Our Lady of the Islands

by Shannon Page

  Escotte waved his hand dismissively. “The pleasure is mine! Truly, cousin, you should wear warm colors more often. They quite suit you.”

  They quite do not, Sian thought, smiling pleasantly as she cast her eyes about the room in search of something else to talk about among the tapestries or sofa-cushions. The small round table between them caught her eye, its marbled top cunningly inlaid with brightly colored tiles. The pattern was abstract, yet pleasing in some mysterious way. What a fine bolt of cloth it would make, she thought, her business mind already trying to organize its preparation for Monde & Kattë’s looms. “Where did you find this lovely table, cousin?”

  “I have my sources, dear.” Escotte gave her a mischievous smile. “It’s from the City Imperishable. An artifact from before,” he added to be sure she understood the table’s mind-bending antiquity. “I relish things of beauty from the past, don’t you?”

  Sian tried not to gape. If what he said was true, the table alone was worth more than her entire … everything. She looked again at the exquisite jewel-box of a room, the gilded onyx wall lamps, the exquisitely carved teak and mahogany furniture, the crystal decanters and silver-furnished sideboard, the Hanchu silk rug at their feet. How much wealth did this one room contain? How much of Alizar’s treasury had it taken to furnish the entire building?

  Escotte set his glass down on the priceless table, then ran his hand gently across the tiles before looking up at Sian. “I can guess what you are thinking, cousin.”

  “Oh! You are a mind reader now?” she said, trying to cover her discomfort with humor. “Strange powers clearly run in our family.”

  “You think me just a hoarder of wealth.”

  “You are an utter failure at this skill you boast of, cousin,” she teased, unnerved by this evidence of her own transparency.

  “Come now,” he replied. “Don’t deny it. I can see it very plainly in your eyes.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. What reason could you, of all people, have to care about more wealth, Escotte? But surely you do not suppose that anyone could look around here and be unimpressed.” She was careful to smile as she said it, thinking, A hoarder of prestige, if anything. “Can even you take so much treasure for granted?”

  “I take nothing I possess for granted, dear. Nor, to be candid, am I as unconcerned about more wealth as you claim to suppose. In my experience there is no such thing as enough, let alone too much, especially in troubled times like these. But I fear you do misunderstand me.” He looked at her earnestly. “This table, beautiful and rare as it may be, is not just wealth to me. It is history. And history tends to be the first thing lost in times of upheaval.” He gave her a wistful smile, and stroked the table again. “Whole civilizations come and go, leaving us nothing more than these rare glimpses.”

  Dear me. Escotte Alkattha, noted preserver of history? A shame your tastes don’t equal your ambition, she thought, recalling the absurd contents of his library. Everything about this conversation was rubbing her the wrong way. “So you’re just collecting all these lovely things against some future rainy day?” she could not help asking with a teasing smile.

  “I’ve no desire to be disingenuous, cousin.” Escotte leaned back into his chair again. “We both know what a crucial resource wealth is. It is my money, at least as much as my position, which enables me to keep you here in safety — not to mention comfort.”

  “And I’m very grateful for that,” she answered automatically. Which she was, of course.

  Escotte gave her a look, then said, “Shall we have another tartelette or two? Dinner is an hour off yet.”

  “Yes, please.” She was almost not embarrassed by her hunger now. Almost.

  Escotte picked up a tiny crystal bell from the ancient table between them. Its tinkling sound was sweet enough to please the gods. Such a bell, she thought, must surely have been imported from the very stars above, and presented to Escotte Alkattha by winged gremlins on a blanket sewn of albino nighthorse skins. Or some such. She kept this uncharitable thought to herself, of course, as Quatama entered to refresh their drinks and bring them more pastries from the sideboard mere feet away, before withdrawing once again.

  “How go your arrangements for my meeting with the Factor’s son?” Sian tried, between sips of her refilled drink.

  “Laboriously, as you might expect.” Escotte shifted in his chair and crossed his legs, revealing a magenta-and-puce-stockinged ankle and a bit of plump calf.

  “Anything you can share with me?” she asked.

  “Nothing useful or safe for you to know.” He sipped his drink without meeting her eyes, clearly wishing for another change of subject.

  Sian fought back a sigh, and gazed around the room again, finding no safer topic even there this time.

  “Truly, dear, you needn’t worry about it,” Escotte added, more gently. “Everything will be resolved quite soon, I’m sure. Just relax, and enjoy your holiday here.”

  “I …” Sian started, then stopped.

  “Yes?”

  “I just wonder if there’s a way I could relax here in some … less supervised way?”

  “What do you mean?” Escotte’s voice sharpened a bit. “Has Cleone’s service been less than satisfactory?”

  “No, of course not — she is quite capable … and creative. But she is with me constantly, always trying to amuse me. I have not a moment to myself. If I leave my chambers, Ennias or Wurrit are there standing guard as well. Can I never be alone — even here inside the house?”

  “I believe I have explained more than once the dangers involved for you — even here, regrettably.”

  “Yes, I do understand that …”

  “Is there some further diversion or amenity you desire? Perhaps a favored delicacy that our kitchens are not providing? Just say the word and I shall have it done.” His words were kind; his tone somewhat less so.

  “No, no — your kitchens are quite astonishing. There is nothing more I want.”

  Escotte frowned. “Then what is the problem, cousin?”

  Fighting down frustration that she knew she must not show, she said, “I simply find it quite uncomfortable to be escorted even to the toilet, like a child. Surely you can understand that, Escotte. I cannot visit your innermost courtyards without an armed guard. Are your fish that dangerous? I am used to some amount of freedom.” She picked up her cocktail and took an unusually large swig.

  Her normally foppish cousin fixed her with a glare more stern than any she had ever seen on his round, soft face. “My dear Sian,” he said, his voice cold, “I am sorry that you find my hospitality so offensive. I will happily return you to the Mishrah-Khote at any time; you need only ask.”

  “I … no! I meant no offense, Escotte. Have I not told you how grateful I am?”

  “Ah. Forgive me. I misunderstood then.”

  “Yes. Of course. I’m sorry to have so poorly expressed my concerns, cousin.”

  “Let’s just consider this unfortunate exchange forgotten, shall we?” He got up to get another pastry for himself — the little bell also forgotten.

  After that, an uncomfortable silence fell across the room, settling like a veneer of oily dust on all its lovely furnishings. Sian concentrated on her cocktail, though it no longer tasted half so sweet. When it was finished, she sat wishing desperately for any of Cleone’s little bags of sewing or bead-stringing kits with which to fill the awkward vacuum, until, finally, Quatama came to announce their dinner. She leapt up and started for the door, tempted to embrace the man from sheer relief, though, for once, she had no appetite at all.

  “Would you like a bit more cake, perhaps?” Arian asked, just a tad frantically, already beckoning Lucia with a glance.

  “No, no. I am quite sated,” Aros said, setting his fork down and lifting his linen napkin to dab at the corners of his mouth. “Thank you for such a lovely meal, sister. I cannot tell you how relieved, and grateful, I am that we’re on speaking terms again. I’m so sorry that things ever came to such a pass
between us. But … well, it’s been difficult, you know? I’ve been so … unsure of what to do with myself here. For so long now. One drifts. And becomes a dreadful idiot, it seems, without ever meaning to, or even noticing.” He looked down sadly. “Until he hits a wall.”

  “Oh, dear brother, I understand you all too well,” said Arian. “I’ve felt quite adrift here for some time myself. And look where it has gotten me! I’ve made such a dreadful mess of things with the Mishrah-Khote, I fear. I’ve just been so worried for my son. And all the trouble on our streets these days, with this awful Butchered God cult. You would not believe the things I’m told they’re saying about Viktor now. And myself, of course.” She raised her own napkin to dab yet again at manufactured tears in the corners of her eyes.

  Part of the plan hashed out that afternoon would rest on a broadcast fiction that the Factora-Consort had succumbed to pressure and gone into seclusion in her chambers. Hysterical women could be good for something after all, it seemed. That part had been her idea, if inspired by her male companions. She had taken full advantage of this supper to convince her brother she was on the very edge of nervous collapse, lest he become suspicious when her maids began turning away all callers tomorrow, including him. Viktor’s paranoia about her family had always been absurd, of course, but even she conceded that she could not trust Aros to keep his mouth shut until all of this was over. So, alas, he must be decieved as well, for the time being.

  “I too wonder what I’m doing here,” she continued with a sigh, pressing a trembling palm against her forehead. “Every day. I … I honestly don’t know how much longer I can take it, Aros.”

  “I had no idea you were suffering so,” he said tenderly, reaching across the table to lay his hand upon hers. “You’ve always seemed so calm. So … in control.”

  “That’s all I can do lately. Seem. And now I’ve grown so tired, even of that. The mere idea of any actual control is just … a cruel jest.” She fell silent, as if struggling with herself. “It helps to talk … with someone I can trust.” She looked up at him in feigned desperation. “I can trust you, can’t I, brother?”

  “Well, yes! Of course,” he rushed to reassure her. “I am quite concerned for you. Perhaps you ought to take some rest? The kingdom will not fall apart, I’m sure, if you just take a day or two to get away. Is that not possible?”

  “Oh, dear Aros. I suspect you’re right. Father’s always drummed it in so that withdrawal is weakness, and that weakness is never acceptable. But …” she breathed a little faster, and forced a few more tears into her eyes. “I do so wish I could just run away. I am so tired of having to perform like this. So tired of all the people. My very skin hurts at the thought of them. I just want to … to stop all contact sometimes. Retreat into a thick cocoon, and hide. Does that sound awful? Do I seem … weak?”

  “No. No, sister. Not at all. I see now just how strong you’ve been, for far too long. While I was busy being such a thorn in your side.” He looked down again. “It shames me, truly. But you have no cause at all to feel ashamed. Take that time, Arian. Apologize to no one.”

  She gazed at him. “Viktor says the same. Oh Aros, it makes me so sad that you two do not get on better. He’s really such a good man, if you knew him. As are you. Say you’ll try to give each other a second chance. Will you do that? For me?”

  “I’ll do anything for you,” he said. “If Viktor is willing to allow it, I will make every effort to repair that misunderstanding too. I promise.”

  She reached out to grasp his hand. Like a drowning woman. She knew she was performing, but it was also true. The two men she loved best in the world … and so much distrust and dislike between them. “Oh thank you. That would help me ever so much more than you might guess.”

  “It is the least I can do. And if there is more, anything at all, just tell me.”

  “That will be ever so much more than enough, dear brother.” She glanced toward the darkened windows of her sitting room and released a weary sigh. “I feel so tired.” She looked back at him. “This has been lovely, Aros, but I fear that I am spent.”

  “Yes, yes. Of course.” He rose from his seat. “You need your rest. I’ll go now. But thank you, dear. For making this time, and for your understanding. You will not have me to worry about any longer. That much I can promise.”

  “Thank you for that. We must dine again like this. Soon. Perhaps … with Viktor even? If you don’t think that would be —”

  “A pleasure. It would be a pleasure,” he assured her, coming round the table. “Now you should go to bed.” He helped her up gently. When she was standing, he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, then turned and headed for the door, arriving just a step or two behind Maronne, who had gone to pull it open for him. “And do think about that day or two of rest, will you?”

  “I will.” Though not just yet, she added silently.

  He gave her an encouraging smile, then stepped through the threshold and was gone.

  “What a changed man he is!” Lucia said when Maronne had closed the door behind him.

  “What a changed man he was, you mean,” Arian corrected her. “Don’t you remember what a sweet boy he used to be? None of us has quite survived this place intact.” She gazed through her windows at the darkness once again. “I’m just so glad to see him remembering himself. I feel dire need of such encouragement. Now, quickly, clear these things away, and let’s make sure I look as regal as possible. It’s time to inform this maid they’ve brought me of her sudden illness, and convince her to cooperate.”

  “I still cannot believe they’re making you do this?” Lucia said, carrying dishes away from the table with Maronne.

  “They’re not making me do anything,” said Arian. “I made them do this. There is no one else in this house we can trust just now, and I’m the only one who can be gone so long without being missed immediately.”

  “But surely he will recognize you,” said Lucia.

  “We will dye my hair tonight, of course, as soon as this girl is gone. And tomorrow morning: no cosmetics.”

  “Oh …” Lucia murmured. “How dreadful.”

  “I still say Domni Hivat could have gone instead,” Maronne insisted.

  “To be a maid?” Arian scoffed. “It is a woman we’re in need of, and Hivat would not look inconspicuous in a dress.” She glanced up at Maronne. “It is I, not Hivat, who must apologize to you, dear. I’m the one who’s placing you at such risk. You may still refuse, of course. I hope I’ve made that clear.”

  Maronne turned to face her, as close to haughtily as Arian had ever seen her. “Do I seem afraid to you, my lady? A cowardly woman?” She smiled slightly, knowing just where to twist the blade. They’d been friends a very long time.

  “All right then,” Arian said. “Lucia, please come see that my face has not been ruined by all that dabbing over dinner. Maronne, will you go down and bring them, please?”

  “My lady,” Maronne said, heading off to Arian’s bedchamber where there was, of course, a panel easily opened if one knew the secret of its operation, and a staircase that allowed the Factora-Consort to come and go when needed without risk of being observed.

  “More marmalade, my dear?” Escotte asked Sian. “That toast looks rather dry.”

  The under-butler serving them this morning started toward the indicated preserve, but Sian shook her head. “No, thank you. I’ve run out of room, I think. I’ll just leave the toast.”

  “Really!” Escotte said, his brows raised. “But you’ve hardly eaten anything.”

  By her new standards, perhaps. She’d still eaten at least two meals worth for any normal woman, surely, though her appetite had still not quite recovered from the effects of last night’s unpleasantness. Escotte’s carefully cultivated cheer over breakfast seemed dangerously shallow. Of course, that might just be due to his displeasure over Cleone’s failure to appear that morning.

  Sian was worried for her too. She could not believe the conscientious girl capable of oversl
eeping. So what had happened to her? Sergeant Ennias had been dispatched immediately to find out, leaving Sian’s alternative guard, Wurrit, to escort her down here to Escotte’s ‘informal’ breakfast room. She had yet to see the formal breakfast room, and did not expect to, as it was doubtlessly reserved for functions to which her cousin’s secret guest would never be invited.

  Quatama entered in what, for him, seemed quite a rush, and bent to whisper something into Escotte’s ear. Gigi, apparently recovered from last night’s indisposition, began searching through the butler’s hair, as if for fleas.

  “What sort of illness?” Escotte asked, drawing back as if Quatama himself might be infected. Keeping a wary eye on the monkey, the butler bent again to whisper his reply, but Escotte shooed him back in irritation. “Just speak up, man. There is no one to be keeping secrets from in here. It’s her maid we are discussing, after all.”

  The head butler straightened almost convulsively, blushing visibly, though his expression remained calm as ever. “Sergeant Ennias did describe some of her symptoms to me, sir, but … I am hesitant to relay them too specifically while you are still enjoying breakfast.”

  “Is it contagious, do you think?” Escotte asked. “Should I be concerned?”

  “It seems a common fever, sir, accompanied by severe, but not unusual … excrescences.”

  “Yes, yes. I see. Well, that is quite enough, just as you say.” Escotte cast his eyes around the room impatiently. “Now what are we to do? This is very inconvenient.”

  It would be a simple thing just to go heal the girl, Sian thought. But she was not about to suggest that she be let out of the building after last night’s quiet row. Cleone could be brought to the Census Hall for healing — Sian opened her mouth to mention this, but Quatama spoke up first.

  “I beg your pardon, sir, but I was just about to say that Sergeant Ennias has brought a lady with him to replace her. Someone Cleone referred him to, it seems.”

  “What?” Escotte exclaimed. “The head of my house guard is procuring maids now, without a word to me? Who is this woman? What can he be thinking to bring some stranger here, sight unseen?” He glanced warily at Sian. “My cousin is not just any guest to take potluck off the streets.”