatically, like she was deaf. “No flowers or frilly laces or bows. Not so many buttons. Not so pretty. Understand? Degala sr esu?”

  The first maid, the one who spoke broken Bizye, piped up, and there were strained but polite smiles and some of the more outrageous fabrics were taken away. Plainer materials were offered, fine wools and cotton weaves instead of silks and satins, some in lilac and mauve hues, some in varying shades of black and dark gray, and some in deep, vibrant blues that were truly astonishing and which Scarlet felt drawn to. He chose some of the gray wool and approved the sturdy black cottons, and even one of the best blues, but then two of the maids came lugging a heavy, folded length of tanned hide. They laid it on the floor and spread it out, and at Nenos’s urging, Scarlet felt its smooth, buttery softness. It was very fine.

  “This would make a coat good enough for a prince,” he mused.

  “What color for this, ser?” The maid asked.

  He knew at once. Rising, he went to the closet where his traveling clothes had been stored, digging through the grimy packs. He turned and held up his old, battered pedlar’s jacket proudly. The shoulder was torn a little and the hem ragged and both elbows were showing lighter patches in the red dye.

  “Can you make this for me?”

  The tailor took it from him gingerly and examined it. It was none too clean. He spoke to the maid, who shrugged.

  “Everything, ser? The color, the cut?”

  “Yes. Everything. Exactly. What is the word for exactly?”

  “Jesut’srr.”

  “Jesut’srr,” he decided. “Yes.”

  The tailor shrugged, not happy with Scarlet’s choice, but he bowed and the maids began to pack up. Obviously, they were done. When Nenos had seen everyone out, including the Bizye-speaking maid whom Scarlet thanked very politely, the servant brought another pot of che into the common room. The che was green this time, and Nenos set the table with a huge plate of the dumplings, the kind Scarlet had enjoyed the night before.

  “Thank you,” Scarlet breathed, glad that they were all gone. “I feel like a plucked chicken.”

  Nenos nodded, getting the gist if not the exact words. Chos came in a few moments later and asked, through motions and signs, if Scarlet wanted another bath.

  “Later,” he said. “Shey.” Which meant, some other time, or when I’m ready, but there was one thing he did want. Scarlet ate another dumpling and wiped his fingers on the napkin before he gripped a lock of his black hair and made scissoring motions next to it, miming a haircut. The men were shocked.

  Nenos rattled off a spate of Sinha and Scarlet didn’t catch a word of it, though the meaning was clear enough.

  “What do you mean, I can’t cut my hair? It’s my hair. Why not?”

  Nenos answered him patiently, bowing, and Scarlet heard the name Nazheradei several times. Chos just looked frightened.

  So, he was not to cut his hair for fear of angering Liall? What was he, a doll? Scarlet folded his hands on the table and regarded Nenos with a steady eye. “I just want a pair of scissors,” he said. “Surely you can do that.”

  But Nenos shook his head, the matter patently settled in his mind. Scarlet stared him down for a moment, and then shrugged. “Fine.” He reached down and slid a sharp little dagger out of his boot, testing its edge with his thumb. “I’ve made do with worse than this.”

  From their mutual expressions, Scarlet realized that it never occurred to them that he might be armed. Nenos muttered an order aside to Chos, and the young servant exited quickly. The old man held his hand out.

  “Edas,” he said. Please.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Nenos sighed heavily, sat down beside Scarlet at the table and began to speak at length, slowly and with great patience. Scarlet only caught a stray word here and there, completely meaningless, but Nenos was obviously saying, plainly; “I need you to give me that dagger” and hinting at consequences if Scarlet did not comply.

  Bugger that.

  “I’ll make you a trade.” Scarlet again made cutting motions with his fingers. “The dagger for scissors.”

  Nenos shook his head tiredly. There was a noise at the door, and Liall –tall and white-haired and imposing– entered the room, followed closely by a fretting Chos. Liall gave Scarlet a flat smile. Nenos rose and bowed to Liall.

  “You’re awake. And dressed,” Liall said, ignoring Nenos.

  Liall wore a dark gray virca with his white hair neatly brushed, all of his clothing new and the leather of his boots polished. We’re both looking rather fancy lately. Scarlet thought, and could not help making comparison in his mind between the prince before him and the bandit Kasiri atya who had stopped him on a mountain road and demanded a kiss.

  “And eating.” Scarlet toed one of the chairs away from the table with his boot. Liall hesitated and then sank down.

  “Chos says you waved a dagger around.”

  Scarlet laughed. “I did not!”

  “I said Chos said that. I do not believe it happened precisely that way. You have a temper, but you would not pull a weapon just because you did not get your wants satisfied.” Liall waved the servants off imperiously and they went without a backward look.

  “You have to show me how to do that,” Scarlet said, miming the wave. He slid the dagger back into his boot. “I just wanted a pair of scissors, for Deva’s sake. I don’t know why you were disturbed for that.”

  “It is complicated.” Liall eyed Scarlet’s plate, distracted. “You like the dumplings?”

  Scarlet wanted to ask if Liall had made any progress in his mission, but if Liall was not volunteering, he was not asking. “Very much.”

  Nenos came and set a pottery cup of green che in front of Liall before vanishing again. The scent of roses wafted up. Liall lifted the cup, cradling it in his hands for the warmth, and suppressed a yawn.

  “One would think you hadn’t slept at all,” Scarlet said meaningfully. He only meant to tease Liall, but Liall set the cup down quickly, his spine stiff.

  “I know...” Liall began. He seemed to think better of what he was about to say, and started over. “Last night... if only ...”

  Scarlet nearly laughed again. “What are you on about?”

  Liall raked his fingers through his white hair. “I am not doing this correctly, am I? Very well, I want you to know something. If you were one of my people and what happened last night... if it were our first time…”

  “It was our first time.”

  “I am well aware of that,” Liall snapped. He lapsed into brooding silence and stared at the fireplace, his jaw tight.

  Scarlet stared for a moment, and then reasoned that it must have been a trying day already for Liall. “I’m listening.”

  “In another time, I would have woken you with gifts befitting a prince. Now... I have nothing to give you that comes from myself alone, and so I have nothing. I just wanted you to know that I meant you no dishonor, that I would never willingly deceive you or slight you.”

  “Are you done?” Scarlet waited as Liall sat with his face closed and set. “I don’t need gifts, Liall, and I’m more than a little grateful you feel you can’t give me any.”

&n
bsp; Liall seemed puzzled, but not terribly. “Oh?”

  “I’m not a prize that you’ve won, or a thing that crawled to you because you were a prince and could give me jewels and pretties. You’re not Prince Nazheradei to me; you’re Liall, the bastard bandit Kasiri. I expect no more than he can give.” And I hope you expect no more of me than plain Scarlet of Lysia could give, he prayed silently.

  Liall was quiet for a moment, and Scarlet thought he was angered again.

  “You shame me.”

  “Oh, enough of your foreign nonsense,” Scarlet said in disgust. He shoved the plate of dumplings in front of Liall. “Have something to eat, you look awful.”

  Scarlet half-expected Liall to explode, but he took up a fork and picked at the dumplings. “You are the foreign one here, you know.”