Hair to the Throne

by Meredith Katz

  Merle swallowed. Visions of getting reassigned to work in the quarry were popping into her head and refusing to get dismissed. "I'm not complaining, your highness," she said. "I'm really not. It's a…" What had Ors said? "It's a great honor to be called to serve you. It's a great honor, too, to be permitted to be idle. I'm truly grateful."

  "You're truly grateful," Vehr said, "but if I gave you something to do when you weren't working on my hair, you'd appreciate it."

  Merle thought that through, trying to find the trap in the words. "…Yes," she said finally, when one didn't seem to be there to be found. "Exactly. If things stayed just as they were, I'd…" Go insane, probably. "I'd still be grateful and happy. This is truly a privilege. But if there were more for me to do, I certainly wouldn't mind. It would… it would be easier for this slave to adjust to such a gentle, kind lifestyle if I were eased into it."

  She put the last pin in with a sense of triumph. No matter how she looked at what she just said, it seemed like a safe answer. Nobody could protest that.

  Finally able to look up from Vehr's hair, she did—and saw Sestin across the room, directly in her line of sight. She gave him a hesitant smile. He didn't give one back, slowly and minutely shaking his head.

  Whatever. Merle tried not to let her heart fall. Even if he's being a negative nancy, I did the best I could. She said what she needed and did so in such a way that nobody could possibly take offense.

  "I'll see what I can do," Vehr said. She held her hands up to her face, looking at her hair style this way and that with the eyes in her palms. "Interesting. I like it."

  Merle dropped into a curtsy. "I'm so glad, your highness—"

  "Thank you for showing it to me," Vehr said. "Undo it now."

  A protest rose and died on Merle's mouth. Slowly, at Vehr's instructions, she unpinned her braids, unwound them from their plaits, and distributed her hair around the room once more.

  *~*~*

  That night, Merle was lying in her bunk trying to sleep when she heard Abeille whisper to her from the bed below. "Hey, Merle? You awake?"

  "Yeah," she breathed back. Belette, in her bunk across the room, was snoring audibly and probably wouldn't wake up if they were a little louder, but Merle didn't want to risk it.

  "Today she called you back to her," Abeille murmured. "Did it all go all right?"

  They hadn't had a chance to talk when Merle had returned. Abeille had been in her workshop until late, and Belette had pounced on the chance to get her hair done before going out with Sestin. By the time Abeille was back, Merle had already made use of the baths and climbed into bed to play cards against herself until lights out.

  Impossible to explain the full situation whispering back and forth in separate bunks. Merle murmured, "It went okay. She just wanted to try out a style," and then got tired of not looking at Abeille.

  Carefully, she shifted around in her narrow bunk, holding the edge of the wood rod that kept her mattress in place, and leaned over the side. Her long black hair showered down around the both of them, a curtain hiding part of the bunk below.

  Abeille blinked up at her in surprise. "You're going to fall."

  "I won't fall," Merle said, soft and impatient. "Anyway, she tried to prod me into saying I was bored, but I didn't let that on. I did say I wouldn't mind doing more work."

  "She'll find some way to turn that against you," Abeille said, brows furrowing visibly. "What exactly did she say?"

  Merle's head was already starting to throb. But at least I can see her now. She screwed up her face. "Nothing, really. Just that she'd see if she could find something for me to do so I wouldn't feel idle."

  Abeille wrinkled her nose in return. "That's not good." She reached out, fingers brushing the smooth waterfall of Merle's hair.

  "How bad can it be?" Merle asked reasonably. She shook her head to try to clear it, and then clenched her hands tight on the rod as she felt herself start to slip forward. "Whoop—"

  She clenched her teeth to keep from letting out a yell as she toppled forward, shifting and extending her arms to try to keep her grip on the rod as she tumbled out of her own bunk. The back of her heels smacked into the wooden edge of Abeille's bed and she swallowed a yelp, the sound coming out strangled and high in her nose.

  As soon as she'd started to fall, Abeille had sat up, scrambling to get the blankets out of the way. It was a moment too late to protect Merle's feet, but Abeille's strong arms wrapped around Merle's middle, and she pulled her into the bunk.

  Merle let go of the rod when she felt Abeille's arms come around her and fell into the bed with Abeille in a raucous scrape of wood against wood as the impact made the frame shift.

  Tangled together, both froze, silent, neither of them breathing—and Belette's next snore came.

  Merle collapsed on Abeille with a whimper. "Ow," she muttered softly, pulling her legs up and almost kneeing Abeille, who squirmed to get a hip in the way. "Ow ow ow…"

  "I told you," Abeille whispered, cheeks visibly darker even in the dim light. "Are you bleeding? Let me see—"

  "Well, I didn't mean to," Merle hissed back, feeling very sorry for herself, but she squirmed again to lift a leg for Abeille's examination.

  Her nightgown, already hiked up from the scramble, slipped further up her thigh. Abeille looked at her face, then down at her heel, studying it with intense concentration.

  "Doesn't seem to be bleeding, no," Abeille muttered, sounding terribly unsympathetic. She yanked Merle's nightgown back over her knees and huffed at her. "What did you think would happen?!"

  "Why do foot injuries feel like they'll kill you every time," Merle grumbled. "I wonder if I'll have bruises."

  Abeille sighed, then shifted over. "Oh, probably. Come here. It'll be easier to talk like this anyway."

  It took Merle a moment to understand; the bunks were narrow, and in the past, when they'd talked on them, it was while sitting together. But Abeille had pushed herself as close to the wall as she could, and the space left on the mattress was just about the right size for Merle's body.

  Her stomach flipped and her skin seemed to become oversensitive all at once, which was, she decided, probably a really unfair consequence of the throbbing pain of her feet. Other options weren't worth entertaining. Carefully, she squirmed around and lay down there.

  They faced each other, heads on the same pillow, almost nose to nose. Abeille's hair was still up in braids, Merle saw. It was hard to tell if the reason that one side was starting to come out was because Abeille had imperfectly matched Merle's work, or if it had just started to loosen from Abeille lying on that side in bed.

  "So," Abeille said.

  Merle, who could feel the brush of Abeille's breath on her lips, couldn't remember exactly where they'd left this conversation off. "Yes. What?"

  Abeille hesitated. After a moment, her eyelashes lowered. "No… it doesn't matter. It sounds like you did the best you could with it. No point chiding you now. All we can do is hope things turn out all right anyway."

  "Yeah," Merle said, a little anxious. "I did my best to make it clear I was grateful."

  "Nobody here's grateful," Abeille said. She shifted and put an arm around Merle. "Why don't you stay down here tonight?"

  Merle's breath hitched. "Really? Is that all right?"

  "You banged your feet. No point sending you up a ladder in the dark only to fall off it again," Abeille said, expression weirdly shy.

  Which was completely reasonable and logical, as reasons went. Perfectly explainable, Merle thought. A little guiltily, she leaned into Abeille's embrace. "You're right," she said. "Do you want to sleep?"

  "I…"

  Another hesitation. Abeille swallowed against her, and Merle felt her heart speed up again.

  "Tell me," Abeille whispered, "about what I missed up there. How's mom? Has the city changed?"

  Oh. Of course. Merle should have thought to volunteer that at some point over the weeks she'd been down here, she realized. Even though they hadn't had
much time to speak together about their past, she should have found a way.

  She swallowed around a lump in her throat, closed her eyes, and began to talk.

  Chapter Seven

  Merle didn't get much sleep that night. She talked herself hoarse, apologized, and held Abeille when she had to tell her of her mother's death. Told her about Ors, the shop. About places they'd spent time in being sold, burned down, changed into something else. But even telling her about all these changes, something felt constant about this.

  People always died. Buildings always changed hands. Professions always changed. One day, you'd see your neighbor around, and the next, they'd looked the wrong way at the wrong demon and were dragged away to the mines to labor until they died.

  That's just how things are.

  Abeille didn't cry over any of it, not even her mother's death, though that put a line between her brows and made her bow her head, nodding. Her mother had been sore and tired and strained before Abeille was taken into the palace, and the work was hard. No surprise that she wouldn't have lived too much longer. But Merle was very aware that had it been ten years ago, Abeille would have cried.

  The world above must feel very distant to Abeille now, Merle thought. A dream more than a memory. It must be very strange to have someone like Merle appear again in her life—like everything was changing around her and she was living half in the past. No wonder she'd started to wonder what she'd missed.

  Eventually, Merle had run out of things to say, her thoughts running dry, and Abeille ran out of prompting questions. They just held each other in a quiet, depressed daze. Reluctantly, Merle offered again to go to her own bunk, but Abeille had shaken her head.

  "Just get some rest," she'd said.

  Somehow, Merle did.

  Merle was the first one to wake. She woke breathing in Abeille's sleep-warmed scent, feeling overheated from the blankets and the press of Abeille's arm, in a fog of a dream she couldn't quite remember. It had fresh air, she thought, a summer breeze, the sound of bees buzzing. Some of those things had surely been her imagination, a mix of memory of spending time with Abeille in the garden here and with thinking of their past dreams to escape the city.

  Abeille was pressed close against her, and Merle kept her eyes closed, ashamed but luxuriating in the feeling of Abeille's body against hers. Abeille's chest was soft, her hair even further undone and tangled over her shoulder, and their bare legs were pressed together, nightgowns tangled in the blankets and lifted to around the knee for both. There was a heat and pressure against Merle's hip that made her feel more guilty in her indulgence. Abeille was asleep, holding another person, and these things happened at times like this, but she knew Abeille wouldn't want that to happen with Merle if she were awake.

  She sighed, and slowly began to extract herself from Abeille's grip, sliding Abeille's arm from around her, then prying the blankets back so she could get out without disrupting Abeille too completely.

  Abeille shifted and murmured, but Merle was free. She stood up, sighing again, and brushed herself off. Across the room, Belette had stopped snoring but was still asleep. The room was very still, and Merle wondered how early it was. Before lights on, at any rate.

  She could go down to the bathing room, she decided. It was open at any hour, and she could wake up with a nice long bath, do something fancy with her hair while she waited for everyone else to begin to wake up for the day. It would be a good way to get herself ready after the difficult discussions of the night before—

  The door banged open with no warning.

  Merle jumped, heart in her throat. It was an armored and liveried soldier, but it was too early in the day to expect to be called anywhere.

  The other two had also woken abruptly, sitting up and clutching blankets, staring at the door in alarm.

  "Belette," the soldier said, and Merle looked at Belette to see fear written on her face, wide-eyed and growing worse as the realization sank in that the soldier had said her name. For a moment, the soldier stared Belette down, ice cold. Then, suddenly, the soldier smiled. "Thank you for your information last night. The prince is pleased to hear such an interesting situation has developed."

  Belette opened her mouth, then closed it, expression blank.

  "Merle. Abeille." Both stiffened; Belette's terror was catching. Even without knowing what could possibly be coming, Merle's breath started coming faster. Something was wrong. "The prince is disappointed you kept your friendship from her. She does not appreciate being lied to. As court meets this morning, you will be called to be the entertainment. Abeille, you are familiar with the sort. Prepare for that in the next two hours."

  The soldier bowed, the gesture somehow mocking, her horn cutting a sharp line through the air before she turned, closing the door hard behind her. It was loud enough that Merle was sure it had woken everyone else on the floor.

  Merle drew a shaky breath into the sudden silence. "Entertainment…?"

  Abeille flung back her bedclothes, bare feet hitting the ground hard as she stalked toward Merle. Merle turned towards her, trying to catch her arm and ask, beg for more details—but Abeille shoved her aside so hard she stumbled, feet still hurting, and almost fell.

  The expression on Abeille's face was icy cold as she caught up to Belette, who was pressed back in her bunk as if the wall could absorb her. Abeille leaned into her space, grabbing her by the shoulders of her nightgown and hauling her out of bed and to her feet.

  "You," Abeille said, voice a low growl. Her eyes were wide, wild, and she was breathing hard, as if chasing Belette down was some kind of terrible effort.

  Belette started shaking her head rapidly. "No, Abeille! No, I didn't," she said, a fast, high-pitched babble of words. "I don't know what she was talking about. I didn't say anything to anyone. I—"

  Her words cut off as Abeille swung her around, pinning her up against the wall, an arm across her throat. "I can't believe you'd do this to us," Abeille said. "I wanted this not to happen more than anything. More than anything. I wanted not to have to do this again. And to Merle. I wish it was going to be you in there with me. Then nobody would look twice if I murdered you."

  Belette had started to cry, great gasping sobs. "Stop, stop. I didn't do anything, I really didn't, and I know you don't want to do it. I know you don't. I saw what happened after Hibo—I saw how you felt—I know you don't want to hurt me—"

  "Right now, I really, really want it," Abeille said, but Merle saw that Belette's words were penetrating. Guilt and shame were crossing Abeille's face, tight and awful to watch.

  Merle flung herself forward, grabbing at Abeille's shoulders and pulling. "C'mon, let go of her! I'm sure she didn't mean to tell anyone!"

  Abeille let go of Belette, who collapsed to the side, falling down and then scrambling away on hands and knees, pushing herself up in a run until she reached the room's door.

  "I didn't tell anyone," Belette said, face red and wet, tears streaming down her face, and then she flung the door open and fled.

  She'll be fine, Merle thought. She'll just go to one of the other rooms. There's lots of free beds. Merle didn't have time to worry about Belette, anyway. Abeille was standing tensely, shoulders hunched, miserable and furious.

  Desperately, Merle thought over what little she knew. Fear for Abeille, for herself, gave her trouble thinking of what they could possibly be doing. Hurting each other, she thought. Humiliating each other. Vehr likes that kind of broken bond. "Look, it's… it's okay. Calm down."

  "It's not okay."

  She didn't have a chance to think over what she was going to say, so she just opened her mouth and let words fall out. "No, I mean, it's not okay. It sucks that we're forced into this, but at least we'll be together in… whatever it is. And we can get through it together!"

  Abeille stared at her.

  "And… and I don't want to take advantage of it, or you, by saying it at a time like this, but I love you," Merle blurted, "so I just, I don't want anything bad to happen to us
like this, but I do want you to know that whatever awful thing she sets up, we'll do our best by each other and whatever we do, we take care of each other—"

  The guilt, shame, and pain on Abeille's face shuttered, vanishing at once. That cold, frightening expression came back in its stead, and Merle felt her heart drop.

  "What do you think," Abeille said, enunciating each word, "is going to happen?"

  "I—" Merle went red. Embarrassing, terrifying thoughts rose in in her, overwhelming her with image after image. "Being forced to… be a spectacle for her to watch—I'm not sure how, but…" Her heart was pounding. "I thought—obviously it's going to be something terrible, but we could… make it less terrible… somehow? By caring for each other…"

  "When I arrived," Abeille said, "I let it slip that I knew how to use a sword."

  Merle shook her head. "I don't understand how that—"

  "It's a fight to the death, Merle," Abeille said. She raised her chin, looking down her nose at Merle, still with that terrible expression. Even as it shifted, it became scornful, not the warmth that Merle was getting used to. Not the relaxation, not the joy she'd started to see coaxed out of her friend. "You and I will be given weapons. And we will be put into an arena with the prince there watching. And we will fight until one of us is dead. Tell me how to make that less terrible."

  Each word felt like it was already a wound. Merle's heart stuttered; she replayed, in her mind, every vague reference she'd heard about it, knowing that Abeille had been forced to kill before.

  "You're an idiot," Abeille said coldly. "And I'm not sure why I thought you'd possibly get the picture. I should have realized you were too stupid to understand."

  Merle's breath hitched. "Abeille—"

  "Gods above. I've been so patient with you," Abeille said. She reached up and with short, jerky movements, began to undo her hair, take it down. Merle watched pins hit the floor and locks begin to tumble down. "I've been patient with you as you said stupid, stupid things to me. As you acted like you still knew me. You're so damn clingy."