by Kate Elliott
A jump takes me into Rings, and I ride each turning segment as it connects to another, choosing my path to carve the best route through. Blue Belt is already working her way through Rings and at first she is closer to the tower, but a wrong step takes her onto a path that pushes her on a detour while I make no misstep as I work my way in. I throw in a few flips for show.
In my first trial as a Challenger I climb the ladder and grab the victor’s ribbon to the cheers—and a few intimidating boos—of the crowd. Facing the balcony where Garon Palace’s winged and horned fire dog symbol flies, I pull off my mask to let them see my face.
Sunlight pours over me together with the surging clamor of the audience, as strong as wings lifting me. Grinning, I fling wide my arms to embrace the moment. The cheers, and boos, grow louder. Only then do I descend, victor’s ribbon clutched in my hand.
Two of the adversaries await me by the ladder into the undercourt. Red Belt repeats his charge. “You cheated, and my stable will file a protest.” The small woman says, “That was bold, Spider. I liked what you did. But I’ll beat you next time.”
“Kiss off, Adversary,” I say to her with a smile, and she flicks the kiss-off hand gesture back at me in amused reply.
I climb down into the retiring court, the section of the attiring hall reserved for adversaries who have already run. An attendant hands me a cup of royal nectar. Besides the royal family, only adversaries who have just completed a trial are allowed this drink. The sweetness hits so hard my eyes water.
I won.
With controlled breaths I quiet my dizzy heart, then look around as a Garon steward approaches me. “I am to escort you,” she says.
I follow her through passages and stairs to the upper tiers. The steward shows a token to guards, who admit us into the area reserved for Patron lords. As I pass, sweaty and reeking, one mutters, “Well raced, Spider. No one saw that trick coming.”
We walk into the rear of the Garon balcony. Masked servants bring platters of food to the highborn. Lord Gargaron and Lady Menoë sit in the front row. Behind them sit less exalted members of the household, men separate from women, all strangers to me.
My gaze catches on a very pretty young woman dressed in the beribboned glitter of one whose fortune is her looks. I know Denya because she and my sister Amaya were friends, and closer than friends to judge by things said in my hearing. Denya’s father, like mine, was a captain in service to Lord Ottonor before the lord died. When Gargaron paid off part of the debt of Ottonor’s household in order to get my father, he took Denya as part of the payment owed him, to become his concubine.
A servant brushes past carrying a platter of spiced prawns sprinkled with paprika and kneels to offer these delicacies with a spry flourish to Denya. The servant wears a slim half-mask, a band of spangled fabric pulled across her eyes that does nothing to hide her lovely features and the luscious bow of her carmine-reddened lips.
My heart turns to stone. I open my mouth, then snap it shut as the servant turns her back on me to hide her very familiar face. Amaya can’t possibly be stupid enough to have taken work in the household of our greatest enemy who must believe she is dead!
“Spider!”
A voice cracks over me. Stiffly I turn to face the front of the balcony, where two Fives administrators stand at attention before Lord Gargaron. Beads of perspiration seep down the back of my neck as I come to parade rest before the two administrators, one middle-aged and one white-haired but still hale and strong.
“Your victory has been declared forfeit, Spider.” Oddly, Gargaron doesn’t seem angry. He’s not stroking his whip, and his fingers splay with utter relaxation on the armrests of his cushioned chair. “It has been explained to me that you did not complete Trees by climbing, as the rules demand. Therefore you will hand over your victor’s ribbon to the lord engineer. Go on.”
It is so hard to unclench my fingers from the prize, even if it is a slip of gold ribbon no longer than my forearm. My chest tightens with fear as I realize the danger I’ve put myself in. Being whipped by Gargaron would be a mercy compared to the other punishment that could be meted out: banishment from competition.
The middle-aged engineer yanks the ribbon from my grip.
Gargaron tilts his head to study me. “Had you a question or a comment, Spider?”
“I ascended the posts,” I say, trying to hide my nervousness from my potential executioner.
“What? No excuse?” Gargaron taps fingers on the armrest.
“I wanted to win, my lord. After considering the options, it was clearly the fastest way up. Since each post was a bit higher than the one before, it seemed to fit the definition of Trees: that you have to climb.”
Lady Menoë snaps open her fan and laughs behind it.
“What do you say, Lord Perikos?” Gargaron asks the older man, the lord administrator.
Lord Perikos’s face is adorned with the smile of a person enjoying the theatricals. In fact, he barely restrains an outright laugh. “We will inform the engineers to do a better job in subsequent trials by not leaving openings that may be misinterpreted by bold adversaries intent on giving the crowd an exhilarating spectacle.”
The lord engineer huffs like an offended bull. “We didn’t imagine someone would have the temerity… the audacity… to risk themselves by leaping up along the tops of the posts.”
I gesture toward the court, gaining courage from Lord Perikos’s amusement. “From up here it looks exactly like a stairstep challenge. If the engineers didn’t realize the posts could be used in the way I used them, then someone wasn’t thinking things through.”
The engineer sputters as Lord Perikos guffaws, then addresses Lord Gargaron. “Her sole penalty is to forfeit the victory. Henceforth she must follow the rules according to the regulations set down during the reign of Kliatemnos the Second. If she does not, she will be banned from the Fives.”
After the two men depart, Lady Menoë lowers her fan. Cunningly drawn wings unfurl from the corners of her eyes in the current cosmetic fashion.
“I like your spirit, Spider. You showed them for the fusty, rule-bound old donkeys they are. You will attend me this coming Firstday when I go to the palace to visit Queen Serenissima.”
“Yes, my lady.”
The crowd breaks into a flurry of cheers melded with derisive boos as a herald announces the retraction of my victory.
Gargaron studies the teeming multitude. “Go stand at the railing, Spider. Let them see you.”
I walk to the railing. With hands fixed behind my back I let the rush of sound wash over me as people see and acknowledge my presence. My father said that in battle, it is not just what you see but also what you hear that tells you the mood of your soldiers, of the enemy, of the day itself.
This is what I hear: A few might think me a cheater, but most people love what I did because I acted audaciously. If every adversary runs with caution then a stupor sets in. Tricks and impulsive chances give the Fives an intoxicating flavor. Skill matters, but daring and flair matter too.
I hope the Commoners in the crowd see a girl who outwitted the rules imposed by the Patron masters. That’s how I will capture their approval.
My gaze strays to the trial under way. In Trees a man with excellent grip strength hangs at ease one-handed as he seeks his next hold. The fickle crowd forgets me and cheers him.
“That’s enough, Jessamy. Go to the back and refresh yourself.” Gargaron’s sense of timing is impeccable, pulling me away from the railing as soon as he senses the crowd’s disinterest. “Come back after you’ve washed. You will watch the rest of the trials from the corner of the balcony. Many of our acquaintances will wander by over the rest of the afternoon to get a closer look at you.”
“Yes, my lord.” I retreat without turning my back on him or Lady Menoë.
As I pass the benches where the women sit, Denya gestures commandingly to the servant holding the prawns. “Go on and see to her, but leave those on the table for us to finish.”
/> A tent runs along the back of the balcony, divided by canvas walls into cubicles. The steward shows me to the farthest cubicle, where an old dog sleeps on a pillow, snoring. As soon as the steward leaves, Denya’s servant enters carrying a pitcher of water, a basin, soap, and a towel. She has cropped hair as Patron-born servant women do to mark their lowborn rank, and a deeper golden sheen on her cheeks like she has gotten too much sun. The short hair changes the look of her face more than anything, making her chin seem sharper. But I know it’s her. The moment she puts down the basin and pitcher, I grab her arm so hard she squeaks.
“What are you thinking?” I demand in a fierce whisper.
Amaya shakes off my grip. “Maybe the same thing you were thinking when you broke the rules in the trial you just ran. I know how to use cosmetics to hide what I am.”
“Barely passing as a Patron won’t protect you if Lord Gargaron recognizes you!”
“How would he? He only ever saw me once!”
Footsteps alert us. Amaya pours water into the basin. When a steward looks in to check on us, I am washing my face and hands.
“You are wanted on the balcony, Spider,” says the steward, although her expression suggests she doubts my suitability to venture out there.
“I can tidy up her hair,” says Amaya chirpily. “What a frightful mess it is!”
“Very well, Orchid. But hurry up.” The steward departs.
“Orchid?” I mutter.
“You don’t need to sneer at me like that.”
“I’m not sneering. I’m trying not to laugh.”
“I think ‘Orchid’ suits me! I always wondered why Father called our servants after plants and it turns out it’s something all the highborn palaces do. He must have learned of the custom in the army.” Her lips twitch. “It’s better than the first thing the senior steward wanted to name me.”
“Which was?”
“Jasmine, like you, Jessamy.”
We both snicker, then clap hands over our mouths as the dog lifts its head, too blind to tell who we are. There is nowhere for me to sit so I kneel on the ground as she tidies my hair with her usual ruthless efficiency. The truth is, having her here yanking at my curls is comforting. She’s the ally I’ve been missing, the one who knows everything that I can’t tell anyone else.
“Does Mother know you’re here?” I ask.
“I just told her I would get work, not where. Now that Polodos is saddled with the inn we need more money than what you sent to make a go of it.”
“So Ro-emnu did bring the coin.”
“Yes. The poet has quite fallen in love with Mother. I don’t mean in a romantic way; I mean like people do, wanting to ask her advice about how to court a lover or how best to earn a living in the market. What fish is healthiest to eat. Which herbs are best to relieve which malady. He can talk to her for hours about her life in the village. He questions her endlessly about the customs they observed there when she was a girl.”
“She barely told us about any of that!” It’s not fair Ro-emnu gets to see her when I can’t, that she’ll tell him stories she never told me. “He’s a dangerous man to have around, considering the king had him arrested once already for writing a play critical of the royal family.”
“Maybe so, but he’s helped Polodos and Maraya clean things up, and he brings friends to the inn to try to get a regular clientele started.”
“What kind of friends? The last thing we need is his activities drawing attention to Mother!”
“Easy for you to say, with a fancy roof over your head and all the food you can eat! We can scarcely afford bread for ourselves, much less stock meals and beer for customers. So you see I had to get work to help with expenses.”
“You didn’t have to get work here.”
“If you knew how unhappy Denya’s situation is, you wouldn’t criticize. At least with me as her personal servant, she has one person who cares about her in that awful place.”
A knot twists in my chest as I think of Gargaron’s whip. “Is he cruel to her?”
The hard tugs she gives as she tidies my hair betray her agitation. “He didn’t extract her from the wreckage of Lord Ottonor’s debts so they could discuss the latest philosophical tract from the Archives or who will win the horse races next week! I won’t leave her, Jes. And you can’t make me.”
A reluctant grin tugs at my mouth. “I know I can’t make you. You’re the stubbornest person I’ve ever met.” I chew on my lower lip. “It could actually be really useful for you to be in Garon Palace. As long as you aren’t caught.”
“You’re the one who almost got caught because you have as much subtlety as a bull! I’m much better at disguise and playacting than you are.”
My mind is already spinning this new obstacle. “As Denya’s handmaiden you’re well placed to overhear gossip at parties and in the servants’ quarters.”
“Exactly! I’ve been waiting to tell you that I heard a group of women and children were sent north a month ago to one of the country estates to work, but I don’t know which estate. It’s possible Bettany is with them.”
“She is with them,” I say, and Amaya grabs my wrist in excitement, then releases me and steps quickly away as we hear someone approaching.
The steward enters. “Lord Gargaron wishes you to attend him at once.”
What greets me on the balcony makes me want to run back to the privacy of the cubicle. The men chatting with Lord Gargaron trouble me with sly glances and leering smiles. Father would never have allowed us girls to be thrown into a situation like this one, where a Patron man would feel at ease sizing us up as if we were a platter of spicy prawns he is deciding if he is hungry enough to eat. Father’s strictures annoyed me once, but now I see how hard he worked to make us safe in a land where we have no legal standing.
I pretend I am a pillar, smooth and polished and without expression.
One of the lords speaks to Gargaron although he keeps glancing at me. “Of course they had to strip her of her victor’s ribbon, but I swear by all three gods she was astonishing to see, Gar. Some days the Fives are too dull to bear, but not with her here taking any kind of chance. I was sure she would fall and crack open her head!”
“I was sure she would not,” says Gargaron.
My chin lifts at the praise, and then I remember who he is and what he has done.
Another man addresses me directly without any of the modest courtesy an Efean man would have shown. “They say you are General Esladas’s mule daughter. You run like he fights, don’t you?”
I look at Gargaron, for I dare not speak without his permission. He nods.
“If you mean that as a compliment to my father’s ability to seek out an innovative solution in the heat of battle, my lord, then I thank you for the praise.”
The men exclaim. “She speaks our language perfectly! Amazing!”
The man who was sure I would crack open my head whispers in Gargaron’s ear, but Gargaron shakes his head and says, “Good Goat, man, show some patience. If she fulfills her promise there will be plenty of time to snatch her victor’s ribbons.”
A flush heats my cheeks. I don’t want them to guess that they repulse me. Gargaron knows they do, and that is bad enough.
But he’s playing a long game, just as I am.
Today the crowd will remember what I did, not who won. When I glance at Gargaron, I bind this thought tightly into my heart. However powerless I am, I am not nothing. He is not as safe from me as he thinks he is.
I remember what Ro-emnu said: Someone like you can fight for Efea in ways no Patron will ever see until it is too late.
10
On the next Firstday, Lady Menoë’s party departs Garon Palace in a cavalcade of carriages, bound for the King’s Garden outside the city walls where Queen Serenissima has retired to sit out a heat spell amid shady courtyards. Mounted guards ride ahead, resplendent in uniforms with calf-length tabards that flow and ripple, the Garon fire dog embroidered on flags fixed to the backs of the horse
s’ saddles. Lady Menoë follows in the first carriage with her particular friends. A second carriage of Garon Palace wives follows, behind them the favored concubines and two carriages of servants, all Patron women concealed behind curtains.
Mis bounces up and down beside me as we stand at the gate to Garon Stable watching the procession go by. “Aren’t you excited, Jes?”
“This dress is too tight.”
A sheath gown of muted orange-brown silk hugs my body, the clingy fabric emphasizing my curves while its halter neck-tie exposes the brawny shoulders that Lady Menoë’s friends exclaimed over. I have never in my life worn such costly fabric, which is embroidered with ivory beads and white thread to create a lacework meant to evoke a spider’s web. Artisans must have stayed awake day and night to finish this in a mere three days. All I can think about is that I am going to rip something.
When the last carriage halts to pick me up, one of the guards calls, “You were robbed, Spider! They should have let you keep the victor’s ribbon.”
The rest of the rear guard murmurs in agreement as I carefully climb into the carriage, trying not to step on the hem of my dress. I sit alone, of course, for what Patron, even a servant, would sit with me? For me the curtains are tied back so people can see the adversary named Spider. I’m worth something to Garon Palace, otherwise they would not parade me through the city like this.
The royal city was named Saryenia in honor of Lord Saryenos, the father of the first Saroese king and queen, Kliatemnos the First and his sister Serenissima the First, who was his queen but not his wife. They built the king’s palace atop the conical hill called the King’s Hill and the queen’s palace atop the Queen’s Hill. Garon Palace lies high up on the King’s Hill amid other palace compounds, and I stare across the city as we follow a road that twists back and forth down the slope. To the east the orderly streets of the newer part of the city turn into the jumble of the Warrens. To the south lies the Fire Sea, and from up here the wide waters shine like they’ve been polished.