Troubled Waters

by Sharon Shinn

  Finally, they had restored themselves as best they could and were back in the car, heading up the mountain. Josetta chattered for the whole ride back, as animated as Zoe had ever seen her.

  “I liked your aunt so much! She seems like such a warm person. Is she always like that? Or was she just being nice to me because I’m a princess?”

  Zoe had to smile. “I think that is who she genuinely is, but I’m sure she never forgot for an instant that you’re a princess. I’m afraid that’s the way things will always be for you. You’ll find it difficult to know who is being kind to you because kindness is in their hearts or because they think it will win them favor.”

  Josetta thought this over a moment, some of her exuberance fading. “So are you saying I cannot trust her? I thought, since she is your aunt—”

  Zoe leaned forward, catching Josetta’s hands in hers. For a moment, she was almost overcome with the implications of that touch, the familiar rhythm of the blood dancing through Josetta’s veins. “I have not been at court long enough to know who I can trust,” she said quietly. “I have led a strange life, much of that time isolated from my own family, and it is hard for me to tell sometimes who wishes me well. I would not want you to trust anybody merely because they are related to me, or because you met them in my company. I do not know enough to be able to guarantee that anybody is safe for you.”

  Josetta absorbed this in silence, her face very sober. She made no move to pull her hands from Zoe’s grasp. “Can I trust you?” she asked at last.

  Zoe’s breath caught so hard that for a moment, her ribs hurt. “Yes,” she said, when she could trust herself to speak. “To never offer you harm and to keep you from harm if it comes from someone else and I have any power in my body to shield you. I will swear that before the booth of promises in the Plaza of Men, if you like.”

  But Josetta’s face had relaxed into a smile. She leaned back into the plush cushions of the carriage. “I believe you,” she said. “I don’t require any vows.”

  Zoe released her and settled more deeply into her own cushions. This city car was nearly as comfortable as Darien Serlast’s opulent travel vehicle. “Judging by what I saw today, you can trust Foley, too,” she said.

  Josetta nodded. “Yes. I always feel safe when he’s nearby. I never leave the palace without Foley.”

  Zoe was certain she should offer some kind of sisterly advice at this juncture. Be careful about how much you come to rely on one particular man, perhaps, or Do not lose your heart to a lowly soldier who has clearly already lost his heart to you. But she did not speak the words. If someone in the city wanted the princess dead, Josetta’s best defender would be a besotted guard who would give his life to protect her.

  And if, a few years from now, Josetta gave him her affection in return, well, Zoe was hardly one to be outraged by that. She knew, as few others did, how impure the royal bloodline already was, and she had little reverence for societal conventions. Princess or no, queen or no, let the girl love where she would. When Zoe got a chance, she would tell her sister exactly that.

  During the following few ninedays, Josetta and Zoe made a half dozen trips to Sarone’s house. After that first visit, Keeli made sure she was always present, and she quickly became a favorite with the shy princess. Zoe had to smile to watch them together. Keeli loved fashion and beauty, and she took it upon herself to recommend colors, clothes, and hairstyles to Josetta that the more conventional advisors at the palace never would have suggested. Keeli even collected products that would smooth Josetta’s hair once it came drenched out of the pool, and glittering accessories that would pin the recalcitrant curls in place. Eventually, Josetta looked better after their swims than before them, and all due to Keeli’s ministrations.

  “I like that little sparkly hair thing you got for Josetta,” Zoe said one afternoon as they all freshened up after a swim. “She can wear it tonight at the dinner. It’s going to be very fancy.”

  Visitors from Soeche-Tas had arrived the day before—not the viceroy himself, but two of his top advisors and their wives. From what Zoe could determine, they would be entertained for every minute of the next nineday while they were in Chialto. She was very annoyed about it, since she was expected to attend most of the planned events.

  “I’m so jealous that you get to go!” Keeli exclaimed. “My mother and I have been invited to the luncheon the day after tomorrow, but it won’t be as exciting as tonight’s meal. What are you planning to wear?”

  “I don’t know yet. I haven’t had time to buy something new, so Annova is trying to pull together an outfit from older pieces that I have never worn together.”

  Keeli was horrified. “You can’t do that! It has to be something no one has ever seen!”

  “Well, no one from Soeche-Tas has ever seen me in anything, so I don’t suppose it matters.”

  Keeli was shaking her head. “No, no, no. It matters. Trust me. But I have just the thing for you to borrow—I bought it because it was so beautiful, but it doesn’t fit me, so it’s never been worn. You can have it.”

  Zoe laughed. “All right. But only if you let me buy you an outfit next time we go shopping. And only if I like the one you’re foisting off on me.”

  She loved it, of course. Keeli’s taste was unerring. This ensemble was cut from a shimmering cloth woven of metallic threads in shades of emerald, sapphire, and gold. If the light hit from one direction, it appeared to be printed with a motif of twisting vines. If the light hit it another way, the cloth showed a pattern of flowers and birds. There was no other ornamentation. The cut of the overrobe was severe—very straight lines down the front, down the arms, and along the hem, which fell to Zoe’s knees.

  “Oh, I’m going to have to break some fashion rules and wear this more than once,” Zoe said as she gazed over her shoulder at her reflection, moving just enough to cause the design to shift from vines to blossoms.

  Keeli’s voice was smug. “I thought you would like it. You’ll look perfect tonight.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  It was hovering near dark as Zoe and Josetta left Sarone’s house and arrived back at the palace, which was cutting it close. Both of them knew that consequences would be dire if they missed the dinner with the Soechin guests. Elidon had made that clear over breakfast when the queens discussed how they would entertain the ambassadors’ wives.

  “If they have any notion of fashion, we can take them to the shop district,” Alys had said.

  Romelle was leaning over the table, resting her forehead on her hand. “I’m not taking them anywhere unless I feel better tomorrow,” she said.

  “I was sick two days ago!” Seterre exclaimed. “It was horrible. But it passes quickly.”

  Elidon had fixed Romelle with a cold gaze. “You will be well enough to join our guests for dinner tonight,” she said. She had lifted her eyes to stare at each of the wives and princesses in turn. All of them were gathered around the breakfast table, but none of them was feeling too sorry for Romelle, who was always complaining about some headache or stomach disorder. “Every one of the king’s wives and daughters will attend, dressed for the occasion and looking their best. No excuses are acceptable.”

  Next, Elidon pinned Zoe with that icy stare. “You must be present as well,” she added. “All the primes will be at the dinner and introduced to the envoys. Kayle Dochenza has traveled in from the southern ports merely to be at this dinner. Taro Frothen arrived last night.”

  Zoe raised her eyebrows. “And Nelson Ardelay?” she asked.

  Elidon’s expression was unreadable. “To be seated at the table next to the king’s.”

  Well. This was a critical occasion, then, if the Ardelays were to be treated like honored citizens. “Then I’ll be there,” Zoe said.

  And, thanks to Keeli, she would be impeccably dressed.

  Once the royal car arrived at the palace, Zoe and Josetta hurried through the crowded kierten at a pace scarcely slower than a lope. Foley was a step ahead of them, clearing people
out of their way; a second guard and the maid hurried to keep up.

  “At least your hair is already done,” Zoe said on a breathless laugh.

  “It will take me an hour to get dressed. My tunic has all these buttons and laces.”

  Zoe grabbed her hand and squeezed it. Partly because she had learned Josetta liked physical reassurance, though the princess would never say so aloud. Partly because she still got a shock of satisfaction at feeling that familiar blood pulse for a moment against her skin. “You’ll manage. Try to enjoy the evening. Maybe you’ll get a chance to speak Soechin to one of the ambassadors.”

  “I know! That’s what I’m hoping.”

  They parted on the broad stairwell in the women’s quarters, Josetta and her entourage heading down the corridor on the second floor, Zoe continuing up another flight. Annova would be scolding her the minute she opened the door, since Annova put far more effort into Zoe’s appearance than Zoe did.

  “I’m sorry!” she was saying as she stepped into the suite. “We swam for a little longer than we planned, and then—”

  Her voice trailed off the minute she saw Annova’s face, drawn into a curious expression of rage and apprehension.

  “What’s wrong?” Zoe demanded.

  “I was only gone an hour and when I got back—”

  “What? What happened?”

  “Your clothes—all of them—someone’s been in your suite—”

  Zoe tossed her bundle impatiently to a chair and strode past Annova into her bedroom.

  Which now resembled the scrap room of some very busy tailor.

  The bed, the floor, the side tables, the chairs—every surface was covered with bits of shredded cloth, the frayed edges glittering with gold thread, dangling sequins, and knots of dyed embroidery. Every tunic, every pair of trousers, every overrobe from Zoe’s closet appeared to have been slashed and reslashed, hacked into ribbons of fabric, then churned together in a muddled heap. Some piles on the floor were five and six inches deep.

  Zoe’s first thought was that she could hardly believe she owned so many clothes. Her second thought was that someone had deeply misjudged how much she cared about material possessions.

  “Everything, I’m guessing?” she said in a faint voice.

  Annova nodded. “Except your shoes. I don’t know why they were left untouched.”

  “I suppose whoever did this thought it might be amusing if I came to the dinner naked, but wearing expensive footwear.”

  “It’s not funny!” Annova exclaimed. It was sometimes hard to read emotion on Annova’s dark face, but the anger was perfectly visible right now. “Someone has targeted you—sabotaged you—”

  “Tried to make sure I couldn’t go to the dinner,” Zoe agreed. She knew she was supposed to be more upset, but she couldn’t see this as a catastrophe; it hadn’t hurt her in any way that mattered to her. “Apparently, to not attend tonight is tantamount to insulting the king and his very important guests. And if I have no clothes—”

  “Oh, you’ll have clothes,” Annova said. “I sent Calvin to the Plaza with strict instructions on what to buy. It won’t be fancy, it won’t be fashionable, but it will be something.”

  Zoe couldn’t help but be amused. “What, you wouldn’t let me borrow something of yours? I like that gold overrobe with the river embroidered on the back.”

  “Ripped in half,” Annova said shortly. “And everything else in my wardrobe.”

  Now Zoe did feel a spurt of rage. “Everything you own as well? That’s thorough!”

  “That’s spiteful, that’s dangerous,” Annova said impatiently. “Someone hates you. Which worries me more than a little. How did they get in? I know the door was locked.”

  “There are extra keys. Darien Serlast told me that the day we arrived. And—” She shrugged. “There are people who are not defeated by a lock.”

  “Well, I am not defeated by malice,” Annova said briskly. “Sit down and let me start on your hair. We’ll do what we can before Calvin gets back.”

  Now Zoe started laughing. It was too ridiculous. It was too petty. Surely one of the wives had ransacked her room, hoping to keep her from the banquet and perhaps spark a minor scandal. The Lalindar prime absent when all other primes were present to greet the envoys! Probably not sufficient to get her exiled from court, but certainly enough to cause a buzz of unfavorable gossip. But her adversary had made two mistakes.

  First, today of all days, Zoe had an alternative to wear to the banquet—something lovelier than anything she already owned.

  And second, Zoe didn’t care. About the clothes, the dinner, the ambassadors, her social standing. Any of it. She could leave it all behind right now and feel light of heart.

  “You don’t have to worry,” she said, speaking through her mirth. “My cousin lent me an outfit to wear to the dinner. Much nicer than anything Calvin will be able to find, though I greatly appreciate his effort. I just wish whoever did this hadn’t ripped up all of your clothes as well.”

  Annova sank onto the bed, sending a colorful dusting of decorative beads into the air. “You know that I never buy anything I love too much to lose,” she said. It was true; too much loss and too little acquisitiveness had made Annova notoriously careless about possessions. She fretted far more over Zoe’s things than her own.

  “So we’ll survive this disaster with our self-worth intact,” Zoe said, flopping down on the bed next to Annova. Instantly she was covered with bits of thread and a few jagged shreds of a green overrobe. “But now the question is: Who did this? And why? Was this just spite, or a real attempt to harm me and my standing at court?”

  “I’ll have Calvin ask around,” Annova said. “But—”

  “But anyone who would plan something like this would probably be too careful to leave clues,” Zoe said.

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  Zoe toed a pile of diaphanous cloth swirling around her ankles. “I suppose my old beaded shawl is somewhere in this whole mess,” she said with a sigh. That would be an actual loss; there were still a couple dozen gold and silver coins sewed into the border. Not that she needed the money these days, of course, but it made her feel safer to know she had a secret cache of funds that she could draw on during an emergency.

  Annova tilted her head, thinking. “I’m not sure,” she said. Jumping up, she went to a chest where Zoe’s underthings and sleeping shirts were stored. “I didn’t keep it with your fancy robes and tunics, because it’s not something you’d ever wear at court, but—ha!” She turned back to face Zoe, her face triumphant, the sparkling scarf stretched between her spread hands. “Something you care about that the thieves didn’t get after all.”

  Zoe was absurdly pleased to find the shawl still whole, still jangling with its cheap charms. “Well, I think they tried very hard today, but they didn’t succeed in any of their goals,” she said. “They won’t keep me from attending the dinner. They won’t force me to be embarrassed by my attire. And they haven’t destroyed anything that matters to me.”

  Annova brought her the shawl and Zoe wrapped it around her head, just to feel its familiar weight, just to hear the cheerful clinking of the beads. For a moment she closed her eyes, thinking how much simpler life had been when this item was the only thing of value she owned.

  Then she stood up, tossed the shawl to the bed, and said briskly, “We’d better start getting me dressed. Obviously, this is one night I can’t afford to be late.”

  There were too many people present at the dinner for Zoe to ascertain if any of them looked disappointed when she showed up, on time, and dressed in the height of fashion. By the time she was able to sort through the crowd to locate Alys—whom she considered the likeliest suspect—everyone had been ushered into the great dining hall and seated. The queen had had ample time to see Zoe and recover from any frustration she might have felt.

  The banquet was a dazzling affair, and Zoe had to admit to a certain traitorous relief that she hadn’t had to attend it in the pl
ain, loose-fitting tunic and overrobe that Calvin had managed to obtain on such short notice. People would certainly have noticed. Everyone else wore gaudy silks, expensive imported fabrics, robes and tunics so heavily embroidered that they might be wearing wall tapestries thick enough to hold back a draft. She thought there must be enough money in the room—just in jewels and cloth-of-gold—to buy a fleet of Dochenza cars and a housing structure for them made out of imported marble.

  No one she knew was seated at the table with her, and she was too far away from the central dais to get a good look at the guests of honor. So she spent the entire meal trying to keep a gracious expression on her face, responding properly when anyone spoke to her, and hoping she didn’t spill anything on the one good piece of clothing still in her possession.

  Through the welter of people in their expensive outfits, she did get a few glimpses of the royal table. One showed her Josetta, earnestly carrying on a conversation with a thick-bodied man dressed in a flamboyant and unfamiliar style—one of the ambassadors, Zoe surmised. She hoped the princess was practicing her Soechin and impressing the ambassador with her fluency. Another glimpse showed her Alys, moodily silent, staring back at her through the throng of diners. Zoe lifted her water glass in a silent toast, and the queen turned away without a flicker of response on her face.

  Another time, she caught sight of Darien Serlast standing beside Alys’s chair as if he had come over to greet her before the evening was done. He was bent down, listening, as she stretched up to whisper something in his ear. One of her hands clutched his arm where it rested on the back of her chair. While Zoe watched, he made no move to straighten up or pull away.

  He did not particularly look like a man who hated the queen as much as he’d claimed. Yet another lie from the Serlast man. Zoe turned her attention back to her food, though her appetite was entirely gone.

  She was surprised, once the meal was over, to be approached by one of the royal servants. “Please, you will come with me,” he said, so she rose and followed him, mystified but maintaining her look of composure. They crossed the echoing kierten to enter the men’s wing, where he ultimately delivered her to a small chamber that reminded her of her green sitting room back in Christara’s house. It was decorated more sumptuously, in shades of silver and icy blue, but it was obviously meant to be a comfortable place for intimate gatherings.