by Kirby Crow
“I am sorry I cannot tell you more,” Jochi said softly, rising from his chair. “Is there truly nothing else I can do for you?”
Scarlet sank back into the deep cushions, looking up at Jochi coldly. “No, thank you.”
Jochi bowed. “Then I will bid you a good night. Do try and rest. I am certain the prince will return soon.”
Scarlet nodded. He stared into the hearth and scowled, again feeling that even the fires seemed to watch him here, like everyone else. Glare at me all you want, eyes. You can’t fright a pedlar, no matter how far he is from home.
The night closed in on him after that, and in the wee hours of the morning the fire died down and the room grew chilly. Scarlet rose and poked at the fire, but he had neglected it too long and the coals were scarce. Piling more wood on it would just put it out, and calling for Nenos did not appeal to him. He looked around the room, making sure all the outer doors were closed, and then placed several logs from the neat stack in the iron bin on top of the guttering coals.
Scarlet closed his eyes and held his hand over the cold wood, his lips moving in a silent invocation of Deva, summoning a fire withy. The withy spell flowed from his hands like warm water, a small stream of flame that slid into the coals. The coals flared and the seasoned wood hissed as the supernatural fire kindled the hearth into a neat blaze in seconds. Satisfied, Scarlet wrapped his robe tighter around him and returned to the couch.
He did finally sleep, dozing in the chair until Liall shook him awake enough to stumble back to the bed. He was too tired to mention nightmares and vague fears to Liall, so he just curled up around the prince and closed his eyes.
Scarlet slept late that day, and when he was awake and dressed he walked into the common room and stopped in his tracks, surprised to see that Liall was still there, seated at the table with a large breakfast laid out in front of him.
“You are awake,” Liall called out, smiling and motioning for Scarlet to come forward. “Join me.”
Scarlet had dressed in brown breeches and a plain red hapcoat and shirt that closed in the front rather than the sides, so he needed no help with the endless laces. He suspected that Liall had provided it, knowing how he hated to ask Nenos or one of the servants to help him dress.
Liall began heaping dishes in front of Scarlet as soon as he sat down. There were pastries served with preserves, a spiced porridge, thick slabs of meat, cooked only until it was no longer bloody but still pink, smoked fish, and some kind of eggs served with a sauce.
“Try some of this,” Liall said, piling more on.
“I can’t eat all that,” Scarlet protested, staring at it.
“You should,” he said critically. “You have lost more weight, I think. It is very cold here. You must eat more than you are accustomed to.”
“I haven’t been doing any work, so I haven’t been hungry.”
Liall grinned meaningfully. “Food is fuel, and we have burned some since we arrived, I do believe.” His good humor seemed to have returned and he grinned at Scarlet boyishly. “Try some of this,” he said, and speared a bit of fish. He held it out to Scarlet at the end of a fork. “It is especially good for you during the winter, when the sun does not shine.”
Scarlet leaned forward to take the morsel between his teeth. He chewed thoughtfully. He thought he would never touch salted fish again, but this was tender and smoky and quite good: leagues away from the leathery, cured fish they had on the ship.
They worked their way through the rest of the food in companionable silence. Scarlet did not like the eggs with the sauce on them, but the meat was good, and the porridge with thick, rich cream. The pastries were sweet, but he liked more savory foods, and the fish remained his favorite.
“Now that is a proper Rshani meal,” Liall finally pronounced as he sipped at a steaming cup of che.
Scarlet was so full he was afraid he would roll if he got up. He told Liall as much, and the prince laughed and made a joke in Sinha that Scarlet understood a little of, save that it was crude. He kicked Liall a little under the table. Nenos came in as Liall was feigning hurt and the old man chuckled and shook his head. Nenos gestured to the servants to clear and left them alone again.
Scarlet sipped his che. “I will be useless as a pedlar if I get used to luxury.”
“Scant luxury in the Byzan hills,” Liall agreed, but not unhappily.
Scarlet glanced at the thick, silken-soft wool of the draperies and the warm furs piled on the couch. “If only your people were not so determined to stay isolated. I’ve never seen such fine things, not even in Morturii. If only they would trade with us.”
“We do some trading with the Minh, mostly through the Morturii in the port of Sondek, and on the other side of the channel with the Volken and the Arbyssians.”
“Why not with Byzantur? I find it odd that so many of the royal court speaks Bizye, but there are no Byzans here and you do no trade with us.”
“It is a long story. Ask me some other time,” Liall evaded, draining the last of the che from his cup. “Perhaps in the future, Rshan and Byzantur will be reconciled. For now, I must go.”
“And secure Cestimir’s future?”
Liall froze, and then turned to Scarlet with a hard line etched between his white eyebrows. “Someone has been talking,” he said.
“It’s no more than every housewife in Rshan knows, according to Jochi.”
“I will have a talk with Jochi,” Liall said ominously.
“You’re being a want-wit,” Scarlet said, putting his cup down and rising. “I can see keeping some things from me, secrets and the like, but you’re taking it too far. What are you afraid I’ll find out?”
Liall looked like he had been struck. “I am not... afraid. I am merely protecting you.”
“For Deva’s sake, from what?” Liall’s reaction puzzled him. “Liall,” he began, but Liall abruptly turned away and went into the large cupola adjacent to the bedroom, a dressing room he called it, and set about garbing in his court plumage: a long, sky-blue silk virca that hung in folds around his knees, a gold ring in his ear and more on his hands, and a necklace dripping with crystals that Scarlet swore belonged on a woman. Liall had to tuck his homely necklace of a leather thong strung with two cheap Byzan copper coins inside his virca to wear the crystal necklace, and the very sight of those coins made Scarlet wistful. Scarlet had given them to Liall to pay for his toll through a bandit road. He longed to see Liall again as the man had been on the Nerit: a bandit atya with a tribe of Kasiri at his back. That Liall had been rough and arrogant and ill-mannered, but Scarlet was beginning to believe he preferred a bandit to this cold prince.
“Now that you know why I am here,” Liall said distantly, smoothing his silken clothes. “You will forgive me for leaving so quickly. The future of a kingdom is important.”
Liall strode past him to the door. Scarlet had half a mind to go after him, but wisdom prevailed. If Scarlet had not known better, he would have said that Liall really was afraid.
With Liall gone, Nenos tried to deck Scarlet out in much the same way as Liall had dressed. Scarlet objected to the long, green velvet virca shot with red beads that Nenos tried to stuff him in. Nenos kept insisting, an opinion seconded by Jochi when he arrived.
“Many of the barons are at court now,” Jochi said gravely, “And Prince Nazheradei would have his affection and respect for you be noticed. One way, ser Scarlet, is in your style of dress.”
“And just when would they see me?”
“Today, when I give you a tour of the Nauhinir.”
“Oh.” A tour! Even through his excitement at the prospect of getting to see the palace at last, Scarlet felt misgiving. “Why can’t I just wear a hapcoat over a shirt and breeches?” The long coats were much less fancy and, he thought, looked more suited to a man.
“Hapcoats are less formal, ser. Vircas are more appropriate for audiences.”
“My sister has a dress like this, did I tell you that? For that’s what it is, you know, a d
ress! I feel like a mummer in this get-up. Or worse.”
Jochi’s eyebrows went up, as if to ask what could be worse than a mummer.
Scarlet jerked the hem of the green virca on the bed. “I’d look like I was selling in this!”
“Selling what, ser?”
Scarlet began to think Jochi might be making fun of him. Jochi grinned and bowed from the waist, his right arm folded over his midsection in the Rshani gesture of politeness Scarlet was beginning to recognize.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I was only teasing you. You have a very open smile, did you know?”
Scarlet wouldn’t answer him, feeling very misused by his mocking, and Jochi tried to paste on a sympathetic expression.
“There’s no hope for it, ser. This is what stands for formal male garb in Rshan. Shall we begin?”
Scarlet cursed in gutter Falx, which he knew Jochi would not understand: “I’ll look like a poxed bhoros whore, but I’ll wear it!”
So he submitted to the ridiculous green virca, red beads and all. Later on, in the corridors, Scarlet found he was glad of all the layers. Gilded cage or not, they were only a few feet away from their apartments before he realized how much warmer Liall kept his quarters than other Rshani. Scarlet suspected it was on his account. The air in the corridors was cool enough to turn the tip of his nose pink, and before long he was glad he had eaten a large breakfast, for Jochi kept him moving for hours, taking him into room after room full of the tall, pale-haired, glittering folk who nodded and bowed and called him Keriss in their soft voices.
The Nauhinir would be difficult for even a poet to describe. There were walls and floors and ceilings, like any dwellings, but of such strange design and such unusual materials and colors that they scarcely appeared to be real. A wall was not a wall here, not simply a brace to hold the roof up, but a chance to illustrate and dazzle, to make one stare in dumbstruck awe.
Of all the things Scarlet saw that day, one stood out sharply in his mind: the midnight-blue floor of the entrance to the Inner Court, which was made entirely of small, painted tiles, each tile different and distinct, and together they made a vast mural of the floor. It was a rendering of the night sky of Rshan, with each star a painted bit of gold or silver, and through it all threaded a web of cloudy blue and pink and luminescent green strands. He asked Jochi what they were.
“That is the ostre sul, the light in the darkness.”
“We traveled here on a ship by that same name.”
Jochi nodded. “Many ships bear a variant of that title. It’s considered lucky. As for what it is, it is a celestial phenomenon that occurs often, though it is only visible when the sky is clear.”
It had been overcast and snowing almost constantly since they made landfall. Scarlet peered at the floor, stepping back and forth across the blue tiles to see it from different angles. “How can there be threads of light spread out across the sky? Who hangs them there, and how?”
“It is a long account,” Jochi said patiently. “Later, if you are still interested, I will try to explain.”
Which meant that Jochi wanted to keep moving. Scarlet followed Jochi through massive arches of gilded columns weaving together at the crown like the limbs of trees, past screens of fine iron scrollwork, so thin they were like spider-strands, and into a round, domed chamber that reminded him slightly of a castle room he had seen once in Morturii, although it was nothing as fine as this. The walls were hung with wool tapestries dyed in many colors and there were dozens of the blue crystal lamps he had seen so many of, hung from the ceiling and perched on tall pedestals built just for them. A fire blazed in the most massive fireplace he had ever seen. There were many court folk in the palace, all dressed in the elaborate Rshani style that Scarlet was beginning to gain some knowledge of.
They entered the Inner Court and the drone of chatter came to a standstill. Jochi murmured to Scarlet, reminding him that he must bow to them only slightly.
“You must not bow lower than that,” he had told Scarlet previously, in the corridor, after yet another blunder. “For you are the prince’s t’aishka, his twice-chosen, and as such, you hold rank higher than theirs.”
Scarlet was dismayed and almost told Jochi that he was only a pedlar who had lived in a four-room cottage all his life, but something wiser warned him to keep his mouth closed.
Facing down a new pack of unknowns, Scarlet bowed slightly and waited for Jochi to introduce him around. Meaningless names were put to him, Rshani sounds without the depth of familiarity that a Byzan name would have yielded. He nodded and tried to keep them straight, but it was impossible. He also repeated his stock phrase – edsite’ hnn? – so many times that he was sure that I don’t understand would be the only words he would ever be using correctly in Sinha.
“Tesk,” said one tall courtier –they were all tall!– in a silken virca that seemed to be made entirely of intricate embroidery. He stuck out his big hand for Scarlet to shake and spoke without preamble. “I am an artist. You must allow me to paint your portrait.”
Scarlet was so taken aback at hearing Bizye and being given a name that was not nine syllables long that he shook Tesk’s hand before Jochi could stop him. “Scarlet,” he answered, remembering that at least.
“Oh, you need no introduction, ser Keriss. We all know who you are.” Tesk glanced at Scarlet’s hand, which was engulfed by his, and turned it this way and that. “So small. Such color. Are all Anlyribeth like you?”
“Your pardon?”
Tesk said something in Sinha and Scarlet could only look at him blankly, a little intimidated by the line of people waiting behind Tesk, and wondering if there were going to be more misunderstandings with language. Scarlet tried to gloss it over. “Well, anyroad, nice to meet you.”
Tesk smiled and Scarlet saw that he was handsome and resembled Liall a little.
“Just Tesk?” Scarlet asked, retrieving his hand.
“First meetings are so fragile. Why burden them with impossible names?” Tesk shrugged and the green peacocks embroidered on his collar moved up and down.
He was the first Rshani who admitted his language was unpronounceable to Byzans. Scarlet smiled back at him. “I’ll never remember them all.”
“No one expects you to.” Tesk glanced over his shoulder, seeing the mass of people still waiting to greet Scarlet or stare at him. “Oh dear, I’m holding up the line,” Tesk sighed. He gave a deep bow that Scarlet returned. “And please, dear boy, cease repeating the names spoken to you,” Tesk murmured, when their heads were close. “You called the man in front of me a wet, hairy chair.”
Scarlet laughed and Tesk winked at him before moving off. In the corner of Scarlet’s eye, Jochi hovered close, seeming not pleased at all. Scarlet suspected Jochi would have words for him later.
They wended their way throughout the morning like that, and then, just as Scarlet was almost wishing to be put back in the damned cage again, they reached another door.
Jochi drew himself up and looked at Scarlet seriously. “This is your most important audience,” he said. “But do not try to speak Sinha at all. I will translate for you.”
Scarlet felt a sliver of apprehension. “Audience?” he asked, but Jochi opened the door on a room full of women who turned as one and looked at them with their alluring, blue-painted eyes. One of these was Lady Shikhoza, who smiled thinly at Jochi but ignored Scarlet. All bowed, nearly as deeply as they had to Liall, and Scarlet strove to execute the short, perfect bow that Jochi had lessoned him at.
He must have succeeded, for Jochi smiled at him sidelong and guided him to an inner door painted with red lacquer. “This is the second tier,” Jochi said almost in a whisper.
Scarlet could feel the Lady’s eyes on him, sharp with malice, and shivered as he went through the door. The room within was astonishing, scarlet and gold everywhere, and he blinked in the lamplight. A woman’s voice spoke and Jochi bowed very, very low. Scarlet turned in that direction and his heart nearly stopped. It was the queen.
But she was the queen! Still, Jochi had not misled him yet, and so he followed the advice and bowed shortly. She motioned them forward, speaking to Jochi again.
Jochi smiled faintly. “Queen Nadiushka welcomes Keriss kir Nazheradei to Rshan na Ostre.”
Scarlet gave Jochi a puzzled look, clearly out to sea about the whole thing. What was that damned thing they kept calling him? Keriss? What did it mean?
“That is your court name, ser Scarlet. Keriss. The queen has decided this, and it is what I must call you from this moment on. Please do not take offense at this. It is meant to be an honor.”
“Tell her, um, thank you very kindly.” Scarlet felt like a fool and slightly annoyed. Change my name and not ask me? Not so much as a by-your-leave? What’s wrong with my own name?