by Janeal Falor
I have servants? I can't imagine what that’ll be like. I've always taken care of myself. I'd prefer it remain that way. Others can't be trusted.
We pass several servants, dressed in light blue and scurrying through the halls, who aren't as plump as Ranen, but are clearly well fed. I think of my bony body matching most of the Poruah class and can't help but keep my gaze down. Daros kept me fit enough to do my job, but nothing more. Starved only sometimes. Mostly, I was fed protein. It left me thin but strong. At least I have that on the lowest class of people.
If only I’d gotten a job as a servant when I was little, things would be so much different.
Not that I had a choice.
After a long walk in silence, with several twists and turns, we stop at a door.
“These are your rooms,” he says. “Your servants will attend to you, and then I will see to your training.”
He almost glares, which is unnerving, so I hurry through the door, only to be met by a woman who ushers me through the room to a second room. It is airy with a vaulted ceiling, and half a dozen well-rounded women are waiting for me.
My maids, apparently.
I've never needed one. Why would I need six?
“We drew a bath for you, and then we will head to the springs,” one of the oldest ones says.
A bath? When was the last time I had one of those? And what does she mean by springs?
I sulk to the tub and flick my hand through the water. Warm. But they’re all still here, staring at me. There’s been way too much staring in my direction today. How idiotic of me, to think I wanted to be noticed for once.
A couple of the women hold vases. Another holds a brush, and yet another holds a tray of what I think are soaps. I've never seen such tiny, elegant, colored soaps before. What's the purpose behind everything I’ve been through and what they want me to go through?
“I will do this myself,” I say.
As one, they nod—who trained these people?—and set their things down on a table by the bath. They file out of the room, except for the one who spoke before.
She says, “We will return in half an hour if that suits you.”
“It does,” I reply. I'll have this done in ten.
As soon as she closes the door behind her, I strip, grateful to get out of these sweat-crusted clothes, and get in the tub. The water feels good on my aching body. I grab a soap bar at random and a scrub brush and run them across my hands as if the past will go with the layers of skin if I scour hard enough.
It doesn't.
Ten minutes later, I'm clean and dressed. I explore the room, checking every nook and cranny. Every drawer and under the bed. The drawers are carved with intricacy. The four-poster bed is sumptuously soft. I wouldn’t be able to sleep on such a thing. Even the carpet is more cushioned than my bed back at Daros's. The curtains are a red velvet that matches the drapes around the bed.
As far as I can tell, this place is unoccupied. There are no personal belongings. Might as well be my room at Daros's house if it wasn't so refined and furnished.
Twenty minutes later, the women return. The one who spoke before glances at me, her cheeks pulled down in a perpetual scowl. She’s tall, easily the tallest one here, and thick boned. Her eyes are small on her face, while concentrating heavily on me. For a moment, I think she disapproves of the job I did. If she doesn't like how I clean myself, she'll have to get over that aversion quickly.
“Please follow me, Your Highness,” she says.
Not as bad as Your Majesty, but still not right. What do I want to be called? I don't know. Something not so… pretentious.
I haven’t thought much about not having a name. Once, when I was still small, I asked Daros why I didn't have one. His response was that I didn't deserve one. Calling me girl was good enough for him. It should still be good enough for what I am.
I deserve nothing more.
The woman leads me through the palace via a different route than the one I followed before, her steps in time to some rhythm I can't hear or follow. The area isn't unlike before, despite going all this way—drapes around huge windows; portraits of unfamiliar people or landscapes on the walls; and flowers here and there, on tables dotting the halls, in pots, or in corners. Beauty the likes of which I know of and have seen but haven’t owned.
The maid opens a door that leads to a muggy room, outside of which wait several guards, male and female, dressed in steel and black. The room is large, with a pool of smooth marble in the middle and pillars on the sides. Everything is white and pure in here.
Everything except me. I’m anything but pure.
“This is the queen's bathing room,” the woman says.
“I already took a bath.”
She lifts a brow. “That was to prepare you for this experience. May I please assist you?”
I'd rather cut off my own finger.
She gets the message because she points at the vials and combs next to the pool and says, “Here are your bathing necessities.”
There are more items here than I've ever owned at one time. Not that it's something I'd tell her. Instead, I try to hide my surprise. “What are they all for?”
“Are you certain you don't want assistance?” she asks instead of answering.
I add an edge to my voice. “What are they all for?”
She inches back.
Good. She knows who she's dealing with.
She explains the items one at a time and slowly, but it's still more than I can handle. A soap with grit, to make my skin smooth. One to make me shine. One to make me smell like a queen. Why do I need a soap for that? And why does the queen have to smell a certain way?
She shows me fat-toothed combs to get out tangles. A strange-looking tool to massage the scalp. A brush. And more items that blur together. How am I going to remember all this?
Doesn't matter. No one needs this much for just a bath, let alone life. If it was something important like poison, I would remember every word she spoke.
Once she stops droning on, I tell her to leave, and she does so. I get a better look around the room. So many pillars around this place. Too many places to hide.
I burst into a run around the pillars, boots smacking against the marble. I quiet my steps as I go and check each place someone could hide behind. I can't imagine the palace people would leave someone in here with the Queen when I clearly want to be alone, but then again, minutes ago I couldn’t dream that anyone took two baths in a row. Especially in a pool of such elegance.
There’s no one behind any of the pillars, and though the room is large, I'm not even breathing hard by the time I return.
Good. I'm still at my best.
The only door is the one I came through, and it’s shut. I should have privacy. Not that I trust it. One never knows where there are peepholes or secret entrances.
I hurry into the pool, the water sluicing across me. It's more perfect than the bathwater, somehow smoother than normal.
While the water waves around me, I wonder about the Mortum Tura. How does the cup choose the next queen? What does it look for in a queen? It can't be by anything good—virtue, kindness, or purity of heart—because I'm an assassin.
Does it matter? Maybe it's all random. I brush it aside. Despite my misgivings, I find myself luxuriating in too many of the items. Not that I know what they’re all for. The smell of roses makes me feel almost carefree.
I take my time scrubbing even though I already feel clean. I even get between my toes, the mole between my big toe and the one next to it on my right foot stubbornly holding on. No other spots mar my body but that one. Daros was careful not to do any lasting damage.
Once I'm done—or rather, once I've gone overboard—I hurriedly rinse in the pool. I get out, dry off, and dress as quickly as possible in the garment left for me. It's a flimsy thing—a thin layer of material which covers me, though it's big. A dress. Something I don’t wear. Another thing I have to remedy.
A faint patter behind me is the only w
arning I get before a rope digs into my neck and my back smashes against someone behind me. Someone big and strong. It has to be a man, the way he's gripping me. If I wasn't so busy choking, I'd smile. This is what I wanted, only not in the way I expected.
Why this person wants me dead, I'll never know, but he's doing me quite the favor.
My instincts peak to life. Not a lot, but enough to make my reflexes flare. I lean forward, then head-butt the man and connect with his neck. He sputters and jerks backward but instead of letting go, he takes me with him.
My vision flickers. Where are my daggers when I need them?
That decides it. I still deserve to die, but it will be on my terms, not this brute's.
I press his trigger points on his wrist, and immediately, icy air cools my neck with the rope’s release. I duck, jabbing my elbows back as I go. There's an umpf behind me. I somersault forward, then spin to face my opponent.
His face is an unfamiliar mix of pox marks and sheen. He grunts and comes at me head on, rope still in hand. Guilt sluices through me, but he did bring the attack to me.
I spin out of the way at the last moment, hitting his kidney as he passes by. His faint cry brings the sound of footsteps hurrying through the hall toward us.
The look on his face says he knows we'll soon no longer be alone. A meaty hand grabs my arm before I can slip away. I kick him where it will hurt the most before he can dodge out of the way. He lets go with a grunt. It was low of me, but I don't want to be under his thumb when help arrives.
I kick his groaning self into the pool. As he goes in with a splash, others enter the room.
That was not nearly quick enough of them. Where did the assassin come from, and why did he want to take my life? Is he one of Daros's men? Someone I don't know? Did Daros already find me, or is someone else after my life now that I'm the queen, even though it's been a scant time?
“You might want to be faster next time,” I tell the two men and the tall woman staring at me with wide eyes, frozen in their places. And then I leave the way I came.
My hands tremble something fierce.
Why didn't I let him finish me off?
Chapter 4
Guards swarm around me. I can't help but wonder where they were when my life was threatened. The would-be assassin is dragged off by another group of soldiers, all of whom are soaking wet. I want to question him. To find out where he came from. Who he's working for. But I don’t know how to go about it; torturing people for information was always Daros's job.
I have to know, though. Before I realize what I'm doing, I call out, “Bring him here.”
Ranen is immediately by my side. I didn't know he was around. “Your Majesty, let someone else take care of this, and we can inform you of what we find out. It would be beneath you to speak with the prisoner.”
I want to let go. To take back my words. But I don't need another Daros in my life, bossing me around, even if I plan on not being around long. I glare at Ranen. I stood up once; I can do it again.
My jaw wants to clamp shut. Instead, I force out, “That doesn't matter.”
“Your Highness, I must protest. It isn't safe.”
That matters even less. “I will talk to him. Now.”
The tassel on Ranen’s hat dips down as he bows, but the gesture is stiff. Jerky. “Yes, My Lady.”
He motions the guards to bring the prisoner closer. A woman holds one arm while a man holds the other. I ignore him in favor of the would-be assassin. I take in more of him than when he was trying to kill me—his ragged hair, burnt nose, and cool eyes. The eyes of a killer.
Do mine look like that?
I swallow past my tight throat. “Who sent you?”
His cool gaze searches my eyes. He sneers. “You may be the queen, but I don't answer to you.”
I press my knuckles against his temple, middle finger still curled but jutted out. “You can, and you will. If not, I can make you perish.”
He has the audacity to laugh—a cruel, vain sound. He clenches a muscle in his jaw, and then he spits on my face.
Without a thought, I slug him as hard as I can. He grunts, head jerking back. I wipe the spittle off my face, and try not to grimace in disgust as I swipe it across the cloth on his shoulder. It's not the worst I've faced.
Everyone around us is silent. Watching. Waiting.
Why don't they do something more to protect me? To honor me? Not that I deserve it, but I am their sovereign now.
I jab my fingers behind the prisoner’s collarbone and force him to the ground. “Who sent you?”
He winces but clamps his mouth shut.
I grit my teeth, pushing harder. Still, he doesn't reply.
“You've done enough questioning, Your Majesty,” Ranen barks out.
I release the prisoner, wishing I hadn't stooped to Daros's level. What's more, I wish others weren’t here to see it. My face burns at the thought that I'm anything like him—a cruel, unfeeling person. But I am.
Nothing could be plainer.
“Take him to the dungeons,” Ranen says.
The guards lift the prisoner off the ground and drag him away. Now it's Ranen, the servant who showed me the baths, and me.
Ranen glares at me. I glance at the ground. Heat burns within me. I want to tell him off, but what if his rebuttals are anything like Daros's?
I can handle it. Besides, I doubt Ranen has the stomach for real torture. I lift my chin.
“What will happen to him now?” I put bite behind my words.
“Your Majesty, I must insist you not trouble yourself with such things. It's unbecoming, and I won't put up with it.” He waves a finger at me, like I'm an errant child.
I bristle. He won't put up with it? What about what I want?
But then I remember what brought me here. He might not be punishing me like Daros would, but that doesn't mean I have the right to voice my thoughts.
That is, until I spot the servant. I turn my attention to her, not caring about Ranen. “How did the prisoner slip past you?”
“I don't know, Your Highness.” Her gaze is focused on the ground. “I will take whatever punishment you see fit for letting him through.”
I contemplate what to do. “What about the two men who entered with you? Did they notice him enter?”
“They saw nothing either. They are now with the guards, taking the prisoner to the dungeons. But I promise you we had nothing to do with it. We would give our lives for you. Otherwise we wouldn't be here. Perhaps he used a secret entrance. There are many hidden tunnels throughout the palace.”
Ranen glares at her. “I see,” I say. And I do. More than I would like. I've gone after others’ lives many times, after all.
It seems I'll have to watch myself closely if I value my life. Which I don't. Do I?
“We should call for more guards to protect her,” the servant says to Ranen.
“Very well. Run and fetch someone.” His tone is clipped.
“I would, but I have to help Her Majesty get into proper attire and fix her hair, so she is fit to be seen.”
Seeing how I'm in a dress, it's not possible. I've carried off dresses before, though, so I can do it again until I decide what to do with my life if I have to.
Ranen flares his nostrils the tiniest bit, but I catch on. He's upset. Because he has to leave my side? Because my life was threatened? Or because he doesn’t want me to be alone with the servant? What is he worried about?
“Very well.” He storms off.
I don't bother telling the servant I don't need a guard. It's true, but there's no point.
“Now, let's get your dress on properly and your hair fixed,” the servant says.
Letting numbness creep over me, I follow her back to my rooms. The vanity now holds lots of combs, brushes, and vials. I sit in the chair in front of the mirror, grateful I can see the servant in it.
One thing I know—I don't trust either her or Ranen.
I avoid looking my image in the eye as the tall woman d
oes my hair up, digging pins into my scalp. Somehow she manages to put my hair up, despite it being so short.
My dark-brown hair, the color of many others in this country, is thick. My face is round, but not with fat. Not like all of the Kurah class—those rich enough to glut themselves. No, my cheeks are sunken in. My lips are full but pale, and the eyes I can no longer avoid…
Haunted.
Their blue depths are startling with their loss of humanity.
I look away, unable to bear the sight.
Once finished with my hair, my servant helps me into a gown that's the silkiest thing I've ever touched—so smooth and sleek. But far too beautiful. Plus, she has to pin it many times to get it to fit on me.
She paints my face with what feels like a heavy hand, but I don’t want to look in the mirror again to find out. There’s only so much I can take.
“There,” she says. “You're ready for the day. You'll spend most of it with Ranen.”
I force myself not to cringe.
“If you'll excuse me, Your Majesty, I must see to a few things.” She curtsies. “Ranen will be here with your bodyguards soon, if they aren't already.”
She leaves the room, and I allow myself to relax the slightest bit. I miss my old room, back at Daros's. Didn’t think that would be true, but it is.
Pushing the thought aside, I move to where I stashed my blades and pouch earlier. I don't know what I was thinking, going without them.
Well, perhaps I do. Perhaps I wanted the opportunity to lose my life. A queen is never safe.
I grab them now, though. Without them, I was naked. I need my blades more than I need food. I even rip a hole in one of my pockets, to accommodate one of them. They’re probably meant for embroidery, but this is a better purpose. It doesn't matter if the dress is destroyed. There are much more important things than frivolous clothes.
Chapter 5
The thought of wanting to preserve my life still haunts me as the day wears on. I've nibbled on some food—nothing much but enough to alleviate my hunger pains—and Ranen is jabbering on over topics I couldn't care less about while we sit in an unfamiliar room.