As she tried to make sense of what she was seeing, a break in the clouds below her revealed the pinprick lights of stars. She rocked back and staggered away from the edge as her eyes grew as wide as Joran’s had been.
“Those are stars!” she gasped. “How can there be another sky underneath us?” Her only answer was the stunned face of her companion.
The trek back was silent. They’d talked about it until confusion drove the words from them and there was nothing left to say. A sky beneath them, visible underneath the bottom of the cliff they stood at the top of. The concept made her head hurt but set her vertigo screaming. She shuddered away from the notion of the land she stood upon resting on nothing but empty space far beneath her. Was this entire world just floating in the twilit sky?
Joran was equally silent, not even bothering to hunt. Despite all of the alien oddities of this world of the fae, nothing had prepared them for this. He led the way through the trees, retracing their steps until they returned to the ravine and the strange metal beam that would be their way across it.
Now that she was closer, she could see it was as straight as any fashioned stone. Odd nodules jutted from it in places like the heads of massive screws. She couldn’t say how long she stood examining it, but as Joran arrived back beside her with a tangle of thick vines, she realised it must have been some time.
He set about wrapping the ends of the vines around the thick trunk of a tree that stood close to the ravine edge, before letting a length of it down towards the rusted metal. The vines were not made from single strands, like ropes or lines. Instead, they were tangles of wide green and brown plants that lay as wide as her outstretched arms, extending down over the edge of the ravine like a poorly-fashioned rope ladder.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Me?” she demanded. “Why do I have to go first?”
“Alright, I’ll go first.”
“Well, I don’t want to be left here alone!”
He chuckled. “Fine. They should be strong enough to hold both of us. We can go together.”
“Should be?” she asked, a dangerous lilt in her voice.
He laughed again. “Look at the slope, Ylsriss. Most of your weight will be on the ground itself, not the vines. They’re only there so we can control how fast we go down and to help us to balance.”
“Right.” She didn’t sound convinced.
“Trust me.”
“I do trust you,” she replied. “It’s the scraps of plant that you’ve pulled out of the woods that I don’t trust.”
He ignored her and sat on the edge of the ravine, his hands grasping the vines on either side of him. “I think it makes sense to go down like this, sort of sitting down. That way, you can use your feet to slow yourself too and you put less weight on the vines.”
“That would be the vines you’re sure will hold us?” Sarcasm dripped from her words as she looked at him.
“Those are the ones, yes.” He grinned at her and then pushed himself over the edge, kicking up dirt and small stones as he slid down on his rump.
“Joran!” she screamed. He slowed then stopped himself with his feet, grabbing onto the vines with his hands.
“It’s fine,” he called up. “Now you.”
“Oh yes, my turn now. Joy!” she muttered to herself as she swung her legs over the edge. He looked up at her expectantly and she took in a deep breath before she pushed herself over the edge. The breath was gone in a moment, used all at once in one long scream, as she slid down towards him.
Chapter Thirteen
Selena strolled through the rooms of the villa, ignoring the maids as they frantically darted about trying to make the place ready for human habitation. Although they’d sent word ahead, the house was far from ready for them.
She gave a snort of amusement as the distant barking of the mistress of the house sent the maids scurrying again. The woman had the soul of a rottweiler and was not anyone Selena would ever want to cross if she could help it.
A wave of nausea struck her, coming from nowhere, and she rested a hand on a cloth- covered piano to steady herself. She closed her eyes tight and bent to rest her head on her hand. Biting her lip seemed to help her, for some reason, although nothing else had. She winced at the remembered taste of the herbal teas and the ginger-laced foods she’d eaten in an effort to quell the urge to throw up.
Swallowing was helping today as well. Last week, it had been more likely to send her scrambling for a chamber pot. She took a deep breath as she fought it off and circled the room, lifting a cloth to examine a harp before stepping out into the hallway.
“Ah, your grace.” Hanris smiled with that facial grimace that all staff seem to use with their employers. “Do you find the villa to your liking?”
“I presume the villa is under a dust sheet then, Hanris? Everything else seems to be.”
“Yes, your grace, it does rather seem that the staff are somewhat behind schedule.”
“No, Hanris. Behind schedule implies that some work was due to have taken place. What we have here is a complete failure to even begin it before our arrival.” Two maids hurried past bearing mops and buckets. “Should we present ourselves at the palace? I don’t think there will be much opportunity to relax here for a while.”
“Are you sure that’s wise, your grace?” Hanris pursed his lips and looked at her midriff meaningfully. “In your condition, I mean?”
“My condition?” Selena laughed. “Hanris, women have been tilling fields in my condition for thousands of years, sometimes with another child strapped to their chests while they do it. I’m sure I can cope with a brief carriage ride and the poor hospitality of the palace.”
Hanris was unfazed. “I’ll have the carriage brought round for you, your grace.”
“Do.” Selena paused, tapping her lips with one finger. “I think some attendants and an escort would be a good idea, as well. We must send the right message, after all. See if you can round up some suitably strapping young men in uniform to trot along beside me, would you?”
“An honour guard. Yes, your grace.” He gave a tight bow and strode down the marble-tiled corridor. Selena watched him for a moment, before making her way to the central staircase and up to her suite. The villa was relatively new, in the sense that Freyton had acquired it along with the rest of the duchy. Each of the major political players retained a presence in the capital. She presumed that, at some point, the Browntree family had owned its own villa here too.
At least the staff had managed to bring in the trunks and get them unpacked, she noted, as she made her way into the suite. She glanced out the window at the sun shining above the marble-clad buildings, judging the time by the light.
Changing alone was a relief. For once there were no foolish women seeking to help her to do something she’d managed by herself since she was knee-high. She selected simple, yet elegant, clothing from the wardrobes and began to dress. The full-length mirror on its stand threw her reflection back at her. Older than she remembered. Stronger, certainly, but was she wiser? Time would soon tell, she supposed.
She placed a hand on her stomach, looking at the woman in the mirror. It was starting to show more obviously. She’d have to have a dressmaker brought in while they were here. For now, however, it would probably help her cause to exaggerate things a little.
The gown was just a touch too tight, a fact exacerbated by the bow that tied at the back and lay atop the bustle. She shook her head, laughing at the spectacle of herself in the mirror. Who had even come up with the idea of a bustle?
Her hair, at least, wouldn’t need much fussing with. She reached for the bell pull with one hand while she fumbled with the pins with the other.
“Is the coach ready?” she asked the servant as she entered the room.
“Yes, your grace.”
“Lead the way then.” Selena flashed the woman a bright smile. “I’m sure His Majesty is breathless with anticipation.”
“Does he know you’ve arrived, Ma’am
? Were we supposed to have sent word?” The maid's expression was panic-stricken.
“Never mind,” Selena said, with a heartfelt sigh. Why was she doomed to be surrounded by people with no sense of humour?
Hanris awaited her beside the carriage, opening the door for her himself and shooing away the efforts of the footman. She graced him with a warm smile before climbing in and perching on the edge of the seat.
The carriage clattered through the city. It was not yet midday and the streets were still covered in a sheen from the rains of the night before. Selena forced the bustle into the backrest and managed to find an almost comfortable position as she leaned against the cushioned wall of the carriage.
“Is this your first time in Celstwin, Hanris?” she asked, more to break the silence than from any desire to speak with the man.
He jumped slightly, roused from a half-doze, and coughed before replying. “The first time in many years, your grace. I travelled here as a young lad. It is quite as fine, as I remember it.”
She glanced out at the pristine buildings. “You do know that’s by design, don’t you?”
“Your grace?”
“The city was designed and constructed so that the poor could be kept off the streets and out of sight,” she explained. “The broader avenues that carriages pass along are deliberately grand in order to drive up the prices of property. You won’t find any but the most successful tradesmen on the main streets of Celstwin.”
He stared at her. “Surely that’s the same in any city, your grace.”
“Not really, Hanris. Other cities have rich and poor areas that have sprung up over time. Celstwin was built with them already in place. In order to buy desirable property in Celstwin, you either need a title or a writ of patronage. The slums hold more than four-fifths of the city's population, but you’ll never see them unless you go into the poor quarters.”
He nodded in understanding. “And if you go into them looking like you don’t belong, you’ll be lucky to leave with your purse.”
Selena smiled grimly. “Or your life.”
“Surely it’s rather foolhardy to create social divisions like that, though? I mean, to intentionally put the citizens at odds with each other?”
“Oh, Hanris, you are so delightfully naive at times.” She reached over and patted his hand. “The people who live in the poor quarters have never been unified. You could fill a book with the names of the various guilds, thieving gangs and crime syndicates. That’s not the point, though. The poor generally leave the elite of Celstwin alone, because the king wishes it. In return, he ignores them.”
“And while he’s ignoring them, they are ruling themselves,” Hanris finished for her.
“Exactly!” She beamed like a proud parent, despite the fact he was easily twice her age. “And where there is division and conflict, there are pressure points. Kings have been manipulating the various factions in Celstwin for generations. Anlan is little different. A push here, a prod there. Turn a blind eye to one faction to balance out the other. Ruling is a balancing act, Hanris, one our present monarch does not seem to be adept at. Either that or he is far more adept at it than I imagined.”
She fell silent, looking out at the pampered people as they strolled idly through the well-manicured avenues, past decorative columns and topiaries. Their arrival at the palace came almost as a welcome relief. Celstwin was very much like a spoilt child and Selena found her hands itching to teach it a lesson.
Palace footmen rushed forward to open the door for her and set a small plush stool beside the carriage for her to step down onto. She waited whilst Hanris clambered out and stood beside the coach before she climbed out herself.
The grounds of the palace were grand. It would be odd if they weren’t, of course, but these were grand in a brash and ostentatious fashion. What one king had built, another had let fall into disrepair. As a result, the grounds and, indeed, the palace itself were a garish mishmash of half a dozen architectural styles.
She cast an appraising eye over the palace as she brushed down her gown. It had been many years since she’d seen it and she found herself reclaiming half-forgotten snatches of memory as they proceeded into the building itself.
Her own escort, she noticed, had been smoothly diverted. As she walked towards the palace entrance, with only Hanris to accompany her, she suddenly felt very small and alone.
As a duchess, she was required to present herself at the palace whenever she arrived in the capital. It was a convention that few followed, but today it suited her needs. Putting on an air of confidence and entitlement that she did not feel, she strode into the building, ignoring the guards that stood to attention with their long polearms.
A stuffy-looking steward in a spotless crimson livery intercepted them in the entrance hall.
“Can I help you?” he said, in a manner which indicated very clearly that not only did he not wish to help them, but also that he resented the implication that he ought to, or that they should even have dared to enter the grounds.
Selena gave the man a withering glance and nodded to Hanris.
“And you are?” Hanris replied, looking the man up and down.
The man bristled, smoothing his red moustache with one finger. He ignored Hanris and addressed Selena. “I am His Majesty’s house steward. Kindly ask your man to moderate his tone.”
“And I am Duchess Freyton of Druel, The Wash, and the Eastern Reaches. How dare you address me in that manner!” Her eyes were ice as she spoke in a dreadfully quiet voice.
The man held her gaze for a full second before he began to wilt. “I’m sorry, madam. I had no idea.”
“Your grace,” Hanris said, in a stage whisper.
“I’m sorry?”
“The correct form of address.” His words were drenched in condescension and pomposity. “Your mode of address ought to be ‘your grace’, not simply ‘madam’. This is not some simple washerwoman you are speaking to.”
A red flush appeared at the man’s collar and spread until it began an assault on his cheeks. “My apologies, your grace,” he began again. “Is there something I might assist you with?”
“I’m not sure,” Selena replied, as she fought to keep a smile from her face. It was hard not to enjoy the sight of the arrogant little man deflating. “Is there?”
He cleared his throat and clasped the thick black ledger to his side. “I am tasked with overseeing His Majesty’s appointments, your grace. As such, I am required to announce those that have arrived for scheduled meetings with the king.”
“Oh,” she said, drawing out the word as if suddenly understanding. “You’re the doorman!”
Hanris made a noise that could conceivably, in some other time and place, have been a cough and the steward's face became, if possible, redder, as he pulled open the ledger and rested it on one arm.
“You do not appear to have an appointment, your grace,” he said, biting off the words. “I’m afraid His Majesty’s calendar is simply too full for social visits.”
“I believe you will find that all members of the higher nobility are required to present themselves to the king upon arrival in the city, as is required by convention and privilege,” Hanris replied smoothly.
“Well, yes, but nobody follows those silly traditions in this day and age.” The man waved away the suggestion.
“Are you suggesting that Her Grace does not have the right to present herself?” Hanris asked, with no small measure of incredulity.
“I take it you’re going to insist upon this?” The steward sighed. “Very well. I’ll find you somewhere you can take refreshments. I’m afraid it might be a lengthy wait though.” He looked at Selena. “My apologies, your grace.”
Selena nodded, acknowledging the words, and then fell into line behind him as he led them deeper into the palace.
The parlour was comfortable but held the smell of a room that was rarely used. It was probably one of a hundred forgotten lounges and sitting rooms littered throughout the place. She m
ade her way around the room, idly inspecting the paintings on the walls. The oil had grown so dark in some that it was hard to make out the images.
“I’m not entirely sure that was wise, your grace,” Hanris said. He perched on the edge of the divan. He may have conceded to her demand that he sit, but he clearly had no intention of relaxing.
“Hmm?” Selena turned away from the portrait. “Oh, the doorman? He doesn’t have any power to speak of, Hanris.”
“Be that as it may, your grace, he will not be inclined to assist us with obtaining an audience.”
Selena snorted. “I’ll not crawl and scrape to every petty-minded bureaucrat scurrying about the palace. We’ll have our audience one way or another and I’ll not beg to exercise my own rights.”
Hanris’s sigh was quiet but just loud enough to reach her ear.
After a few hours, a servant brought them refreshments but they were then studiously ignored. Selena grew bored and then irritated before falling prey to self-doubt. Had the silly little steward actually managed to block her? He wouldn’t dare, surely?
Finally, as she was about to give up hope, they were escorted to a marble bench outside the king’s audience chamber. Her initial excitement faded quickly, however, as it became clear that they had simply been moved to another place to wait. She glared at the door as the hours passed, attracting more than one curious look from the servants as they hurried past.
“Come, Hanris,” she said, standing abruptly. “We’ll not be party to this.”
“Your grace?”
“The king is clearly not going to see us this day, and I’ll not sit here whilst the servants peer around the corner and snigger at us.”
“As you say, your grace.”
The ride back to the villa was silent.
They were not seen the next day or the day after that, and Selena perfected the art of quietly seething. She exuded an aura of politely contained rage that sent the servants hopping when they came too close. Appointments for the king came and went, looking at her with barely concealed derision, as their attendants identified her as an ‘eastern noble’ in the same manner as one might classify a dog as a mongrel.
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