Ashes of Roses (Tales of the Latter Kingdoms Book 4)

by Pope, Christine

  So I sighed, and gathered up my buckets, and returned to the house. Mari had gone with my stepsisters and stepmother, leaving Janks and me to manage the place on our own. I actually rather liked him, even if I didn’t care much for his taste in young women. But he always treated me with a rough kindness that was a welcome respite from Mari’s cattiness and my stepsisters’ scorn.

  He grinned at me now, and came to take the buckets from me, hoisting them easily and depositing them on the kitchen’s stone floor. “Heard the news, ay?” he asked, clearly ready for some gossip, with the lady of the house gone and not much to occupy his time…well, except keeping an eye on me. I had no doubt my stepmother had left strict instructions for him to make sure I ventured no farther than the well.

  “I did,” I replied, and lifted one bucket to pour some water into the basin I used to scrub the vegetables. Claris, our cook, would be returning from her marketing soon, and I knew better than to not have things ready by her return, even if the meal she prepared would be modest enough, as it was only the three of us who would be eating it.

  “Think they’ll try for it?”

  I shrugged. “Most likely.” I did not want to say more than that. Just because I liked Janks didn’t mean I would trust him to keep my opinions between the two of us. I could have added that the preparations would send the house into an uproar, and that my stepsisters only had the barest claim to fit the parameters of the Emperor’s summons, as their own father had been merely a knight. However, I had no doubt that my stepmother would use my father’s title to get them in, even if such machinations stretched the borders of what was actually allowed.

  Nor would I say that neither of my stepsisters was nearly pretty enough to catch the eye of the Emperor. He could have his pick from hundreds of eligible young women, after all. Although Shelynne, my junior by a year, was an attractive girl — taking after her mother, luckily, who was still handsome — she did have a tendency to wear an unfortunate expression half the time, owing to her extreme near-sightedness. And Jenaris, the elder, was really not pretty at all, although her mother tried to hide her shortcomings with elegant gowns and perfectly curled hair and the slightest touch of stain on her lips. Even so, Jenaris still looked to me like a pig wearing silk and curls…and her disposition did little to dispel that impression.

  Janks frowned a little, and retrieved an apple from the basket that sat on the sideboard. After crunching into it and taking a few contemplative chews, he said, “It’ll be a right old mess, won’t it? Running about all over town, ordering new gowns…they’ll probably drive Mari to distraction, poor girl.”

  Somehow I managed to refrain from saying that I did not feel a great deal of pity for Mari. Another lift of my shoulders, and I said cautiously, “I believe it will create some extra work for her. I suppose we should be glad it’s a month off.”

  “Ha. So that’ll be a month full of more work. Typical, isn’t it? The grand lords and ladies have their brilliant ideas, and it’s dropped on the likes of us to manage it somehow.”

  I smiled and shook my head, and was saved from making a reply by the arrival of Claris, who bustled into the kitchen laden with baskets of vegetables and fruit, and precious little linen bags of nuts and spices.

  “I doubt the mistress would appreciate you standing around idle, just because she happens not to be here,” the cook snapped. “Janks, I thought you were supposed to be taking care of the creaking floorboards in the small salon.”

  “Yes’m,” he said with a grin and a laughing light in his dark eyes. A slight bow, and he went out into the rear courtyard, no doubt heading for the small shed where he stored his tools and other necessities for keeping the house in repair.

  Her gaze moved to me, and I stiffened, waiting to be scolded for my shiftlessness. But her expression softened, and she only said briskly, “I see you have the water ready for me. Scrub these vegetables, and chop them into small pieces. I thought we would have soup tonight, as it will do well for our luncheon tomorrow also. The mistress won’t be home until tomorrow night, so I’ll figure something out for us by then.”

  I didn’t recall letting out a sigh, but something in my expression must have changed, for Claris added, “Ah, well, enjoy it while you can, Ashara. At least they won’t be back for another day.”

  Embarrassed that I had been so transparent, I nodded, then went to the vegetables. At least in doing something so mindless, I could keep myself from dwelling on what was to come, and instead focus on making sure the pieces I cut were uniform and to the size Claris desired. She might have pitied me, and did what she could to make my life more comfortable, but that did not mean she would tolerate any sloppiness in her kitchen. Not that I minded.

  At least she was honest, and did not hide her thoughts. I found I appreciated that quality in a person.

  * * *

  Somehow I seemed to have a more difficult time than usual falling asleep that night. Perhaps it was merely the damp late-summer warmth, which lingered in the kitchen more than any other room of the house. Or perhaps it was that I had not had nearly as many tasks to complete that day as I normally would, and so my body was not drooping with exhaustion.

  Whatever the cause, I tossed and turned on my pallet, seeming to feel every unevenness in the floor beneath it, every sharp end of the straw that filled the heavy, rough mattress. At last I opened my eyes and stared up at the beams of the ceiling, darker lines against the dim plaster.

  For some reason I could not stop thinking of the proclamation posted on the wall only yards from where I lay. How many would answer its summons? Of course there would be some who would not attend, those who were already betrothed, or whose families perhaps could not bear the expense of a venture with such low chances of success. Even so, I guessed it must be hundreds, and wondered how the Emperor would ever choose from among so many.

  Still, it would be quite something to see so many noble young women gathered in one place, and something even more to see the Emperor himself. He was young, only some six years older than I, and I had heard he was the handsomest man in all of Sirlende. This I guessed must be an embellishment, for of course those wishing to curry favor would say he was a veritable paragon, even if the reality did not quite match their compliments.

  But it would have been nice to see for myself.

  I sighed, and rolled over onto my side, although I knew that position was even less comfortable than lying on my back. Long ago I had given up trying to sleep on my stomach, for then it seemed as if I only inhaled the musty odor of the straw, and ended up sneezing for half the night.

  Something seemed to move in the quiet kitchen, and I thought I heard a whisper of my name. “Ashara…”

  I sat up, clutching my blankets to my breast, telling myself it must be Claris coming in from her quarters down the hall. But I had never heard the cook sigh so, and as I blinked into the darkness, I saw that the woman who now stepped out of the shadows near the back door was far more slender than Claris, who had an unfortunate tendency to over-sample her own wares.

  “Who’s there?” I asked in a harsh whisper, even as I reached out for the fireplace poker. My fingers wrapped around the cool metal, but I stopped at the stranger’s next words.

  “I am your Aunt Therissa.”

  Startled, I still managed to say, “I don’t have an aunt. Neither of my parents had any brothers or sisters.”

  She stopped by the sideboard, and the candle in its holder there was suddenly alight, although I had not spied her picking up a match. Despite the dimness of the room, I could see enough of her, see a pretty woman of perhaps forty-five, her dark hair in a long braid wrapped like a crown around her head, drops of silver hanging from her ears. From what I could see of it, her gown appeared to be of good quality, although not overly elaborate.

  All in all, she looked quite respectable. That didn’t explain what she was doing in my stepmother’s kitchen in the middle of the night.

  “No, Ashara,” the strange woman replied, and her
tone was sad, even though I could not guess at the reason why. “I am your mother’s older sister, although I suppose she never spoke of me.”

  “No, she did not.” Pushing away my one thin blanket, I got to my feet and faced her. We were of a height; my eyes met hers directly. “So why should I believe that you are who you say you are?”

  She did not reply directly, but only looked at me for a few seconds, then said, “Ah, you are so like her, Ashara. What a beauty she was, and that hair! Oh, how I envied her that hair. I always hoped a child of hers would inherit it.”

  Without thinking, I ran my fingers down the thick braid which hung over my shoulder. It was a dark, rich red, exceedingly rare in Sirlende, where not one child in ten thousand would have locks of such a hue, where most everyone had hair in shades of brown and black. My stepsisters resented my hair, and my stepmother made sure I covered it with a kerchief every day of my life. It was too distinctive, I supposed, something that a person would remember. And if someone ever recalled that Lord Allyn Millende’s lost daughter had hair that color…well, it might lead to questions my stepmother would no doubt not wish to answer.

  “So you say you are my mother’s sister,” I said, keeping my voice barely above a whisper, lest we awake Claris where she slept just down the short hallway off the kitchen. “Why, then, have you come to me now? For I daresay you would have been of far more help to me ten years ago, when Father died and I was left to the mercies of my stepmother.”

  Surprisingly, tears glittered in the woman’s dark eyes. “If I had known, I would have come. I have just returned to Sirlende after traveling the continent for the past twenty years or so. When I left, my sister had just married her beloved Allyn, and I thought all was right in her world.” A sigh, and she added, “Now that I am here, I find that nothing much is right at all. But I wish to repair things, if I might.”

  She spoke clearly, and I winced, sure she would bring Claris down upon us at any moment. Whispering, I said, “We must be careful, or you will wake the cook. She sleeps not twenty paces over there.” And I pointed in the direction of the corridor that led off the kitchen and to the pantry and the small chamber the cook occupied.

  Incongruously, my aunt smiled, and waved an airy hand. “Oh, you needn’t worry about that. She will not wake any time soon, and neither will that amiable but none-too-bright young man out in the room off the stables.”

  I wondered how she knew they wouldn’t wake — and how she knew where Janks slept at all. My stepmother, following her own odd notions of propriety, would not allow her footman to sleep in one of the cramped rooms just below the attic, but had him reside in the small lean-to attached to the stables, where once upon a time the horse-boys must have lived. But we kept no horses, so that space was empty enough.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” I replied, keeping my voice pitched low. “Claris is quite the light sleeper. More than once she’s caught my stepsister Jenaris coming down to raid the larder at midnight.”

  A little tinkle of a laugh, and my aunt said, “Truly, there is no need to fear. I have made quite sure that they will not wake before morning.”

  “You have?” A sudden fearful thought went through my mind. “You didn’t — that is, you haven’t drugged them, have you?”

  “Of course not. I only worked a simple sleep charm.”

  A — I stared at her, and backed away slowly. “You’re — you’re a witch?”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Her dark eyes flashed. “But of course I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you would have the same narrow-minded beliefs as the rest of your countrymen, with no one around to teach you differently. My fault, perhaps, but I think no one with an open mind could blame me for leaving Sirlende to go to more…accommodating…locales.” She crossed her arms and gazed at me frankly, then said, “I am not a witch, Ashara. I am a user of magic, mage-born. Some might call me a sorceress, but I fear my talents aren’t quite grand enough for me to claim that title.”

  These revelations left me staring at her, open-mouthed. Magic was something never discussed, the penalty for its use death…here in Sirlende, at least. I had been told that all those who bore the taint of magic in their blood had long since died off, but there were always whispered rumors of those who could still cast spells, if you knew where to look. Since I could not even venture beyond the street where I lived, I’d had no opportunity to go seeking these illicit users of magic…assuming they even existed.

  But here now was this woman who claimed to be my aunt calmly announcing that she possessed such powers, and had in fact charmed the only other two occupants of the property into a deep sleep…so we should not be disturbed. And there had been the matter of that candle which had mysteriously lit itself…

  “What do you want?” I asked, and told myself that my voice hadn’t shaken that much, not really.

  “To make things right, my child. I had to leave, lest anyone discover what — who — I was. And I do not regret the knowledge I gained while I was away. But to find that my sister has been dead all these years, and her child practically a slave in the household of a woman not fit to wipe the soles of her shoes — well, that has caused me a good deal of regret. And I want to repair things.”

  “How on earth can you do that? Are you going to take me away from here?” It was perhaps an indication of my desperate desire to get away from my stepmother that I would even entertain such a notion, user of magic or no.

  “No, my dear.” She smiled, and looked on me with fond eyes. “Something even better.

  “I’m going to make you Empress of Sirlende.”

  Chapter 3

  Ashara

  I stared at her, thinking she must be mad, or at the very least possessed of a warped sense of humor. Finally I found my voice, although all I seemed able to say was, “You’re what?”

  “My dear child, it really is the most perfect opportunity. The Emperor seeks a wife among his own population — an excellent notion, I think, because it will only endear him to the people, that he would not set a foreign princess on the throne to rule over them. And your father was a baronet, and you are nineteen, so there is no reason in the world why you should not go present yourself to him, and win his heart.”

  “No reason — ” I began, then broke off, shaking my head. “I fear I am in no position to approach His Majesty. That is — just look at me!” And I waved a hand at my patched chemise, my no doubt smudged face.

  “Ah, well,” my aunt replied, still smiling. “That is no great matter. I did tell you that I was a user of magic, did I not? And while I cannot tell the future, or bring down the storms, or shatter the walls of a castle, I do have my own particular talents.” She lifted her hand and spread it toward me, as if offering me something on her empty, outstretched palm, even as she murmured some words I could not understand under her breath.

  I lifted my own hands, as if to ward off whatever spell it was that she cast…and stopped dumb, staring at my raised arms in shock.

  For I did not see my ragged chemise, nor the bare, thin arms that should have emerged from its dingy cuffs, but rather sleeves of a rich amber silk, worked with thread of gold and nuggets of dark honey-colored stones. And on my fingers were rings of gold, set with amber and garnet and tiny warm-tinted river pearls.

  “W-what?” I stammered. “How?”

  “An illusion,” my aunt said calmly. “Oh, a very real one — if someone were to take your hand, they would feel the rings on your fingers, and if the Emperor, perchance, were to put his arm around your waist to dance the verdralle, he would feel silk. But none of it is real, and none of it will last forever. But it will last long enough.”

  I dropped one trembling hand to touch the heavy skirts that now seemed to encase my legs, felt the rich silk under my work-roughened fingertips. How could such a thing be possible? How could she cast a glamour that not only looked real, but felt real?

  “You see?” she said. “You can go among them, and no one will know that you sleep on a pal
let in front of the kitchen fire, or that you spend your time scrubbing floors and heating water and emptying chamber pots. All they will see is the beautiful gentle-born girl you are — would have been, if your poor father had not passed so unexpectedly.”

  Was it possible? Could I go to see all those noble-born young women, catch a glimpse of the Emperor himself? I did not flatter myself to think he would take any particular interest in me, but…

  I shook my head. “You can put a fine gown on me, and curl my hair and clean my face, but I still can never be one of them. I am only a plain, simple girl, with no knowledge of the manners required to pass at court.”

  Her dark brows drew together. “Is that truly what you think? Are you going to let yourself believe the lies told you by your stepmother — although I think she should not use the word ‘mother’ at all to connect herself with you, because she is nothing of the sort. Anyhow, don’t let the poisoned words she has uttered over the years sway you, Ashara. I believe you do not understand exactly what power you could command, if you only had the heart to take it for yourself. Do you see?”

  And she spread her hand in front of me, although this time it seemed she cast a very different sort of spell, for her upraised palm became shimmery and reflective, clearer and brighter than the silvered looking glass in my stepmother’s chamber. In that mirror-like surface I saw my reflection, saw the rich gown and how it seemed to enhance the deep russet tones of my hair, the warm topaz shades of my eyes. I saw how my nose was delicate and straight, my chin small and determined, lips full and rich with color, although of course I wore no cosmetics. I was not brave enough to use the word “beautiful,” but somehow I thought I was not quite as ugly as my stepmother had tried to convince me over the years that I was.