by M. J. Scott
She blinked again, but the glow didn't fade.
The sejerin struck the ground with the staff and began to talk. Or declaim, perhaps. It was clearly a formal speech, the syllables measured and rhythmic. It was also clearly not Andalyssian. This was harsher and stranger, the sound of Andalyssian ground beneath stone and echoed back.
Compelling, but also frustrating not to know what she was saying.
Neither Colonel Brodier nor Lucien nor any of the others who had been here before seemed alarmed, so she had to assume it was a ritual speech, not some sort of spell.
Evoking balance, most likely. The obsession with balance had struck Chloe as an odd choice, perhaps, for a people who lived in a place of extremes. Or maybe not. When you lived on a knife's edge of ice and snow where bad weather could potentially obliterate the world, maybe the idea was appealing. Something to strive for.
The words rolled on and over them, and the whisper of the sejerin's magic underneath them remained steady rather than flaring as it would if the woman was drawing on extra power.
The inability to understand the words scratched at her brain. Parts of them sounded almost Andalyssian, but the sounds together made no sense. The Andalyssians were watching with expressions she judged to be more polite than concerned, which was reassuring, but she would have given her arm for a proper translation.
Eventually the sejerin stopped speaking and struck the stone floor three times again with her staff before turning to bow to the king.
"Thank you, Sejerin Silya," Mikvel said. Chloe noted the name and added it to the list in her head. Doubtful she'd have any trouble remembering this one after such a dramatic introduction.
Clearly Sejerin Silya was important, so it seemed likely they would cross paths again. Whether or not that was a good thing remained to be seen.
She couldn't quite shake her initial impression. She'd grown more wary of people since Charl died, reluctant to fall for dazzle or charm. In Anglion, she’d honed her instincts for those who might be ill-intentioned. Running a business alone as a woman had made her a target for certain kinds of opportunistic fraudsters or thieves who were bold enough—or stupid enough—to ignore the fact that she was Illvyan. Or maybe they had just assumed she'd be prevented from using her powers by fear of the temple.
They'd been right about that part, but none of them had ever succeeded in stealing more than a few silver coins’ worth of supplies. And the men looking to con a woman out of her money always tried to deploy the kind of bright and bountiful charm that Charl had naturally. Given most of them were nowhere near as handsome as Charl had been, and she had no longer been a love-struck girl, she remained unmoved by their efforts.
Chloe doubted that Sejerin Silya would try to charm anybody, but still, until she found reasons to either confirm or allay her instincts, she would be careful.
"What do you think that was all about?" Giane whispered through the side of her mouth, not looking at Chloe as Sejerin Silya walked back toward the door she'd entered from.
"Well, none of us has turned into a frog, so I'm going to guess some sort of welcome ritual."
Giane snorted softly. "Maybe it's delayed frogs."
"Shhh," Chloe said, willing her mouth not to smile. "Pay attention." The king was rising from his throne now, standing for a moment while regarding the court with an expression that seemed almost a challenge.
But then he clapped his hands together once, a gesture that made him look more like the young man he was. "And now," he said, finally smiling, "dinner."
The dining hall was, thankfully, built on a more intimate scale than the King’s Hearth. Though intimate was always relative when it came to palaces. It still seated several hundred people, but the walls were plastered and painted and draped in tapestries rather than being bare rock, giving it a human touch. The tables, draped in white and set with gold-rimmed china, silvered goblets, candles and tiny white flowers, looked welcoming.
The king’s table was at the front of the room, raised on a small platform. Colonel Brodier, Lucien, and Captain Theisse were seated at a table in the first row facing it. The rest of the Illvyans were scattered across several tables in the third and fourth rows. Not insulting but emphasizing that they were less important. At least they had the tables to themselves and wouldn’t have to make polite dinner conversation in Andalyssian just yet. Honore and Lucien and Captain Theisse were less fortunate. They were seated with Andalyssians in a bewildering array of colored robes. She didn't think any of the men were Ashmeisters, but they must still all be senior members of the court.
Lucien seemed at ease, speaking to the man beside him. She made herself turn her attention elsewhere. She wasn't going to spend the evening staring at Lucien. Not when there were far more interesting people in the room.
King Mikvel was seated beside a young woman dressed in silver trimmed with white and pale blue. From the quietly happy looks they exchanged as they waited for the servants to fill their glasses with wine, Chloe gathered this was Lady Katiya, his fiancée. Either that or he had no interest in hiding the fact that he was in love with somebody else and only marrying for political reasons.
But Andalyssians had conservative attitudes to marriage vows and fidelity. Their women, like Anglions, were supposed to remain virgins until they wed. Loyalty was an important trait, which made sense when the king had to work with the Ashmeisters. Lady Katiya brought with her House Uleniska, one of the strongest of the sixteen houses and it seemed unlikely he'd offer insult to her at so public an occasion. So no, the pretty blonde whose pale green eyes were fixed on Mikvel had to be the queen-to-be.
Chloe had less idea who the others seated with them were. Relatives of the king and his fiancée most likely. Roland sat at the far-left end of the table and another man of similar age at the right.
There was no sign of the sejerin or anyone else wearing red robes, which was a relief.
The seers were, most likely, less formidable to anyone familiar with them, but they supposedly held the power of foretelling, and that was something Chloe had never been hugely comfortable with. An aspect of water magic she’d never shown much talent for at the Academe, and she had little desire to know what lay in her future.
Life could be difficult enough without spending your time braced for something you had been told might come to pass.
Besides, seeing the future was a vague art at best. There had been few water mages truly strong in that talent over the years. They were rarer than Truth Seekers, even, and had, according to the Academe's histories, tended to be somewhat loosely connected to sanity.
Knowing the future, or perhaps seeing too many options to be able to see clearly at all, was a burden that didn't rest easily. There were no such water mages in the Illvyan court currently. But there were always water mages who dabbled with scrying and foretelling with some success, and others of smaller powers who made a living bilking people who wanted to believe out of their hard-earned money with vague predictions and insights that were, on the whole, not. She'd crossed paths with a few in her younger days, when it had been fashionable to ask frivolous questions about love and such.
She hadn't always enjoyed the experience, and seeing a seer was unexpectedly disconcerting.
As a distraction, she watched Katiya sip deep red wine and talk quietly with the king until her own glass was filled and the Wardmeister stood to make a toast. After that, the room broke into conversation, and she turned her attention to the meal, suddenly starving.
Dinner didn't last for hours as court meals sometimes could. All too soon, the servants were removing the dessert plates, and members of the court began to leave. Colonel Brodier and Lucien didn't move from their table, so Chloe and the others stayed where they were. The room was halfway empty when Honore beckoned to Chloe.
She pushed back her chair and went to see what the colonel wanted. There wasn't room to stand by Honore's side thanks to a group of courtiers gathered around the next table over, so she was forced to stand next to Lucien
, muttering, "Excuse me, Major," as her uniform skirt brushed his shoulder.
"No apology needed, Lieutenant," he said softly.
She didn't look down. Didn't want to see what was lurking in those green eyes.
"You need me, sir?" she asked Honore.
A nod. "There's to be a smaller gathering for drinks and to meet Lady Katiya after dinner. You're invited."
“Invited” in this case seemed likely an order. "Me?"
Honore lifted an eyebrow. "We named you as one of the people attending all the formal wedding ceremonies, so yes."
Captain Theisse—or Gilles, as she should try to remember to call him at the wedding celebrations—had no title, but he and Honore were the senior members of the delegation, so it made sense that they would be included. Still, she hadn't expected the “navigating the court celebrations” part of the mission to start tonight. She could have used another good night's sleep and more time practicing her Andalyssian. But the ceremony was in five more days, and royal weddings waited for no woman, apparently. "Of course, Colonel."
"Apparently we'll be escorted once the king leaves." Chloe looked toward the high table. King Mikvel was holding out his hand to Lady Katiya. Chloe turned in place so she could, as protocol required, face the king and bow with the rest of the court. She turned back only to find herself face-to-face with Lucien.
Too close again.
Just like at Imogene’s ball, she could feel the heat of his body, and his scent—soap and man and the cool green cologne he wore—filled her nose. After the strange smoky incense that lingered over the court, it was like taking a lungful of clean, crisp air, and she wanted to move closer, take a deeper breath.
Her cheeks heated. She would do no such thing.
She stepped back hastily. Lucien's mouth quirked in a half-smile that vanished as quickly as it appeared, making her wonder if she'd imagined it altogether. But before either of them could say anything, a young woman clad in white and gray, the king's mountain embroidered around the collar and cuffs of her dress and the trim of the long vest she wore over it, arrived by Honore's side.
"Colonel Brodier," she said with a quick curtsy, "if you and your companions would follow me, I will take you to His Majesty."
"Thank you," Honore said.
Chloe saw Giane, still at the other table, watching them curiously.
"What's going on?" Giane mouthed.
"Business," Chloe mouthed back before Colonel Brodier said, "Let's go."
The servant turned, her pale blonde braid swinging, and they followed her out of the dining hall and down a confusing series of corridors—really, parts of the palace seemed to be modeled after a rabbit's warren—before they arrived at a doorway flanked by two guardsmen. The door was partially ajar, and the sound of voices speaking Andalyssian came from within. Not too loud, but enough to suggest there were quite a few people inside. After the delicious meal and long day, she'd rather return to her room than deal with protocol in a foreign language. But this was what diplomats did. They developed relationships and forged them into new or strengthened alliances. Sleepy or not, out of her depth or not, this was what she was here to help do.
Hopefully there would be tea.
The reception room was warm and not too large. A small fire burned in a grate in the far wall, but even near the door, the temperature was pleasant, making her think it must be warmed by the pipes as well.
There were only about twenty other people in the room, a mix of men and women of various ages. That much was a relief. Fewer names to remember after the inevitable introductions. And if these were people important to the king, it would be a head start on learning who was who in the court, putting faces to the names she'd been studying since being assigned to the mission.
King Mikvel stood with Lady Katiya near the fire, talking to an older man whose robes were a deep blue with pale green embroidery. The king looked over and smiled, beckoning them to join him.
They did so, which necessitated another flurry of bows and greetings. She hadn't realized how out of habit she'd grown with the niceties of a court. Somewhere along the way she'd lost the feeling that it was completely normal rather than an odd waste of time, even though the ritual and moves of it still came automatically. But she was going to have to get used to it again. Diplomats lived in protocol.
"This is my betrothed, Lady Katiya Uleniska,” King Mikvel said. "Katiya, here is Colonel Brodier, Major de Roche—also Lord Castaigne—Captain Theisse, and...." He paused for a moment, studying Chloe. "I believe this is Lieutenant de Montesse, also Lady de Montesse." He raised a brow at Chloe.
She nodded and curtsied again. "Yes, Your Majesty. An honor to meet you and Lady Katiya."
He smiled at her, his pale eyes warming. "Welcome to Deephilm, Lieutenant. I trust your stay will be enjoyable."
"It already has been, Your Majesty," she said.
Katiya smiled at her, which only made her more beautiful. Her eyes sparkled, as though she, too, found it all faintly ridiculous.
The king introduced the older man as Georg Uleniska, Katiya's uncle, but before they could start any further conversations, Lady Katiya said, "Lieutenant de Montesse, let me introduce you to some of the other women." Her Illvyan was nearly as good as the king's.
Startled, Chloe could only nod and, after Colonel Brodier offered no objection, followed Katiya across the room.
"My uncle will bend their ear for hours if Misha lets him," Katiya murmured as they walked. "It will be very dull, and tonight is supposed to be enjoyable."
Misha. That would be the king. And, if Katiya was annoyed by the serious tone of the evening so far, did that mean it wasn't entirely usual for the court? Was the matter of House Elannon causing additional tension? Hardly questions she could ask when she had just met the woman.
"You speak Illvyan very well," Chloe said, replying in Andalyssian and hoping it was right. "But we can use your language if you prefer."
Katiya shook her head. "No. Let me practice. You will have many more opportunities in the next few weeks to speak Andalyssian than I will Illvyan."
They reached the opposite side of the room, where a young woman in the same blues and greens as Katiya's uncle stood near drawn curtains embroidered with stars and moons and strange flowers. She was trying, as far as Chloe could tell, not to look bored. Her eyes lit as they approached, and she stepped forward. "Katya, hello. Did you escape, then?"
Katiya smiled at her, the expression faintly exasperated. "Lieutenant de Montesse, this is my little sister, Irina."
"Hello, Lady Irina," Chloe said.
Irina nodded and bobbed a quick curtsy. "Lieutenant de Montesse." Her hair was more coppery blonde than pale like her sister’s. Back home, Chloe would have thought her an earth witch.
"You're from Illvya. Is it exciting there?" Irina spoke Illvyan with a similar ease to Katiya.
Something in her tone reminded Chloe of herself when she was younger. And her own little sisters. By the color of her hair, Irina must be over twenty-one but perhaps not that far over. Katiya was only twenty-three, just two years younger than her husband-to-be.
"It is, like most places, interesting sometimes, dull others, and mostly quite nice in between," she said.
Irina grimaced. "Deephilm is just dull."
Katiya laughed. "Irina! My wedding is not dull."
Her sister rolled her eyes. "Well, no, I am happy that you and Misha will be married at last, and that you get to be queen, of course. But then you will be doing terribly important things all the time, and I will be back to—" She broke off as a servant approached bearing a tray of short glasses filled with a light green liquid that Chloe assumed was some form of liqueur.
"Kafiet," the servant said, offering the tray.
Katiya and Irina both took one, so Chloe did, too. Kafiet meant something like “cold-fire,” if she was translating correctly. "Pretty," she said, raising the glass to inspect it. It was faintly warm to the touch. Not like tea, but as though the alcohol, if tha
t was what it was, had been set somewhere to warm before being served.
"It's delicious," Katiya said. "But it has, do you say, 'a kick' to it." She raised the glass and added, "Zvodoya," then downed the contents of her glass in one gulp.
Chloe knew that one: “health.” The toasts at dinner had been plentiful, and she'd already had more wine than might have been strictly wise. She didn't really need more alcohol, but it would be rude to refuse at least one toast.
"Zvodoya," she said, then tipped the glass back and gulped.
At first all she sensed was warmth. But then her mouth filled with a sensation like ice on fire, mint burning sugar and light and heat over her tongue and down her throat. Her stomach warmed with a glow almost immediately before the sensation spread down her legs and through her arms. She blinked, startled by the intensity. A kick indeed. Something to be wary of.
She handed the glass back to the servant, the taste still singing in her mouth. "That is delicious," she said. Delicious and dangerous. "How is it made? I taste...some sort of herb?”
"Miyata," Katiya said, nodding. "It's a kind of alpine plant. Related to mint. But cold-hardy."
"And something else?" Chloe ventured. "Ginger, maybe? There's warmth with the cold."
Irina looked delighted. "Yes, and a kind of pepper we use here. Are you interested in herbs, Lieutenant? You're an earth witch?"
"Earth and water are my strongest talents," Chloe said. "And yes, I've learned quite a bit of herb-lore in my time. Are you interested in healing, Lady Irina?"
Irina exchanged a look with Katiya. "Our father wants me to get married. And I am supposed to use all my talents." Her cheeks flushed, the pink bright against her pale skin, though Chloe couldn't tell if it was passion for her subject or perhaps the effects of the kafiet. Her own cheeks were hot, too.
"Irina," Katiya said. "You have to finish your studies."
"But why should I study things I have no talent for?" Irina said, sounding exasperated. "I’m strong in earth. I like earth." She turned an inquisitive expression on Chloe. "Don't you agree, Lieutenant de Montesse? It makes sense to work to one's strengths."