Chapter Twelve:
At dinner that night, Marie ate only the bare essentials. She glanced around the dinner table as if with new eyes; she hadn’t realized how piggish some of her companions were. Was Barnabas gaining weight? Marie was fairly sure Pamela had added a few pounds. She stared down at her own midriff. She hadn’t noticed herself gaining weight, but then again she had shed a few pounds on the journey to Melei-Argalla. Maybe her weight had just returned to normal.
“I have absolutely no idea what they’re thinking!” exclaimed Parvenin angrily. He glowered at the table. “It’s idiocy, plain and simple.”
Marie glanced at him in surprise. She had never heard such vehement words issue forth from Parvenin’s mouth.
Next to Parvenin, a man with a white beard nodded in agreement. “In all the years His Excellency has ruled, no Maretzian has thought to challenge him. It’s stupid. Unheard of. And annoying, certainly, since it takes the emperor away from the capital and his usual concerns.”
Another man took a quick sip of his glass of wine before setting it down. “I’ve wondered if there’s something mentally wrong with Gaidus Herpanteon, but then how does that explain how he’s gotten so many people to follow him?”
He looked truly puzzled, which disturbed Marie. Not for the first time, she wondered what kind of emperor could have brainwashed his people so much they couldn’t even comprehend the idea of rebellion. What was he—a saint? Marie frowned.
“What are they protesting?” she asked.
Every eye turned to her.
She ignored the stares and addressed Parvenin. “You know—they must have some rallying cry, some cause they’re fighting for. People don’t rebel just for the sheer sake of rebelling.”
“Yes…” Parvenin said. A disgusted look crossed his face. “They have a cause: They don’t like His Excellency’s rule. More specifically, they think the trading city of Madalinda should be independent of the empire.” He gritted his teeth. “Which is absolutely ridiculous. Madalinda has been part of Maretzia for over five hundred years. In fact, it was the Madalindans who first requested to be a part of the empire. They wanted the protection it offered.”
“And the emperor is reluctant to let go of Madalinda?” asked Barnabas curiously.
“Of course,” said Parvenin coolly. “It is an important trading center. But furthermore, most Madalindans are reluctant to go. It is much safer for them to have His Excellency’s protection than to have to protect themselves, especially with Beiärly pirates lurking in the nearby seas.”
“I am sure the emperor will have the rebellion squashed quickly and the traitors sent to the arena where they belong,” the bearded man assured Barnabas. A rumble of agreement rose from the table.
Barnabas raised an eyebrow. “And when did the emperor leave to attend to this rebellion?”
Marie winced. Parvenin and the bearded man exchanged dark looks. That wasn’t exactly subtle of Barnabas. What a nice way of asking, ‘and just how long has he been fighting this rebellion?’
“Not long before your party arrived, Master Barnabas,” said the bearded man finally, turning to face the table. “Only a few days before, actually. The emperor was reluctant to go—he knew you were coming—but he had received urgent news and decided he had no choice but to leave. The road to Madalinda is long and hard, a month’s journey if going quickly.”
Barnabas opened his mouth, but Parvenin smiled tightly. “He will be back soon enough, I daresay.” His tone was stiff but firm. It was quite clear this particular conversation was over.
Marie stared down into her plate. For someone who supposedly took down an emperor when he was ten years old, Sidriel sure was taking his sweet time stamping out a simple rebellion. Her eyes wandered to Parvenin. He had the look on his face of someone who was barely restraining himself from saying something stupid. She frowned, her mind spinning.
The next day, in order to take her mind off everything, Marie went with Hannon and Terrah to the market.
“These are called arbadi scarves,” Terrah told her, picking up a particularly luxurious example made of finely spun cloth. She unfolded it to show Marie. “They’re sheer and worn by brides at weddings.”
“They’re beautiful,” said Marie honestly. She fingered the one Terrah was holding. It was deep scarlet, with a light gold embroidery that outlined a herd of prancing arattias. It felt like liquid cloth.
“Yes,” said Terrah in satisfaction. “They are. I’ve already picked out mine.”
It took a moment for the significance of that statement to sink in. Then Marie’s eyes bugged out of her head. “You’re getting married?” she squeaked.
Terrah laughed. “Oh, not anytime soon!” She swished back and forth for a second, her eyes sparkling. Then she burst out: “Oh, all right, within the next two years. Father thinks he has found a suitable husband for me, and if he comes to an agreement with that boy’s father, then I could be married to him soon.” She stared down at the arbadi scarves, blushing. “He’s in the Academy,” she explained, “and he won’t graduate for another year. We would get married after that.”
“Oh, well,” Marie fumbled. “Congratulations.” Terrah was getting married? Terrah didn’t seem mature enough for marriage. Terrah talked about boys the same way preteen girls talked about their crushes.
Terrah giggled. “Yeah, well, thanks.” She blushed. “It’s a little young to have marriage prospects. Girls normally don’t make arrangements till your age, but, well, you know…”
She abruptly handed the scarf she had been holding back to the startled vendor. “You know what? I’ll show you my scarf. It’s in a store not far from here. Hannon!” She craned her head around. “Oh, there he is. Hannon!”
Marie spied him haggling with a baker for a loaf of bread. Terrah turned to her in exasperation. “Wait here! I’ll go talk to him.”
She bustled off, and Marie let her gaze slide around the marketplace. Not too far away, a juggler entertained a small group of children. He made a funny face, and the children shrieked with laughter. Beyond him, a tall skinny man twanged a song on an instrument reminiscent of a guitar; a gaggle of female Maretzians had stopped to listen to him and were giggling hysterically.
Terrah’s face materialized in front of her, and Marie instinctively stepped back.
“Come on!” Terrah exclaimed, grabbing her arm. “Hannon will wait here for us!” Before Marie could protest, she had dragged her through the marketplace and down a side street. “It’s a tiny store, but it’s the best.”
Marie grimaced as Terrah turned right and into a dirty alleyway. She cringed away from its dank walls. “Terrah?” she asked uncertainly, looking around. “Couldn’t we have taken a main street?” She was suddenly all too aware of the expensive clothes they wore. This had stupid idea written all over it.
“Don’t worry, Marie!” exclaimed Terrah, exasperated. “It’s not much further.” She tugged insistently on Marie’s hand and led her through a maze of alleyways and back streets. With each step they took, Marie became more and more lost. In ten minutes they had managed to meander into a section of Melei-Argalla that looked like it could comfortably be home to Jack the Ripper. The buildings were disgusting. Dirt and slime created a carpet in the streets, and up to the right, Marie saw a patch of brown on the wall that looked suspiciously like dried blood.
“Terrah.” Marie retracted her hand and crossed her arms. Terrah turned, impatient. “You said it wasn’t far. Isn’t it about time to acknowledge we’re lost?” Even as she said it, she felt her heart sink a little. Behind Terrah, a woman in rags eyed them contemplatively.
Terrah suddenly looked uncertain. She wrung her hands. Marie wanted to wring her neck.
“I’m sorry!” she suddenly wailed. “I really thought I knew the way.” She bit her lip, staring around anxiously. “Normally I’m always accompanied by someone…” Her eyes fell on a dirty man curled up around an empty bottle, not ten feet away. “Generally someone big and strong and carry
ing a huge sword.”
“Well,” Marie snapped, anger flaring inside her, “As nice as one of those would be, we don’t have one right now.”
“What should we do?” Terrah asked desperately.
Marie gaped at her. “You’re asking me? You know this city better than I do!”
“Not this part!” protested Terrah. “I certainly don’t have a reason to waltz into this neighborhood, now do I?”
“Wish you did,” Marie growled. “Then we wouldn’t be in this mess!”
“Well, I—”
“Enough!” Marie raised her hands. “We can’t just stay here! We have to find some way out of here, so let’s just pick an alley and go!”
“Fine!”
“Fine!”
They glared at each other.
An hour later they had somehow managed to wander into an area of town even seedier than the part they had just left. Marie felt that flicker of fear she had been trying to avoid. Hannon would definitely be looking for them now. He had probably sent soldiers after them. But what if no one found them? She and Terrah clutched each other, their eyes wary as they surveyed their surroundings.
Marie was furious with herself. This had been dumb to begin with. Why had she ever agreed to it? She cursed.
“Let’s try this alley,” Terrah murmured. “It looks slightly nicer.”
It wasn’t. The alley they chose narrowed to about shoulder length. In fact, Marie had to scrunch up her shoulders to prevent the grimy walls from brushing her dress. A rat-like creature scurried in front of them, and Terrah shrieked, backing into Marie.
“Ow! Geesh,” she muttered, reverting to English, “It’s just a rat. Not a tiger.”
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.” Maretzian. “Just that—”
She stared. It had been inevitable some lowlifes would find them, but it had taken so long she had started to hope they would escape from this unscathed. Obviously not. The men appeared out of nowhere, surrounding them in seconds. Three with swords blocked the wider side of the alley, and two similarly-armed men blocked the other. They were covered in muck, and they smelled rancid.
Marie and Terrah shrank against each other.
Marie’s heart leapt inside her chest. “What do you want?” she demanded, keeping her eyes fixed on the specimen nearest her, a wiry man with dirty, curly blond hair and a scraggly beard.
The man’s eyes flicked over her, and she shot him a withering look. He could take any valuable she had on her, but she would scream at the top of her lungs if he tried to take anything else. He leered. Marie shrank back even more, her expression defiant. Terrah clutched her hand; both of their palms were sweaty.
The men lunged forward, and Marie tensed, ready to put up a fight, ready to—what was that?
Marie froze, and so did the men. Beside Marie, Terrah had squeezed closed her eyes, tilted back her head, and was screaming at the top of her lungs. Marie gaped. She had never heard such a high-pitched, screeching sound in her life. She hadn’t even known it was possible to scream that loudly. She was sure everyone within a mile could hear it.
Apparently the men felt the same way. The wiry one shot Terrah a horrified look before scampering off. The other men hesitated, then did the same. As a particularly large one barreled past Marie, he slammed her into the rough brick wall. Marie winced, pain shooting down her arm and collarbone. Terrah kept on screeching.
Marie pushed herself off the wall. She squinted at her arm and grimaced. The sleeve of her dress had torn, and through it Marie could see a mess of blood and grime on her shoulder. Ick. Terrah’s screams reached an annoyingly high sound level. Marie’s head started to pound. Her ears throbbed. Cringing, she tapped Terrah on the shoulder.
Terrah opened her eyes, her screams fading. Her eyes darted around the alley. She looked bewildered.
“They’re gone,” said Marie bluntly. “That dreadful sound you just made scared them away.”
Terrah and Marie stared at each other. Marie’s lips twitched. Her eyes crinkled. She fought to keep a straight face. At last she managed, her voice strangled, “Heaven help your husband if he ever ticks you off.”
And she howled with laughter.
The silence was the worst part: the steady silence with which Barnabas regarded her, his eyes flicking from her mussed hair to her dirty shoulder. Marie stared back at him, her stance defensive.
The silence stretched on, and at last Pamela stood. “We should get that wound cleaned up,” she said quickly. She swept up to Marie and scrutinized her with cold eyes. “Whatever happened…is it going to endanger our relationship with the Maretzians?”
“No.” Marie’s voice was hoarse.
“Then I don’t really want to know what happened. Come with me.” She left the room, and after sending Barnabas and Darius sharp looks, Marie followed her.
As Pamela washed off Marie’s arm, Marie’s thoughts wondered back to that afternoon. Members of the Imperial Patrol had arrived within minutes. Marie had still been doubled over with laughter, so they had turned to Terrah for instruction. Marie continued to laugh, tears pouring down her face, as the guards led them back to the palace. It hadn’t been until Terrah had slapped her that Marie had escaped her bout of hysteria.
Thinking about it, Marie blushed. She didn’t know what had come over her—just that she had needed to laugh. Desperately.
“Ow!” Marie scowled at Pamela, who narrowed her eyes.
“You will bleed for a few days,” Pamela informed her, grabbing a swath of bandages and wrapping them around Marie’s arm. “The cut is deep and will heal slowly.” She considered Marie. “As your section leader, I am commanding you to spend the rest of the day in your room. Have your laewin bring you dinner. Furthermore”—she tightened the bandage, and Marie winced—“I do not want you to leave the palace again unless properly escorted. I don’t know what type of mess you got yourself into, but I don’t want it repeated.”
She stared Marie straight in the eye, her lips thin. Marie glowered, furious this was an order she would have to obey.
Pamela leaned forward. “Don’t mess anything up, Nettleson.”
She tied the final knot on the bandage and stepped back.
Marie turned. “What happened to Hannon?”
Pamela gazed at her evenly. “He informed us of your disappearance, and then Lord Parvenin summoned him.”
“Is he going to be punished?” Guilt gnawed at her at the very thought.
“I have no idea,” said Pamela coolly. “You should have considered that possibility before you ran off. And he should have considered the same thing before he let you.” Her eyes glittered venomously. “To your room, Nettleson.”
Marie moved to go past her, but stopped abruptly, swiveling around. Her eyes bored into Pamela’s.
“You hate me, don’t you?”
Pamela’s face twitched. “Yes.”
Something close to satisfaction rose in Marie. “Why?”
Pamela jerked her head. “To your room, Nettleson.”
Marie studied her, her eyes hard. At last she smirked. “Of course, O Powerful Leader.”
As Marie slammed shut the door behind her, Pamela’s lips curled back into a snarl.
Across Page 12