by Grace Draven
Brishen leaned forward for a quick glimpse of his brother at the other end of the table. Harkuf either didn’t hear the exchange between the queen and Ildiko or he didn’t care. His attention remained solely on the food in front of him, with occasional glances at his latest mistress seated at one of the lower tables. His wife Tiye was a different story. Too distracted by the interactions between Secmis and Ildiko, she picked at her food, her expression wavering between fascination and horror as she listened to their conversation.
Brishen imagined whatever bits and pieces she heard shocked her. Secmis terrified Tiye as much as she terrified Ildiko. Unlike Ildiko, Tiye never stood against her formidable mother-in-law in either word or action. He remained undecided if she was weaker than Ildiko or simply possessed a better sense of self-preservation.
The exchange between the Kai queen and her newly acquired Gauri daughter-in-law continued through most of the meal, with the dinner guests perched on their seats to catch every word and expression. Their scrutiny intensified when the last course was delivered—scarpatine pies with their golden crusts and the contents writhing inside them.
Brishen leaned closer to Ildiko. “Are you ready?”
She surprised him with a soft exhalation of relief. “Yes,” she whispered. “If this is what it takes to silence your mother, I’ll eat this vile pie all day long.”
A howl of laughter threatened to escape his throat. Ildiko jumped in her seat when Brishen turned and pressed his cheek to hers so that his face was turned away from the audience, and his lips brushed her ear. It was a stunning display of public affection—one he knew his mother would fume over for days and the court would gossip about for weeks.
He allowed himself a small chuckle then. “I will conquer kingdoms for you if you but ask it of me, Ildiko.”
She pulled away enough to meet his smiling gaze, her own mouth turning up. “Just defeat the pie without either of us getting stung, husband. I’ll be satisfied.”
While Ildiko didn’t join in the numerous oohs and aahs over the delicacy served, she didn’t flinch when Brishen repeated the process of cutting into the pie and butchering the scarpatine. He could almost feel the wave of disappointment from the guests roll over him as she ate her portion without hesitation or fanfare. Only he heard the measured rhythm of her breathing—when she held her breath, when she exhaled—and made sure her goblet remained filled.
Beside him, Secmis fairly quivered with frustration. She’d been given a pie of her own and vented her wrath on the scarpatine by puncturing the shell and slicing out the flesh with her claws instead of her knife. Oily black blood oozed off her claw tips as she smirked at Ildiko who steadfastly ignored her and Brishen who glared.
When the feast finally concluded and the king and queen quit the hall—Secmis gifting Ildiko with a final scowl—Brishen felt as if he’d just walked off a battlefield. Ildiko stood next to him, her hand once more resting in the crook of his elbow as the two faced the horde of nobles who descended on them to offer their congratulations and satisfy their curiosity.
It was more of an interrogation than a social gathering, and like the feast before it, Ildiko suffered through it with stoic aplomb. It was Brishen who called a halt and refused offers of more drink and food in the various palace chambers occupied by the more powerful aristocrats.
He and Ildiko bowed and made their escape into the hallway. “How fast can you walk?” he said.
For the first time that evening, she offered him a wide smile, flashing her small square teeth. “I can run if you want me to.”
“Excellent.” He grabbed her hand and they dashed together through the corridors and up a flight of stairs until they stood outside the doors to his chamber and hers.
“How did I do, husband?” Ildiko said when she caught her breath.
Brishen reached for her hand and brought it to his mouth for a kiss, then bowed before her. “You make a magnificent hercegesé, my wife.”
She trailed her fingertips down his arm. “I think we both caught the message the queen delivered when she gutted that scarpatine, Brishen. Your mother hates me. I’m sorry.”
He stepped closer and wrapped an arm around her narrow waist. “If Secmis is smart, and she is, she’ll find a way to overcome her dislike and make an ally of you.” He kissed her forehead “I’ve had enough of playing the puppet on display. I crave good company and good wine. Will you join me?”
Ildiko nodded and slid her hands up his arms to his shoulders. “May we invite your cousin? I didn’t see Anhuset at the feast, and I imagine she’d enjoy your retelling of the event.”
Brishen nodded. “Despite her family’s disapproval, Anhuset isn’t one for these gatherings and avoids them at all costs.”
Ildiko worried at a thread on his sleeve with her fingers. “I envy her.”
“So do I,” he said. “I’ll send a message to have her meet us in my chamber. She’ll match my story of this feat with her retelling of our wedding celebration in Pricid. She’s still threatening to split my gullet over having to eat one of those noxious potatoes.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A week after their arrival in Haradis, Ildiko sat on one of the benches in the palace gardens. Eyes closed and face turned up to the sun, she soaked in the late morning light that spilled into the palace garden. Sunbeams lanced through the spaces left open by climbing vines on lattice work and transformed the various fish ponds dotting the landscape into pools of reflective glass.
Except for the hooded guardsman a discreet distance away, she was alone in the gardens. The palace denizens slept, including her husband who’d wished her a peaceful sleep and left her to find his bed.
Ildiko thought she’d fall into oblivion the moment she pulled the covers over her shoulders. She was wrong. She’d lain awake in the graying dark, listening to Kirgipa’s restless sleep and Sinhue’s gentle snores. They slept on pallets on the floor at the foot of her bed. As her personal servants, both women spent a lot of time with her, helping her dress in the evening, undress at morning and change for the various gatherings the monarchs, the heir apparent, or the higher status nobles held each night. Besides Brishen and Anhuset, they were Ildiko’s greatest source of information regarding the Kai court and its many customs.
She was grateful to them and for their quick adjustment to her appearance—something that still elicited numerous fixed stares and not-so subtle whispers each time she made an appearance at one of the endless social functions she had attended with Brishen since their arrival in the capital city.
Ildiko was well-versed in the rhythm and madness of court life in general. No function was held simply for chit-chat or the pleasure of another’s company. Whether they were Kai or Gauri, the nobility used such meetings to plan, to strategize, to negotiate, and to curry favor. Sometimes there were threats; other times there were bribes, all executed in the politest terms. Outright hostility was saved for the literal battlefields where the warfare was bloodier but more honest.
She pretended not to see the sympathetic back pats and shoulder squeezes the Kai men gave Brishen or hear the low-voiced offers of a Kai mistress for the evening. Taking offense made no sense to her. In Pricid, she’d been hailed as a beauty—too pretty for the likes of a repulsive, gray-skinned, fanged Kai prince. The Gauri and the Kai were two peoples with far more similarities than differences, but the differences stood out most, and each found the other hard on the eyes, whether they were glowing or not.
While the Kai men were civil and guarded with her, the women fell into three camps. A few were friendly and curious, asking Ildiko questions about her life in Pricid and what she thought of the Kai palace and its court. Most were as reserved as the men, offering polite congratulations on her marriage and nothing more. The last few practically vibrated resentment and jealousy, and Ildiko surmised these women had been Brishen’s lovers at some point.
Her marriage was too young and too odd for her to suffer pangs of jealousy, but she was mildly curious. What about these p
articular women had attracted Brishen? Had it merely been their beauty or something more elusive and subtle in their character? Her husband was a good-natured man with an easy humor. Ildiko couldn’t explain why she’d been so drawn to him since their first meeting. An intuitive sense of the vibrant soul and great heart that lay behind the ugly exterior? She didn’t know, but she was grateful for his reciprocal regard. Though she was human and as yet unable to appreciate the beauty in Kai physicality, she understood why a Kai woman he’d once favored might be jealous of her for more than just her elevated rank as Brishen’s wife.
Ildiko had chastised herself repeatedly for antagonizing the queen. So far, Secmis had done nothing more than hurl insults at her, but Ildiko trusted Brishen’s warnings regarding his mother, and she remained wary. Facing these Kai women who likely considered each other rivals until her appearance at court made her glad she’d publically faced down the formidable Secmis. They might glare and scowl at her, but they hesitated to engage her in an unfriendly verbal exchange.
A solid week of this kind of combat had left her exhausted, but she couldn’t sleep. Ildiko lay on her back and stared at the ceiling of her bed hangings. Sinhue and Kirgipa didn’t waken when she slid out of bed, pulled on a robe and slippers and sneaked out of her chambers. A Kai guard bowed as she passed him in the corridor. He said nothing but fell into step behind her and followed her as she made her way to the palace gardens.
She found a bench in an alcove sheltered by a half dome of tree branches and now sat to face a sunrise she hadn’t seen since she left Pricid.
The gardens, like the Kai, had fallen asleep with the coming of day. Brishen had shown her the gardens shortly after his return of Talumey’s mortem light to his family. Ildiko had gasped and clapped her hands at its beauty. Pale flowers bloomed in lush profusion, glowing softly under the moon’s light in shades of iridescent pearl and ivory. The leaves on the trees were plated silver, and the entire garden shimmered in the black night like the surface landscape of a fallen star.
This was the first time she had viewed them in daylight, and it was a far bleaker sight. The flowers had closed up behind dark, protective husks, and the leaves crackled black and spiny in the cool breeze. Morning had transformed the garden into an otherworldly space straight out of a nightmare. Sitting beneath the skeletal branches of the angular trees, Ildiko had never felt so alone or out of place.
Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away. They welled again, stubbornly refusing to dry up even as the rising sun made her squint before its brilliant rays. She breathed slowly—in, out—and refused to succumb to the suffocating tightness in her chest or the sobs rising in her throat.
“I’m tired,” she whispered to herself. “Just tired.” There was no good reason to cry. Her husband would never win any Gauri beauty contests, but he was an exceptional man. Ildiko liked him very much. Many wives were not so lucky with the mates chosen for them or even ones they chose themselves.
His people, with the exception of his mother, had been civil and welcoming to her in the reserved way of the Kai. While they may never see her as Kai or accept her on her own merit, their respect for Brishen ensured they would always give the respect due to her as his wife. She expected nothing more.
Still, she eagerly awaited Brishen’s announcement that they’d leave Haradis and travel to his estate. It might hug the borders with hostile Belawat, but it was solely Brishen’s domain, one she hoped she could make hers as well.
She recalled their visit to Talumey’s mother, Tarawin. The evening after that first dire court feast , they’d ridden through Haradis’s narrow streets on horseback instead of in a carriage. Brishen had offered a choice.
“We can ride in a carriage, or you can ride pillion with me. You’ll have more privacy in the carriage if you wish, but you’ll be able to see Haradis better from horseback.”
Ildiko had chosen horseback and was glad she did. The capital city was a bustling place in the middle of the night, and she had to remind herself that for the Kai, this was the middle of their day. Except for the darkness and the heavy foot traffic of slate-skinned people with firefly eyes, Haradis might have been like any other city—alive with vendors hawking their wares, children chasing dogs and chickens through the narrow alleyways, mothers shouting at them to return or be careful, and pickpockets slinking about to relieve the unwary of their coin. Prostitutes peddled their bodies next to merchants selling wine and various foods roasted on spits or steamed in pots.
The crowds parted as she rode with Brishen through the streets, accompanied by a small contingent of palace guards. Some pointed; others waved, and many stretched their necks for a glimpse of the prince’s new wife. The deep hood she wore concealed her for the most part. Brishen had not initially approved.
“You shouldn’t have to cover yourself. I’m not ashamed of my bride, Ildiko.”
She patted his hand. “It’s a matter of convenience, not shame, Brishen. If I go out there bareheaded and barefaced, we’ll never get to Tarawin’s home before dawn. And when we do, we’ll have a mob behind us, all wanting to gawk at me. In her place, I’d find our arrival unpleasant at best.”
He’d reluctantly agreed with her reasoning, and they arrived at Tarawin’s house with only a small crowd of curious neighbors watching from their doorways. As soon as the woman opened the door and ushered them inside, the palace guard closed ranks outside, a solid barrier between them and any would-be visitors.
Like all the Kai women Ildiko had met so far, Talumey’s mother was a tall, lithe creature with silvery hair. She lacked Anhuset’s muscular athleticism and Secmis’s haughty grace, but Ildiko thought her lovely in the Kai fashion. There was a softness to her features as well as a deep sadness that bracketed her mouth.
She knelt before Brishen. “You honor my house with your presence, Herceges. You and your wife.”
Brishen helped her rise and held her hand. “I wish I brought a more joyful offering than this.”
Tarawin brought their clasped hands to her forehead. “It is still treasured. My son would have never dreamed of such a privilege. I’m thankful you brought him home to us.” She glanced at the silent Ildiko, and the lines at the corners of her eyes deepened with her faint smile. “A blessing on your marriage, Hercegesé. Welcome to Haradis. Welcome to my humble home.”
It was a humble home, spotlessly clean, inviting to any who entered. A young girl hovered behind her mother, and Ildiko immediately caught the resemblance between her and Kirgipa. Tarawin introduced her as Kirgipa’s younger sister, Atalan.
Brishen had offered to bring Kirgipa with them when he returned Talumey’s mortem light. The servant had refused. “I’ll be with my mother when she brings his mortem light to Emlek and comfort her there. I don’t think I can bear to see my brother reduced to just light and memory.”
They’d taken tea but refused the food Tarawin offered, for which Ildiko was glad. Her stomach was in knots. This was a house in mourning and carried within it a hushed waiting, as if the very walls and floor held a breath as it waited for Talumey’s return.
When they finished their tea, Brishen pushed his cup aside. “Are you ready, Mistress Tarawin?”
She inhaled a slow breath, nodded, and rose from the table to retrieve a small crystal globe resting on a three-pronged stand on the mantel above the hearth. Brishen joined her in the middle of the room and gestured for Ildiko to remain in her seat.
Tarawin hesitated. “Are you certain you wish to do this, Your Highness? I can summon a priestess who will take the light and bring it to me.”
Brishen shook his head and sank to his knees in front of her. “This is audience enough, mistress. Your son fought and died in my service. It’s my honor to do this.”
The globe wobbled in Tarawin’s shaking hands at his answer. She held it out to Brishen who curved his hands over hers, slender fingers and black claws covering the pale orb.
The skin on Ildiko’s arms pebbled at the first line of the chant the two recited i
n unison. She recognized its cant and rhythm—the lamentation the Kai had used when the mortem lights had first filled their willing vessels.
She gasped and leapt to her feet as black lines like thorny vines sprouted under the skin of Brishen’s neck, speeding over his cheeks and across his forehead where they disappeared into his hairline. His closed eyelids twitched, cobwebbed with the same hideous lines, and his lips thinned back against his teeth.
Ildiko had never dabbled in magery, but she knew enough about spellwork to understand the dangers and lethality of interrupting it. This was powerful magic, painful magic, and all she could do was stand aside and wring her hands as her husband clutched the orb and convulsed on his knees, his speech stuttered and clumsy.
A dot of light illuminated the center of his chest, growing until it threatened to consume him and Tarawin whole. Ildiko turned her face away and shielded her eyes as a burst of blinding light filled the room. When she could see again, Brishen had slumped before Tarawin like a puppet with its strings cut.
Tarawin held the orb gingerly, its interior lit with the transferred mortem light until it resembled a small, glowing sun in her hands. She handed it to Atalan who took the globe, kissed it reverently and wrapped it in a silk cloth before setting it in a small chest set on the table where they’d taken their tea.
Assured the transfer of the mortem light was finished, Ildiko rushed to Brishen’s side. The jagged black tracery under his skin had disappeared, but he still needed help to stand. She and Tarawin led him to the chair he’d vacated earlier. After several more cups of tea and assurances to a worried Tarawin and equally concerned Ildiko, Brishen announced he was ready to leave.