Amilia chided herself for watching the maid instead of working, but something kept her attention. The way she moved and how she held her head looked out of place. She watched her dab the brush in the water and stroke the floor, moving it from side to side like a painter. She spread water around, but did little to free the dirt from the surface. Edith Mon would whip her for that. The headmistress was a cruel taskmaster. Amilia had found herself on the wrong end of her belt on a number of occasions for lesser infractions. For that reason alone Amilia felt sorry for the poor girl. She knew all too well what she faced.
"Are they treating you well here?" Amilia found herself asking despite her determination to remain silent.
The girl looked up and glanced around the room.
"Yes, you," Amilia assured her.
"Yes, milady," the maid replied, looking up.
She is looking right at me, Amilia thought, stunned. Even with her title, and a rank equivalent to a baroness, Amilia still had a hard time returning the stare of even the lowest nobles, but this girl was looking right at her.
"You can tell me if you aren't, I know what it is like to-" she stopped, realizing the maid would not believe her. "I understand new servants can be picked on and belittled by the others."
"I am getting along fine, milady," she said.
Amilia smiled, trying to set her at ease. "I didn't mean to suggest you weren't. I am very pleased with you. I just know it can be hard sometimes when you start out in a new place. I want you to know that I can help you if you are having trouble."
"Thank you," she said, but Amilia heard the suspicion in her voice.
Having a noble offering to help with bullying peers was probably a shock to the girl. If it had been her, Amilia would think it a trap of some kind, a test perhaps to see if she would speak ill of others. If she admitted to problems, the noble might have her removed from the palace. Under no circumstances would Amilia have admitted anything to a noble no matter how kindly the woman might have presented herself.
Amilia felt instantly foolish. There was a division between nobles and commoners and for good or ill, she was now on the other side. The conditioning that separated the two was far too entrenched for her to wipe away. She decided to stop tormenting the poor girl and return to her work. Just then however, the maid put down the scrub brush and stood.
"You're, Lady Amilia, is that right?"
"Yes," she replied, surprised at the sudden forwardness.
"You're the Secretary to the Empress?"
"How well informed you are. It's good that you are learning your way around. It took me quite some time to figure out-"
"How is she?"
Amilia hesitated. It was very inappropriate to interrupt, and terribly bold to inquire so bluntly of Her Eminence. Amilia was touched, however, by her concern for the welfare of Modina. Perhaps this girl was unaccustomed to interacting with the gentry. She was likely from some isolated village that never saw a visiting noble. The unnerving way she held Amilia's stare revealed she had no experience with proper social etiquette. Edith Mon would waste no time beating those lessons into her.
"She's fine," she replied. Then as a matter of habit added, "She was ill, and still is, but getting better every day."
"I never see her," the maid went on. "I've seen you, and the chancellor, the regents, and the lord chamberlain, but I never see her in the halls or at the banquet table."
"She guards her privacy. You have to understand as empress everyone wants time with her."
"I understand. I guess she gets around using secret passages?"
"Secret passages?" Amilia chuckled at the imagination of this girl. "No, she doesn't use secret passages."
"But I heard this palace is very old and is filled with them; hidden stairs, and corridors that lead to all kinds of secret places."
"I don't know anything about that," Amilia replied. "What got this into your head?"
The maid immediately put a hand over her mouth in embarrassment and her eyes dropped to the floor in submission. "Forgive me, milady. I didn't mean to be so bold. I'll get back to my work now."
"That's all right," Amilia replied as the maid dunked her brush again. "What's your name, dear?"
"Ella, milady," the maid replied softly, without pausing or looking up.
"Well, Ella, if you have problems or other questions, you have permission to speak to me."
"Thank you, milady. That is very kind of you."
Amilia returned to her own work and left the maid to hers. In a short time, the servant finished and gathered her things to leave.
"Goodbye, Ella," Amilia offered.
The maid smiled at the sound of her name and nodded appreciatively. As she walked out Amilia glanced at her hands where they gripped the bucket and mop and was surprised to see long fingernails on each. Ella noticed her glance, shifted her grip covering her nails, and promptly left the chamber.
Amilia stared after her awhile wondering how a working girl could manage to grow nails as nice as hers. She put it out of her mind and returned to her letters.
***
"You realize they are going to get wise," Amilia said, after the seamstress had finished taking Modina's measurements and left the chamber.
The Imperial Secretary moved around the empress's bedroom straightening up. Modina sat beneath the narrow window, in the only patch of sunshine to enter the room. It was where Amilia found her most often. She would sit there for hours, just staring outside watching clouds and birds. It broke Amilia's heart a little each time she saw her longing for a world barred to her.
The empress showed no response to Amilia's comment. Her lucidity from the day before had vanished. The empress heard her though. She was quite certain of that now.
"They aren't stupid," she went on as she fluffed a pillow. "After your speech, and that incident with the clerk yesterday, I think it's only a matter of time. You would have been wiser to stay in your room and let me handle it."
"He wasn't going to listen to you," the empress spoke.
Amilia dropped the pillow.
Turning as casually as she could, she stole a glance over her shoulder to see Modina still looking out the window with her traditional vague and distant expression. Slowly, Amilia picked up the pillow and resumed her straightening. Then she ventured, "It might have taken a little time, but I'm certain I could have persuaded him to provide us with the material."
Amilia waited, holding her breath, listening.
Silence.
Just when she was certain it had only been one of her rare outbursts of coherency, Modina spoke again. "He never would have given in to you. You're scared of him, and he knows it."
"And you aren't?"
Again, silence and Amilia waited.
"I'm not afraid of anything anymore," the empress finally replied, her voice distant and thin.
"Maybe not afraid, but it would bother you if they took the window away."
"Yes," Modina said simply.
Amilia watched as the empress closed her eyes and turned her full face into the light of the sun.
"If Saldur discovers your masquerade-if he thinks you've been just acting insane, and misleading the regents for over a year-it might frighten him into locking you up where you can't do any harm. They could put you in a dark hole somewhere and leave you there."
"I know," Modina said, her eyes still closed and head tilted upward. Immersed in the daylight she almost appeared to glow. "But I won't let them hurt you."
The words took a moment to register with Amilia. She heard them clearly enough, but their meaning came so unexpectedly that she sat on the bed without realizing. Looking back it was obvious, but not until that moment did she see it. The speech was for Amilia's benefit-to ensure that Ethelred and Saldur could not have her removed or killed. Few people had ever gone out of their way for Amilia. It was unimaginable for Modina-the crazy empress-to risk herself in this way. Such an event was as likely as the wind changing direction to suit her, or the sun asking her p
ermission to shine.
"Thank you," was all she could think to say and for the first time she felt awkward in Modina's presence. "I'm going to go now."
She headed for the door and as her hand touched the latch, Modina spoke again.
"It isn't completely an act, you know."
***
Waiting inside the regent's office, Amilia realized she had not heard a word in her meeting or during the dedication that morning. Dumbfounded by her conversation with Modina-the mere fact that she even had a conversation with Modina-little else registered. Her distraction, however, vanished the instant Saldur arrived.
The regent appeared imposing as always, in his elegant robe and cape of purple and black. His white hair and lined face lent him a grandfatherly appearance, but his eyes held no warmth.
"Afternoon, Amilia," he said, walking past her and taking a seat at his desk. The regent's office was dramatically opulent. Five times larger than her office, it featured a more elegant decor. A fine patterned rug covered the polished hardwood, and numerous end-tables flanked couches and armchairs circling a table and chessboard. The fireplace was an impressively wide hearth of finely chiseled marble. There were decanters of spirits on the shelves, along with thick books. Religiously themed paintings lined the spaces between the bookcases and windows. One illustrated the familiar scene of Maribor anointing Novron. The immense desk, behind which Saldur sat, was a dark mahogany polished to a fine luster and adorned with a bouquet of fresh flowers. The entire office was perfumed with the heady scent of incense, the kind Amilia had only smelled once before in a cathedral.
"Your Grace," Amilia replied, respectfully.
"Sit down, my dear," Saldur said.
Amilia found a chair and mechanically sat. Every muscle in her body was tense. Amilia wished Modina had not spoken to her that morning-at least then she could honestly plead innocence. Amilia was no good at lying, and had no idea how she should respond to Saldur's interrogation in order to bring the least amount of punishment to her and the empress. She was still debating what she might say when Saldur spoke.
"I have some news for you," he said, folding his hands on the surface of the desk and leaning forward. "It will not be public for several weeks, but you need to know now so you can begin preparations. I want you to keep this to yourself until I announce it, do you understand?"
Amilia nodded as if she understood.
"In almost four months, during the Wintertide celebrations, Modina will marry Regent Ethelred. I don't think I need to impress upon you the importance of this. The Patriarch himself is personally coming to perform the ceremony. All eyes will be on this palace…and on the empress."
Amilia said nothing and barely managed another shallow nod.
"It is your charge to ensure that nothing embarrassing occurs. I have been very pleased with your work to date, and as a result, I am giving you an opportunity to excel further. I am putting you in charge of arranging the ceremony. It will be your responsibility to develop a guest list and prepare invitations. Go to the lord chamberlain for help with that. You will also need to coordinate with the palace cooks for meals. I understand you have a good relationship with the head cook?"
Once more she nodded.
"Wonderful. There should be decorations, entertainment-music certainly, and perhaps a magician or an acrobat. The ceremony will take place here, in the Great Hall. That should make things a bit easier for you. You will also need to have a wedding dress made-one worthy of the empress." Seeing the tension on her face Saldur added, "Relax, Amilia, at least this time you only need to train her to say two words… 'I do.' "
Chapter 6
The Emerald Storm As the ship lurched once more Hadrian stumbled and nearly hit his head on the overhead beam. It would have been his third time that day. The lower decks of the Emerald Storm provided meager headroom and precious little light. An obstacle course of sea chests, ditty bags, crude wooden benches, tables that swung from ropes, and close to one hundred and thirty men all crammed into the berth deck. Hadrian staggered his way aft dodging the majority of the starboard watch, most of whom were asleep, swaying in hammocks strung from the same thick wooden crossbeams that Hadrian had nearly cracked his skull on. It was not merely the clutter or the shifting of the ship that made Hadrian stagger. He had been feeling nauseated since sunset.
The Emerald Storm had been at sea for nearly fifteen hours and the enigma of life aboard ship was slowly revealing itself. Hadrian had spent many years in the company of professional soldiers and recognized that each branch of the military held its own jargon, traditions, and idiosyncrasies, but he had never set foot on a ship. He knew he could be certain of only two things. He had a lot of learning to do and little time to do it.
He had already picked up several important facts, such as where you relieved yourself which, to his surprise, was at the head of the ship. A precarious experience as he had to hang out over the sea at the base of the bowsprit. This might be second nature to sailors, and easy for Royce, but it gave Hadrian pause.
Another highly useful bit of information was at least a cursory understanding about the chain of command. It was easy to see that there were officers amp;mdashnoblemen mostly-and skilled tradesmen, who held a higher rank than the general seamen, but Hadrian could also tell there was a sub-stratum within these broad classes. There were different ranks of officers and even more subtle levels of seniority, influence, and jurisdiction. He could not expect to penetrate such a complex hierarchy on his first day. All he managed to determine with any clarity was that the boatswain and his mates where the ones charged with making sure the seamen did their jobs. They were quite persuasive with their short rope whips and kept a keen eye on the crew at all times. As such, they were the ones he watched carefully.
The ship's crew divided into two watches, and while one worked the ship, the other rested, slept, or ate. Lieutenant Bishop placed Royce on the starboard watch assigned to the maintop. His job was to work the rigging on the main or center mast. This put him under boatswain Bristol Bennet and his three mates. Hadrian had seen their like before. Drunks, vagrants, and thugs, they would never have amounted to much on land, but aboard ship they held power and status. This chance to repay others for their mistreatment made them cruel and quick to punish. Hadrian still waited to discover his watch assignment, but he hoped it would be the same as Royce.
He had been lucky so far. This being the first day out, meals had been little more than placing out fresh foods from the recent stay at port. Fruit, fresh bread, and unsalted cooked meats were merely handed out with no actual cooking required. Consequently, Hadrian's talents remained untested, but time was running out. He knew how to cook, of course. He had prepared meals for years using little more than a campfire, but that had mainly been for himself and Royce. He didn't know how to cook for an entire ship's crew. Needing to find out exactly what they expected drove him to wander in hopes of finding Wyatt.
"The Princess of Melengar rules there now," Hadrian heard a young lad say.
He didn't look to be much more than sixteen. A waif of a boy with thin whiskers, freckles darkened by days in the sun, and curly hair cut in a bowl-like fashion except for a short ponytail he tied with a black chord. He sat with Wyatt, Grady, and a few other men around a swaying table illuminated by a candle melted to the center of a copper plate. They were playing cards and the giant shadows they cast only made Hadrian's approach more disorienting.
"She doesn't rule Ratibor, she's the mayor," Wyatt corrected the boy as he laid a card on the pile before him.
"What's the difference?"
"She was appointed, lad."
"What's that mean?" the boy asked, as he tried to decide which card to play, holding his hand so tight to his chest he could barely see them himself.
"It means she didn't just take over, the people of the city asked her to run things."
"But she can still execute people, right?"
"I suppose."
"Sounds like a ruler to me." The
boy laid a card with a wide grin indicating that at least he thought it was a surprisingly good play.
"Sounds like them people of Ratibor are dumb as dirt," Grady said, gruffly. His expression betrayed his irritation at the boy's discard. "They finally get the yoke off their backs and right away they ask for a new one."
"Grady!" said a man with a white kerchief on his head. "I'm from Ratibor, you oaf!"
"Exactly! Thanks for proving me point, Bernie," Grady replied, slamming his play on the table so hard several surrounding seamen groaned in their hammocks. Grady laughed at his own joke and the rest at the table chuckled good-naturedly, except Bernie from Ratibor.
"Hadrian!" Wyatt greeted him warmly as the new cook staggered up to them like a drunk. "We were just talking about land affairs. Most of these poor sods haven't been ashore in over a year and we were filling them in on the news about the war."
"Which has beenbloody cracking, seeing as how we didn't even know there was one," Grady said, feigning indignation.
"We were just in dock though," Hadrian said. "I would have thought-"
"That don't mean nuttin'," one of the other men said. With next to no hair and few teeth, he appeared to be the oldest at the table and possibly the entire ship. He had a silver earring that glinted with the candlelight, a tattoo of a mermaid that wrapped around his forearm, and he, too, wore a white kerchief on his head. "Most of this 'ere crew is pressed. The captain would be barmy to let them touch solid ground in a port. He and Mister Bishop would be the only ones left to rig her!"
This brought a round of laughter and garnered irritated growls from those trying to sleep.
"You don't look so good," Wyatt mentioned to Hadrian.
He shook his head miserably. Looking around at the others and said, "It's been a long time since I've been on a ship. Does the Storm always rock so much?"
"Hmm?" Wyatt glanced at him then laughed. "This? This here is nothing. You won't even notice it in a day or so." He watched the next man at the table play his card. "We're still in the sound. Wait until we hit the open sea. You might want to sit. You're sweating."
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