So far, I felt no more powerful than before. And somewhere, in the still back corner of my mind, the part of myself that managed to remain calm and undazzled by the array of sensory input, I began to suspect a cheat.
Occasionally the men were accompanied by women—an event that came as both a relief and stirred my curiosity. They took me in with equal interest. The Prince of Robsyn spoke with Hestar at length while the woman on his arm gave me a friendly smile. She wore an elaborate gown of foreign style, with a high neck and long sleeves, and a hugely full skirt that trailed on the carpet, hiding her feet.
Amazingly, she wore her dark blonde hair cut off at the shoulders, though it fell in pretty curls and seemed purposely styled that way. With her noble manner and rich garb, she clearly wasn’t a servant, and she didn’t avert her gaze at all, but studied me with frank appraisal similar to a man’s, only without the unpleasant feeling that came from it.
“It’s all a great deal to take in, I imagine, Your Imperial Highness,” she said in a low voice, the way I might speak to Inga and Helva when I hoped our attendants might not overhear.
“Yes.” The affirmation escaped me in a gush, and I had to restrain myself from reaching out to embrace her. “It is…” With horror I realized I had no idea who she was. I had not learned women’s names in my studies.
“Princessa Adaladja, of Robsyn,” she provided. “A fairly distant and minor kingdom in your vast empire.” She leaned in, lowering her voice further to a conspiratorial whisper. “And of little account, no matter what my Fredrick might hope.” She slid her husband a fond smile.
“Ah,” I replied, faintly and like a ninny. I had no idea how to receive such information. My mother would see it as a sign of weakness. Or was it an attempt to fool me into underestimating her so she could blindside me? The politics of the seraglio hadn’t prepared me for this… barrage of information.
“Your outfit is gorgeous,” she told me, the warmth in her eyes making me believe she meant it sincerely, “but aren’t you cold?”
“Cold?” I echoed. Yes, my feet were freezing and it seemed like I hadn’t felt warm since I left the seraglio. But I wasn’t sure if I should admit to that. Surely not.
“This is my first visit to the Imperial Palace,” Princessa Adaladja confided. “Such a to-do passing all the guards to enter this fortress! And I’m sure I’ve never been so cold in my life. I’ve spent the entire two days since I arrived bundled under furs as close to the fire as I could get without singeing myself.” She laughed heartily and I smiled uncertainly, her amusement infectious.
“Then you should visit the seraglio,” I invited. “It’s very warm in there.”
Her eyes brightened with interest. “Can I? I didn’t know if anyone not a member of the Imperial Family was allowed.”
Oh. I didn’t know either. Though the only rule I knew of was that only females—and boys younger than seven—could enter. Still… yes, there had been visitors. My mother and Saira had entertained female guests, inviting them to lunch. Jilliya never did, but she hardly stirred out of her apartments. Surely what the wives could do, the imperial princesses could do also. Inga, Helva, and I had just never had anyone to invite before. It might soothe Helva’s envy, to have a foreign visitor.
“Yes,” I said, feeling a bit more powerful with the decision. “Perhaps you could join us for luncheon tomorrow?”
“I would love that! I confess I’ve been insanely curious about the seraglio. Don’t you mind, not seeing the outside world?”
“One cannot miss what one has never had,” I told her.
She sobered, cocking her head. “I’m not sure I believe that.”
I regarded her with some astonishment. Not believe? A person didn’t simply decide not to believe in the truth.
Princessa Adaladja glanced at her husband, still deep in conversation with Hestar, both ignoring us utterly. “I had a bird once,” the princessa said, “when I was a girl. A gift. It had been hatched from the pet bird of one of my mother’s friends and I’d admired it so. All white—really an ivory very like your own hair, Your Imperial Highness—with long wings and a tail that trailed like a lady’s train.” She sighed at the memory. “And so clever. I taught mine to say words.”
“Words?” I gasped, laughing, and her eyes sparkled in shared delight.
“I swear to Sól! She knew her name—Clio—and she could ask for cookies, dates, and she could call my cat so convincingly that Isabel would come running as if I’d called her.”
“How miraculous,” I breathed.
“Yes. I loved her so.” She saddened, shaking her head. “But she forever gazed out my windows at the sky. And sometimes I’d hear her whistling at the birds outside, imitating their calls.”
I knew what windows were, for some of the apartments in the seraglio had them, overlooking the lagoons and so forth. But the concept of windows opening to the outside arrested me. “Birds fly around outside?” I asked. “How are they recaptured?”
The princessa blinked at me. “They aren’t. Most birds live wild, not as pets.”
Wild. I knew the word, but had never heard it used that way. Wild. Not undisciplined and in need of punishment, but free. Not a pet.
“That’s the point of my story,” Princessa Adaladja continued, “though it’s gone longer than I intended and I’m realizing I’ve perhaps misjudged in telling it to Your Imperial Highness.”
“No, finish it,” I commanded. She regarded me oddly and I added, “If you please. I’d love to hear the ending.”
“All right.” She glanced at her husband again. They seemed to be finishing. Hestar was scanning the room beyond him, which she also noted, so she hurried. “One day, I couldn’t stand it anymore, her sad little whistles. So I opened the door to her cage. It was a warm summer day and the glazing was off the windows. At first she didn’t move. Just looked.”
“Maybe she was afraid.” My heart trembled at the words.
The princessa smiled at me. “Who could blame her? The cage was all she knew. I went to lessons with my tutor and when I returned, the cage was empty and Clio was gone.”
“Did she ever come back?”
Princessa Adaladja shook her head, her smile a blend of happiness and regret. “No. Not exactly. I saw her from time to time. In the trees or flying overhead. My mother was very angry with me for losing such an expensive gift, but I didn’t care.”
This princessa astonished me at every turn. “Even when she punished you?”
Princessa Adaladja stopped smiling. “Punish me? Why, no. I—”
“I believe we’ve monopolized Their Imperial Highnesses long enough, my sweet,” Prince Frederick interrupted, offering Adaladja his arm. “Delightful to meet you at last, Your Imperial Highness Princess Jenna.”
I received their bows and murmured polite replies.
“You seemed to get on well with the princessa,” Hestar observed.
“Yes.” I peeked at him from the corner of my eye. “It was a pleasure to make acquaintance with another woman.”
Hestar laughed, not at all nicely. Not like Adaladja’s joyful one. “I’d think you’d have had your fill of women by now.”
I didn’t reply. As to that, I felt I’d already had my fill of men.
* * * *
After more of the same, for so long that my feet had begun to throb, a gong silenced the gathering. Hestar’s arm tightened, then relaxed. Deliberate, in my estimation. He beamed down at me, this smile quite fake. “Ready to meet our father, His Imperial Majesty?”
It sounded like a taunt, and for the first time I truly believed this was the boy I’d known. My playmate had taunted me exactly thus, pushing me to climb higher and run faster. “And my future husband,” I reminded him.
Hestar grunted, a man sound I had no context to interpret. So I said nothing more, simply allowed myself to be led into the throne room.
The crowd parted for us, creating an aisle for our stately procession. Hestar at least knew to adjust his booted steps to my mincing ones. Kral and Inga fell in behind us and she gave me an encouraging smile. But her lovely eyes looked glassy and her fair face paler even than the false sun the seraglio gave us. She was as overwhelmed as I, making me wonder if it showed so clearly on me. I looked ahead, raising my chin even as I kept my eyes from meeting anyone else’s, even the other women’s. Easier and safer that way.
I was an Imperial Princess, firstborn daughter of the Emperor of Dasnaria, and I would not shame him.
At the grand doors, a servant took my bouquet and I unbent that arm with gratitude—and some stiff pain, it had stayed crooked so long. Because we entered first, the vast hall echoed empty. At the fore, an immense throne towered over the room. Suddenly I understood the words of that long ago rekjabrel. Made of mirror-bright platinum, the throne shone with light so blinding I could hardly look upon it. Crystals and diamonds studded the surface—more of the former than the latter, to my practiced eye, as at least I knew jewelry well—and refracted the light of the elaborate chandelier suspended above it.
But Hestar and I had gotten it wrong in imagining the throne like any other chair. I should have guessed that it would be shaped like that Konyngrr fist, though open. His Imperial Majesty sat in the palm of it, the fingers stretched out to curl around him. The web of the Dasnarian Empire radiated out from behind him, represented by sparkling wires, also encrusted with crystals. Each thread ran to a sculpture set in a niche on the towering walls, embodying the primary product of that kingdom or province. Bjarg’s granite. An apple tree for Eikrik. I knew about those places, but couldn’t imagine where in the outside they might be. But easier to look on those than the dazzlingly painful brightness of the throne and the emperor himself. Even if I were allowed to gaze upon him directly.
From what I could see through my peripheral vision, my father sat high up, his feet well above my head. Framed by a velvet cloak in a blue so deep as to be almost black, then armored in polished platinum, the emperor wore a modified helm as his crown, inset with the Imperial Diamonds.
My mother stood at the foot of the throne, a familiar sight in her deep blue klút, studded with more of the Elskadyr pearls. Oddly, I felt happy to see her. Such was the toll of the evening, of adjusting to everything outside the seraglio, that I should be pleased and grateful for my mother’s presence. Princessa Adaladja’s story hung with me, her voice whispering images into my mind of a world even more immense than this. For all that the size of the Imperial Palace, the mob of people crowding it, and the grating feel of men’s eyes on my skin discomfited me to the point of panic, this was but a single building within the even larger outside.
How could I have ever wanted this?
The cage was all she knew.
And I knew myself to be frightened of leaving mine.
Inga had drawn up beside me, Kral on her other side. I studied her bare toes, still so pretty in their silver jewelry, but tinged blue with chill like mine. I’d have the servants heat water for us to soak our feet when we returned—that would be a lovely treat. And we could wrap up in heavy silk throws like the elderly ladies used and we could discuss all we had heard and seen. It would make more sense then.
Looking forward to that, imagining telling her about the princessa’s talking bird, I studied our toes and waited as the people assembled behind us. The room finally fell silent.
“My daughters.” The voice boomed over the room, echoing off the marble walls and making the crystal studded wires whisper with sound. “We welcome you to court at last, flowers of the Dasnarian Empire, my greatest treasures. Princess Jenna, step forward and raise your face to me. Allow your father to look upon you.”
I might have stayed frozen to the spot if Hestar had not dropped my arm and stepped back with a bow. I made myself move forward and, steeling my eyes not to flinch from the brightness, raised my face as ordered.
Within the helm, my father’s face showed—one very like Hestar’s, not so much like Kral’s, who looked far more like our mother. And like me, I realized. Us, with our high Elskadyr cheekbones and slender builds. Our father was broadly built, and Hestar had his wide shoulders. Both of them had our father’s eyes, however, icy as blue diamonds, very nearly colorless, and totally lacking all warmth. I shivered as my father surveyed me. By a flicker in his expression, he noted that weakness, I felt sure.
“You may lower your eyes, Daughter.”
Feeling the reprieve, I did so.
“A pearl beyond price, indeed,” he mused. “Even more beautiful than you were at her age, isn’t that so, Hulda mine?”
“Your Imperial Majesty flatters me,” my mother replied in the softest voice I’d ever heard her use. She sounded very nearly as submissive as the lowest rekjabrel. “Though I might note that, by the time I’d reached Princess Jenna’s age, I’d already borne you two children, such was my imperial husband’s mighty virility.”
He chuckled. “Soon we shall have grandchildren, I predict, if this daughter of yours has inherited your fecundity along with your beauty. What say you, Daughter—are you prepared to meet your husband?”
I’d practiced for this. I knew the words. My throat, however, had gone tight and cold. I couldn’t even swallow, much less speak.
“His Imperial Majesty asked you a question, Princess,” my mother said, and I knew that tone well. Hede might not be nearby with her whip at the ready, but she would be waiting for me when I returned to the seraglio. I had not yet escaped, not yet grasped the power that would open the door to this particular cage. Time to speak up.
“If it pleases you, Your Imperial Majesty,” I said, surprised to hear my voice as smooth and melodious as my mother could ever wish it to be. “I am ready and grateful to receive the attention of the husband Your Imperial Majesty has chosen for me.”
“Well spoken,” the emperor said, sounding pleased indeed, and his approval warmed me. “She is more shy than you ever were, Hulda. Far more becoming of an Imperial Princess. You’ve done well. Now, let me see my other grown daughter. Princess Inga, raise your face that I may see you.”
I waited, watching Inga from the corner of my eye as she also endured inspection. She did better than I, looking enviably calm and lovely. When our father commented on her remarkable eyes, she blushed prettily and thanked him for noticing. She spoke the flowery words with such grace and ease that a stab of envy pricked me, that Inga should have pleased our father more than I had. But he’d approved of me, hadn’t he?
He had. I could be generous and allow Inga her moment to shine in his gaze also.
Still … Saira must have rehearsed it with her. She hadn’t been able to conspire to be present herself tonight, but she could influence Inga—and through her, the emperor, Hestar, Kral…and even me. It made me realize the ways in which Saira had reached out from the seraglio regardless.
And it made me reconsider Inga’s friendship. I’d been so glad to have her with me, but obviously Inga hadn’t come along simply to hold my hand. As her conversation continued with our father—he clearly charmed by her pretty phrases—I breathed to stay relaxed and not betray my ire with something as easy to observe as a clenched jaw.
In the edge of my vision, my mother shifted, ever so slightly, but catching my eye. Seething with fury, she flicked at a pearl on her klút, clearly communicating that I was currently failing the Elskadyr family and I’d better take control of the situation. But how?
Though I supposed I hadn’t been dismissed. I hadn’t stepped back—Inga had stepped up level with me. Dare I interrupt? They spoke cozily of all the dances Inga could perform. Ones I also knew.
“My sister dances that one beautifully, Your Imperial Majesty,” I slipped the remark into a moment when Inga paused to consider her words. “When she is my age, she will no doubt be my equal in her skill, perhaps even the ducerse someday.”<
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In the corner of my eye, Inga allowed her lips to settle over whatever she’d been about to say. She lowered her eyes and slid me a look from the side.
“Aha!” The emperor pounded a fist mailed in mirror-bright, intricately worked metal on the arm of his throne, which happened to be the upturned thumb. “She is your daughter then, Hulda. I’d begun to wonder, with her so meek. I remember you dancing the ducerse when you were also so young and nubile. Does our daughter exceed your skill in that as she does in beauty?”
I didn’t dare peek at my mother. I didn’t need to. My emotional umbilical cord still stretched between us, feeding me her rage and jealousy. Even as I quailed internally, imagining what her revenge might be, sympathy also stirred in me. Though the empress deserved pity less than any woman in the seraglio—the opposite, as her iron rule of everyone generated more sorrow than joy—I couldn’t help but wonder at her life. I’d never imagined our father would treat her with such casual cruelty. From the smile I glimpsed on his face, via a quick look as he focused his attention on my mother, I could see he enjoyed it, too.
How horrible to be married to a man who mocked your age. Yet I knew he found my mother desirable still. He brought her to his bed every few days, even with the empire sending him the most beautiful concubines and rekjabrel for his pleasure. My mother knew him inside and out, so she’d often told me.
But for the first time, I doubted.
I knew my mother lied, easily and without qualm. She’d taught me to do the same, for a woman’s lies are her weapons as much as poison and knowledge of the sensual delights. For some reason, it had never occurred to me that she might lie to me also.
“Perhaps Your Imperial Majesty will be the judge of that,” my mother was saying, her voice without flaw, revealing none of how she felt. “Tomorrow evening, at the betrothal feast, Jenna will dance the ducerse for us all. It’s time the imperial court bear witness to your pearl beyond price.”
“An excellent idea.” The emperor sounded jovial, though the exchange had been only a formality, as my dance had been long planned. “And it’s well known that a husband’s affection shall be cemented by his desire. What say you—will you see your betrothed dance the ducerse, Rodolf?”
Prisoner of the Crown Page 5