by Sharon Shinn
Zoe yawned through the whole trip back up the mountain, wondering if she would have time to nap before the night’s activities began. The king had planned a grand outdoor event—one of those breathtaking displays of light that would paint the palace in gorgeous colors. She remembered the last one she had witnessed over Quinnahunti changeday when she was living on the river flats with Annova and Calvin. It was almost impossible to catalog all the ways her life had changed since that day.
“Have you decided what I should wear tonight?” Zoe called to Annova as she entered her suite.
The other woman came hurrying through the door to the room she shared with Calvin. “I haven’t had time to think about it,” she said. “Calvin’s had a stomachache all afternoon. I was giving him something to help him sleep.”
“There must be an illness going around,” Zoe said. “Romelle’s been miserable the past few days, too. I hope you don’t catch it.”
“Or you! Even worse! Come along, we’ve got work to do before you’re fit to be seen tonight.”
“We’ll be outside in the dark. How beautiful do I have to be?”
“As beautiful as Elidon. And how do you think she will be dressed?”
Zoe sighed and submitted to Annova’s ministrations. In truth, it was difficult to know exactly what to wear. Winter was not as punishing here in Chialto as it could be in the northwest provinces, but it was still Quinnelay, and the nights could be extremely cold. Meanwhile, the king, his wives, his visitors, and many of the other invited guests would be viewing tonight’s spectacle from boats rowed out into the middle of the lake that snuggled up against the palace grounds, and the air just off the water was sure to be icy. Zoe insisted on dressing for comfort as much as style, and Annova reluctantly acceded.
“Are you going to come outside and watch?” Zoe asked as Annova finished crimping curls into her hair.
“I might. It depends on how Calvin is feeling.”
“Well, that’s not the only reason I hope he’s much better soon!”
They ate a light meal together as darkness was falling. Annova took a bowl of soup to Calvin and came back to report that he thought he was improving.
“For dessert we have these lemon bars that Elidon sent—and these chocolate drops from Alys—and I don’t know what these are from Romelle,” Annova said. Nearly five ninedays after the rescue on the river, the queens were still supplying Zoe with tangible expressions of their gratitude. “Fruit tarts? I think they’ve gone bad.”
Zoe stood up, brushing crumbs off her robe. “Maybe I’ll have a sweet when I get back. I hope you get to see the entertainment!”
A few minutes later, she was in the kierten, milling around with fifty or sixty others, waiting to hear how they would be organized for the event. The royal family and the visitors from Soeche-Tas had gathered into a small, isolated group. Qeesia was standing too close to Josetta, patting the girl’s fair hair with a look of intense satisfaction. Seterre stood nearby, smiling fondly. Zoe shivered and looked away.
There was a commotion near the grand front entrance as the royal herald stepped forward and announced that boats had been drawn up to the water’s edge and anyone who wanted to witness the exhibition from the water should stroll down to the bank. “Only the royal family and their invited guests will be allowed on the king’s vessel,” the herald added, raising his voice above the noise of the crowd in motion.
Zoe didn’t care if she watched from water or land, but she docilely followed everyone else outside. The dark of night was pushed back by a forest of brightly burning torches, though the flames did little to warm the crisp air. Servants helped men and women onto the ranks of rocking watercraft, some large and elaborate, some barely bigger than rafts. A number of guests showed no interest in the boats, but arranged themselves in chairs that had been set up along the edge of the water. Zoe even saw a few blankets laid out for anyone who wanted to recline on the ground to watch the palace painted with color—or who wanted to wrap up against the frosty air.
“A coru woman not rushing to take her place on the river?” said a voice behind her. She turned to see Darien’s teasing smile. “Surely you would find a welcome among the royal family. What holds you in place on land?”
“A disinclination to spend more time than I must with people I don’t particularly like,” she replied.
“New acquaintances or old ones?”
She laughed. “In this case, the new ones. Why are you not at the king’s side, as you always are?”
His expression was rueful. “I admit, the Soechins do not appeal to me, either. I claimed I was worried about overcrowding on the boat, but that was a lie.”
“Because lies come so easily to you,” she said, but she couldn’t put any venom into it.
He laughed. “But it is really quite spectacular to see such an exhibition from the water. I have instructed the servants to reserve one of the smaller boats for me. Would you care to join me and row out into the middle of the lake?”
She gestured down at her fine clothes. “I am not dressed for rowing. I am dressed for sitting at my ease while people around me labor.”
He laughed even harder. “I misspoke. Would you care to sit in a boat with me while I row us out into the water?”
“Yes,” she said, “I believe I would.”
She took his hand and they picked their way down the uneven ground of the bank. Some of the smaller boats had already traveled some distance from shore, but the king’s stately vessel was just now casting off. Fragments of conversation drifted over the Marisi, eerily disconnected from the speakers.
“I can’t believe you wanted to come out onto the water,” someone said in a nasty tone. Zoe thought it might be Alys.
Josetta answered, her voice casual. “Oh, I’m not afraid of the river. At least not here, where it’s so calm.”
Zoe was grinning when a servant helped her into one of the smaller watercraft where Darien had already taken the oars. Unlike Nelson’s boat, this one didn’t have a selection of benches where different rowers could take their seats; this one just featured a long narrow hump that bisected the boat from stern to prow. Darien sat with his spine pressed up against a back support, one leg on either side of the divider.
“Elegant,” Zoe said as she climbed in, trying to minimize the shifting of her weight so the boat didn’t rock too badly.
He grinned. “At least the bottom’s dry.”
“So far,” she said darkly. “I’m glad I didn’t wear my expensive shoes.”
As soon as she was settled, a servant pushed them into the water. She watched the palace recede as Darien rowed them smoothly away from shore. She loved the sound the river made as the oars dipped in and pulled back, water slapping against the side of the boat, dripping from the edges of the wood. All around them were similar noises, echoing across the surface of the river, embroidered with muffled laughter, occasional shouts, the creak and rattle of the oars straining against their guides. The king’s boat and two of the other big ones were bright with torchlight, but everything else on the water moved in darkness. The star-chilled air felt unexpectedly delicious against Zoe’s skin.
Darien shipped the oars and the boat came to an incomplete standstill. She could feel the current eddying around them, nudging them gently toward the southern border of the lake.
“Is this good?” he asked. “Are we far enough away?”
“This is perfect,” she murmured, “even before the exhibition starts.”
He laughed softly. “I thought you would like it out here. Are you cold?”
“Yes, but I don’t mind.”
“Here. Scoot back by me.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder, ready to mock. But he was pulling on her arm, urging her to slide back along that center bench. “We’ll tilt into the water,” she said.
“We won’t. Come on. Lean against me. You’ll be more comfortable.”
She couldn’t resist. Gliding carefully, so she didn’t snag her overrobe on any
rough edges, she moved back until she could settle against Darien’s chest. The boat danced under them, the stern sinking a little, but Darien extended his legs along either side of hers and they steadied. He wrapped both of his arms around her waist and snugged her closer.
“Isn’t this better?” he whispered in her ear.
She felt a giggle rising. “You’ve done this before.”
“Not for a long time.”
“How can I believe that,” she said, “from a man who lies so easily?”
“Shh,” he said. “The show’s starting.”
Indeed, on some signal that Zoe missed, the torches were abruptly extinguished, which was when she realized that all of the palace windows that faced the water were also dark. Gasps from the crowd rose from across the water.
Then suddenly the whole front surface of the palace was lit with a showering sizzle of gold, bars of color sparking and spiraling down. The watchers had barely expressed their awe at this sight when it was swept away by great swaths of purple and blue and orange that bloomed and faded along the stone canvas of the palace.
“How can something like this be possible?” Zoe asked in a whisper.
“Some Dochenza invention,” Darien replied, his mouth at her ear. “Controlled gases and some kind of pigment. I don’t pretend to understand it.”
“Are they here? Running the display?”
His head was so close to hers she could feel him nod. “If you look closely enough, you can see shadows running up and down the base of the palace.”
“Kayle?”
“Not him. Two of his sons and one of his nephews, I believe.”
That caught Zoe’s attention as much as the twisting green ribbon—maybe twenty feet wide—that coiled and curled along the turrets before dissipating into the velvet dark. “Is one of them Wald? I’d like to meet him.”
Darien’s arm tightened warningly around her waist. “Don’t look for ways to cause trouble.”
“I’m not,” she said, breathless. “I’m just curious about him.”
“Watch the show,” he whispered against her cheek. In the cool night, his breath was warm against her skin. He loosened his hold, but just a little. She made no protest.
The coiling ribbon was followed by sheets of color, one laid over the other so that scarlet melted into saffron and dripped ochre along all of the palace bricks. An emerald wave washed the whole surface clean, and then suddenly was pierced with random dots of color like wildflowers in a summer meadow. Some of the dots puffed up into great floating bubbles of fuchsia and melon; the rest fizzed in place and disappeared.
Zoe leaned back a little and turned her head toward Darien’s. “Down on the river flats,” she murmured, “all the squatters are sitting outside their tents, watching the show. Did you know that?”
“Not tonight,” he said.
“Why not?” she asked, and then she remembered. “Oh. Important guests in the city. The squatters have been relocated. Well, when people are allowed to live on the river, and the king throws a party like this, they can see the whole display. It’s like watching magic.”
“This is better,” he whispered back, and he kissed her.
She closed her eyes and felt color painted across her skin while his mouth pressed against hers. Everything was in motion—the boat drifting gently with the current, the sky swirling around them, the blood speeding through her veins. She felt his pulse, as rapid and disordered as her own. He kissed her harder, tightening his arms around her. For a moment she wrapped her hands around his wrists, clinging, and then she pulled away, struggling for air.
“And was that a lie?” he asked in a quiet voice. What she could see of his face shifted from purple to violet to a ruddy red as the colors flamed against the palace and reflected off his skin.
“I don’t know yet,” she gasped.
“You do know,” he said.
“Maybe I do,” she said. Not speaking another word, she faced forward again, setting her backbone against his ribs. She could still feel his heartbeat, faster than usual, but so strong. So reliable. Ruffled just a little by emotion, maybe, but steady enough to withstand any punishment, any reversal, and too stubborn to fail.
All men failed eventually, of course; every pulse faltered to a halt. But Zoe leaned into Darien Serlast’s heartbeat and felt as if she had found the source of the engine that powered the world.
It was easy to slip away into the crowd that slowly disembarked from the fleet of boats with the aid of the waiting servants. All the torches had been relit and the path back to the palace was clearly delineated. Darien had made no move to stop Zoe as she climbed out of the boat; neither of them had attempted much conversation during the rest of the exhibition, which was over in another ten minutes. She wanted to get inside. In that short span of time she had grown cold enough to start shivering—though that might have been from excitement, from fear, from uncertainty. She wanted to return to her room and burrow under her covers and remember the colors and think about Darien Serlast.
The minute she stepped into her rooms, she knew she would have little chance to carry out that excellent plan.
The suite smelled harsh, unpleasant, wrong. All the lights, doused for the festival, were still off, except for one dimly spilling out through the door to the servants’ room. The foul odor emanated from the same direction.
Tense with misgiving, Zoe strode to the source of light. “Annova? Calvin? Is something wrong?”
She found Calvin on the bed, deep asleep, and Annova lying on the cool tiles in front of the circulating sink. The stink of vomit was stronger here, and streaks of it clotted the floor and the front of Annova’s tunic.
“Annova,” Zoe said sharply, dropping to her knees. “Are you all right? Do you need me to send for help?”
Annova shook her head weakly. Even her dark skin looked pale, leached of color by pain or purging. “I’m better now. I think it’s all—out of my stomach finally.”
“How long have you been throwing up?” Zoe asked. She laid her hands on Annova’s cheeks and forehead and was relieved to find no trace of fever. From what she could tell just by touch, the blood was clean of infection.
“About an hour.”
“You must have caught whatever it was that hit Calvin this morning—is he all right? Should I fetch the king’s apothecary?”
With Zoe’s help, Annova struggled to a sitting position. “I think both of us will recover on our own. Can you bring me some water? I think I can keep it down.”
Zoe filled a glass from the spigot, then wet a towel, and she began wiping Annova’s face while the other woman took careful sips. “You need to get out of these clothes. Can you stand enough to strip down and wash yourself off? I’ll clean everything up.”
Annova didn’t make any protests about Lalindar primes looking after lowly servants. But she didn’t answer the question, either. “Zoe,” she said, her voice faint but threaded with urgency, “I think it was poison.”
Zoe’s hands froze in place. “Poison? Someone was trying to kill you?”
“You.”
After a moment of absolute silence, Annova continued. “Though not trying to kill you, I think. Just make you too sick to attend important events.”
Zoe’s hands had cramped around the wet towel. She felt a murderous rage turn her blood to acid. “You think you ate something someone intended for me. You and Calvin both.”
Annova nodded. “The chocolate drops. He only had one. I had four. And about fifteen minutes after I had the last one—”
“Alys,” Zoe said, her voice glacial.
Annova gave an exhausted cough, then sucked down a little more water. “It probably didn’t occur to her that your servants might eat something that had been given to you. Her own wouldn’t.”
“And she knows I like chocolate.”
“She must have thought that if you ate one before the shopping expedition—or before the exhibition tonight—”
“Or before the luncheon tomorrow, o
r the dinner tomorrow, or any of the other activities that have been lined up endlessly for the rest of the nineday—”
“That you would get sick. You wouldn’t be able to make an appearance.”
“Which would insult the king’s guests and displease the king and embarrass me.”
Impossibly, Annova was able to conjure a smile. “Good thing for you that you have such greedy servants.”
Zoe sent the damp cloth in one last pass across Annova’s face. “Good thing for me I have such dependable friends.”
It took another hour for Zoe to wash Annova and scrub down the tiled room. The sharp, clean smell of disinfectant chased away the acrid stench of vomit and made all of them feel better. Then Zoe spent a few minutes hovering over Annova and Calvin, making sure they had water at their bedsides, making certain no fever had made an unexpected appearance. But both of them breathed easily, their skin cool against their pillows, their dreams seemingly untroubled. Zoe decided that if they were well by morning, she would allow her concern to seep away.
Finally she slipped into her own room, stripped away her own clothes, and bathed herself in water as hot as she could stand. It should have been cold water—to bank her rage—but instead she wanted steam. She wanted heat. She wanted to burn away the rot that she was sure clung to anything that had passed through Alys’s hands.
TWENTY-SEVEN
In the morning, Zoe arrived late to the daily breakfast in Elidon’s suite. The first wife gave her a reproving glance, but forbore to make any pointed observations. Mirti was the only guest present besides Zoe and the queens, and everyone showed marks of a late night. Seterre and Alys were yawning, Elidon and Mirti both looked tired, and Romelle leaned her chin on her hand and appeared to be dozing at the table.