by Anya Josephs
We are inside the black wall for just a few seconds—it must be enormously thick, because it blocks out all the light. I’m left stumbling to follow Padrig through the pitch-darkness until the second gate creaks open and we are at the end of our journey at last, seeing the sight we have traveled across half the Earth to reach.
On the other side of the blackness is a vast courtyard covered in a pristine lawn of perfectly green grass, stretching for what looks like a league in every direction. At the center of the great lawn is a structure of shining glass, or maybe crystal. It refracts rainbows everywhere, reflecting the sun’s light into a million different colors.
A guilty thought sneaks across my mind: my father is so proud of his one little window; Aunt Mae always talks of how hard he scrimped and saved to buy a single square of glass. I wonder what he would think if he could see an entire building made of the precious material. Would he be jealous? Or would he, perhaps sensibly, write this construction off as total folly?
After all, the practicalities are astounding to even consider. What happens if there’s a storm? What if some idiot accidentally leans too hard on the outer wall—would it shatter? And where exactly do you go to use the chamber pot in privacy?
I would ask at least some of these questions, but Padrig is so stern-faced and silent that his expression seems to forbid any inquiry. Instead, I follow along behind him.
We cross the rolling lawns swiftly, without time to examine the gardens I can just glimpse out of the corner of my eye. In the castle’s main wall, made of perfect crystal, there is no visible entrance at all, but Padrig knocks confidently at a section and it opens immediately. Yet another liveried guard bows to us and holds the door wide open so that Padrig can guide us into the entryway.
So far, all I’ve seen of the famous Capital is a lot of fancy buildings and some men in uniforms bowing to me. I hope it’ll get more exciting soon.
No sooner has that thought crossed my mind than another person rushes over. He’s unusually short, barely up to my waist, and has a green tint to his pale skin. Thinning, yellowish-white hair barely covers his large ears, which each rise to a point, and he has small, knobby orange horns on his forehead. He’s also wearing the brightly colored royal livery, with a narrow pair of spectacles perched on his nose. The entire effect is so unusual that I find myself staring at him in shock, and only with some effort manage not to actually gape, open-mouthed, at him.
The man smiles, revealing thin, pointed teeth—and rather more of them than belong in a mouth, in my experience. I force down an instinctive shudder. “I take it you ladies have never seen one of the pahyat before?” He has a high-pitched, almost squeaky voice, perhaps due to his small stature, but he speaks the Common Tongue easily, without any trace of an accent. Well, for all I know, he’s lived in the palace all his life and is better educated than I am myself. I ought not make assumptions.
I manage to shake my head. Sisi, uncharacteristically polite, has to speak for both of us. “Never, sir.”
“We are few in number, indeed. You need not worry that it is rude to stare—I am well aware that it is a discomfiting experience for those who are only used to seeing humans.” His smile widens, revealing still more of those sharp teeth.
I blush, ashamed at being so politely called out on my rudeness. Whatever he says, and however surprised I am to see someone of an entirely different species than anyone I’ve ever met before, there’s no excuse for gaping at somebody just because they look different. I may be only an ignorant farm girl, but I know that much, at least.
“I am Elan, of the Ykan Glynbin Tribe of the Third People—those your stories like to call the pahyat. As you have no doubt deduced, my tribe are often called the Goblins—a corruption, our scholars believe, of our ancestral clan name, which is ill-suited for human mouths. I am one of those members of my tribe who continues to live and work among humans: in my case, as the steward to His Royal Highness, Prince Ricard.”
I feel Sisi stiffen next to me, but she says nothing.
“You must be Lady Sigranna,” he says to her. “Truly, the rumors of your beauty are as nothing compared to the sight of it.”
“Thank you,” Sisi responds, through what I can clearly hear are gritted teeth. If I could do so without drawing attention to myself, I’d kick her. I know she doesn’t like comments on her looks, but this man is just trying to be polite.
“And your companions?”
“My aunt, Maera, and my cousin, Jena.”
He bows to each of us in turn. “If it suits you, I shall have the footmen take your bags to your chambers.”
“Yes,” Aunt Mae says. Then, belatedly, as if she’s only just noticed that her response was so curt as to be impolite, “Thank you very much.”
Elan snaps his fingers. As he does, I realize he has six long, slightly curved fingers on each hand. I force my eyes away so he won’t catch me staring again while the footmen appear, seemingly out of nowhere, take our meagre luggage, and disappear again. “Now, although I would be most happy to stand here exchanging pleasantries with three such enchanting ladies all the night long, I would be remiss in my duties not to instead urge you to make use of the comforts of the palace after so long a journey. Do you require food? Drink? Rest? Name your desire, and it shall be yours.”
“Well now that you mention it, a bath would be nice,” Aunt Mae answers. I don’t disagree with her—we usually bathe once a week on the farm, and I feel the dust and filth of the road all the more acutely because we’re in these grand surroundings.
Elan bows again. “Of course. The great baths beneath the palace are heated by hot springs and engraved with mosaics made from the finest gems, telling the story of the creation of the Earth by the hand of Gaia. Some have called them one of the wonders of the Earth. There are also private baths in your rooms.”
Aunt Mae purses her lips, presumably at the thought of a public bath where strangers might see her without her clothes. “We’ll go to our rooms, if that’s all right with you.”
“Of course, madam. I shall have the servants begin drawing baths immediately.” More of the footmen appear at those words and are dispatched by another snap of Elan’s fingers. I wonder where this endless stream of men in their shining uniforms of purple and gold are even coming from. Are they just standing around, lurking somewhere behind a shining pillar, waiting for someone to order them about? Don’t they have anything better to do than wait to begin whatever chores they’re ordered to at a given moment?
Apparently being a royal footman is rather like being a girl on my father’s farm.
“Do you require any refreshments? I imagine you are quite thirsty after such a long journey.”
Not wanting to hear anymore of Elan’s constant questions, Sisi, thankfully, intervenes before he can ask again. “I think we should go ahead and retire. Master Elan, I place my confidence in your good sense for any further decisions.” She sweeps a graceful curtsy—when Sisi developed the capability to be so ladylike, I’ve no idea—and the steward is left little choice but to bow in response and show us upstairs.
Unfortunately, the trip up to our rooms feels at least as long as the entire voyage from Prinnsfarm to the Capital. We’re led up a long flight of beautifully wrought golden steps, past a hallway of a dozen gilded and lovely doors, through an atrium inset with gorgeous twinkling silver, and everything is perfect and luxurious and rare and I would trade it all for the chance to sit down for even half a minute. Finally, we approach another large, gilded door of reddish-brown wood.
Elan retrieves a large, equally golden key from the pouch at his waist and unlocks it.
“You will find that your suite has many accommodations. I hope they will all be suitable to your needs.”
Our weary little trio follows him into the first room. Once again, I am struck by the distinctive feeling that I ought not be here, that my very shabbiness is going to ruin something. The room we’re in—the sitting room, I suppose—has a large, roaring fireplace at the cent
er, and around it three couches, each with golden feet and backs, and upholstered in some sort of soft, fuzzy fabric. The floor is more of that burnished marble, so white that it hurts my eyes to look at. I’m nervous to let my dirty feet, stained with the dust of the road, touch it.
“Baths have been drawn for you, as you requested. You will find in the bathing chambers a large ebon basket. If you would like to deposit your garments there, they will be laundered and returned to you. Maids are waiting just across the hall to assist you in dressing, and you may ring at any time for them—that’s the small silver bell—or for me, with the larger golden bell, should you need any assistance whatsoever. Is there anything else I might do at the moment?”
“No, thank you. You’re dismissed.” Sisi says.
He bows again and disappears.
As soon as he’s gone, I turn to Sisi and raise an eyebrow. I’m tired, yes, but not too tired to tease her a little. “Dismissed?”
“Hey. I’m supposed to be the Lady Sigranna, heir to the lost house of Eastsea, gracious, Numbered, and beautiful. That entails ordering people around.”
I consider this statement briefly. “Technically, isn’t Mali the heir now?”
“Oh yeah.” Sisi laughs. “Deposed by an infant. Well, so much for all of Jorj’s work coaching me on royal etiquette.”
“Seems like you have a natural talent for it.”
“I mean, it’s not that hard. Just pretend you think you’re better than other people. They’ve been taught to act like you are, so it’s not difficult to make them think it.”
“That’s awfully cruel.”
“That’s life in the Kingdom.”
Aunt Mae clears her throat. “And that, girls, is enough. Baths. Now. No more political machinations, Sisi, and no more tempting her into them, Jeni. Baths, clean clothes, food, bed. In that order. All further nonsense waits until the morning.”
“See? It’s not hard to pretend you’re in charge. You don’t have to be one of the Numbered, just imitate Aunt Mae!”
Her last jab delivered, Sisi flounces through the door to the bathing chamber. I follow her in silence, as my aunt ordered.
The room is covered floor to ceiling in mosaic tile. The design depicts a map of the Kingdom in intricate blue, teal, and gold. Thin lines of gilded mortar show the High Road, and a glimmering crown inset with jewels depicts the City. There are three tubs in the room, separated by tall folding curtains of carved white bone for privacy. Each is filled to the brim with water scented with roses and heated to steaming.
At home, we usually bathe only on Sixthday, and only in the winters. In the summertime, we just go jump in the river, which is freezing cold, but is at least fresh and clean and doesn’t require quite so much work. For us to bathe indoors, the men have to haul back the water from the river as they come in from work. Aunt Mae heats it in a big, huge kettle, and we all help dump it into the tin bathtub, dinged and dingy from several generations of dirty family members climbing into it. The men go first, in descending order of age, since they’re the ones who have to haul the water. Then Aunt Mae, then the other adult women, and finally the children, from oldest to smallest. The water is usually filthy by the time I get my turn near the end, clouded with dust and dirt and all kinds of other things, and lukewarm at best, sometimes uncomfortably chilly for the winter weather.
In short, it’s nothing like this. I strip down and clamber into the steaming hot water, leaving my stained dress on the floor.
I remain in the water for a long time, until it grows cold against my skin. My fingers are shriveled all over by the time I decide to get out. When I do, I find a large, fluffy piece of cloth waiting for me. It doesn’t look like the rags we use to dry ourselves with back home, and it’s warm. Nonetheless, I can guess its purpose, using it to dry off my limbs and tuck around myself as I peek around the corner.
Sisi has already left, but Aunt Mae is still enjoying her bath, her eyes closed and her head tilted back against the edge of the tub.
“D’you know what I’m supposed to do with the tub?” I ask her. “Empty it, or…?”
She doesn’t open her eyes as she answers. “I dunno. I’d just leave it for now, I suppose, though it seems a bit rude. Maybe we can ask that steward when he comes back.”
She seems disinterested in anything I have to say, so I leave her to relax and make my way to the bedroom, dressing myself in fresh, clean clothes. I brought a simple peach linen dress, the one Merri had been taking in for me, and although it’s patched at the knees and one of the elbows, it fits me well enough. It’s a hand-me-down from Sisi, and so a little baggy at the chest and hips and a bit tight through the stomach—Merri had not quite finished her alterations when her labor began, thus derailing the entire project—but I look all right in it.
In the sitting room, I find Sisi reading something—some sort of card. I’m interested in what it says, of course, but far more pressing than whatever is written on the scrap of gilt-edged parchment is what’s behind it: a three-tiered tray of little pastries, fruits, and tarts, and several steaming pots of tea. I pour myself a nice, hot cup and stir four cubes of pure white sugar into it.
Sisi, looking over at me, wrinkles her nose. “That’s disgusting. I don’t know how you can drink it like that. Especially if you’re going to eat all those sweets too, and I know you are.”
“It’s good. Don’t be silly, you’re missing out on one of the great joys of life.”
“Pure, unadulterated sugar?”
“Precisely.” I load up a small, beautiful pink porcelain plate with one of every kind of sweet from the tray. They make a lovely rainbow. At home, most of the food we eat is some shade of brown. Brown bread, brown stew, apples canned or jellied or baked till they’re brown. Of course, in harvest time there’s the red of the fresh fruits, and the green and gold and orange of what grows in the garden, but none of it approaches the bounty on offer here.
“So,” Sisi says, as I shove an entire tartlet with some sort of sour pink fruit on top into my mouth, “our treats came with a little note from His Lordship.”
“What does it say?” I try to ask around my mouthful of cream. Unfortunately, some of the pastry crumbs leak out the corners of my mouth. Sisi sighs and leans in, wiping them away, and I blink at the sudden pressure of her hand cupping my face.
I’m struck by a strange urge to lean close to her and put my lips to hers.
Before I can question that thought, though, she pulls me into an embrace and buries her face in my shoulder, feeling her chest heave up and down as if with sobs. Tentatively, I reach out one hand to rub her back, feeling her unsteady breathing. “Sisi? Sisi, you have to tell me what’s the matter. I can’t read minds. I’m right here. I just want to know if you’re all right.”
“I’ll never be all right again.”
Well, at least that’s dramatic enough to be typical for Sisi. Slightly relieved, I rephrase. “What in Gaia’s name does it say?”
She hands it to me, and I sigh.
“Sisi, you know I can’t read this. Tell me what it says, please.”
“Nothing. That’s just it. It says nothing at all. It’s all…formality. Perfectly courteous. Perfectly ordinary. He’s pleased to welcome me and to know that I made a safe arrival. His steward let him know that I am as beautiful as promised and he’s looking forward to my company at dinner before the end of the week, et cetera, et cetera. That’s all. It’s nothing to be upset about, right?”
“Right. Although obviously you are.”
She sits back against the velvety couch, wiping her eyes. “Yes. Obviously, I am. Because this is going to be my life now.”
“It doesn’t have to be. You don’t have to go through with this. We’re already here. We can just nab whatever expensive gifts we can get, go home, and everything will go back to the way it used to be.”
“Is that what am I supposed to do? Go to dinner with one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the Kingdom, hear his request to become his mistress,
and then politely decline? Thank him for the trip to the palace and then head peaceably home again and say no more about it?”
The word mistress rings in my ears. It’s the first time she’s actually put into words what she’s afraid Ricard might be after, and all at once it makes sense what she’s been so afraid of all this time. “You think he wants that from you?”
“Jorj is the Lord. Like you said, now I’m not even the heir. What else could he possibly want?”
I know all about sex, obviously. I live in a house with a few very happily married couples, and the walls around our loft aren’t particularly thick. Besides, Sisi told me all Jorj has taught her about the subject. Even desire, though I’ve yet to feel it myself (perhaps because I don’t exactly spend a lot of time with young men), is not a mystery to me. No one could be Sisi’s best friend without recognizing the power of her beauty. But knowing isn’t understanding. “But why would he have you come all the way here for that?”
“They say I’m the most beautiful woman in the Kingdom, you know.”
Out of anyone else’s mouth, it would sound intolerably vain. From Sisi, though, it comes out as a resigned sigh of barely restrained misery. I can’t even be annoyed with her. “So I’ve heard.”
“The Prince, no doubt, is used to having the best of everything. Why not have me too?”
“But you’re not…I mean, you’re not an object, you’re a person.”
“Try telling him that,” Sisi sighs, looking down at her own perfect body, clothed only in a white slip that stands out starkly against her smooth, dark skin, with something close to disgust.
I don’t know what to say to that, so I curl up next to her as we sip our tea in silence. She picks up the tiny gilded card with one hand and reads it over and over again, worrying at it with her hand until the edges are ragged and worn.
Chapter Ten
The first day of my new life as Mistress Jeni, attendant to the beautiful Lady Sisi, in the royal palace at the center of the Earth’s Four Corners, begins with Aunt Mae shaking me awake. Which means that thus far, my glamorous new life is not so different from my previous existence as Jeni the farmer’s daughter.