“Relax,” Kal told her. “You’re leaving finger marks on my arm.”
Mielle doubted that, but she softened her grip and took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Before her waited Fairsight Manor, fashioned of clean yellow firebricks with stripes of brown airbricks on each of three levels. Its exterior was grander than Castle Everton’s—newer, anyway. The castle, gray and in constant repair from crumbling bricks, had been built centuries ago.
Kal led Mielle up a short but wide staircase of brown brick to a set of black iron doors where a man dressed in green and brown was waiting.
“Good day to you, Sir Kalenek,” the man said, eyes averted from Kal’s face.
Kal nodded. “Hoyt.”
“Please come inside,” Hoyt said.
Mielle hated how people never really looked at Kal. They were embarrassed by his scars. He never let on that he noticed, but she knew it bothered him.
She clung to Kal’s arm as they entered a cool, narrow hallway with a high ceiling. The floors were stone lined with fragrant rushes. The walls were stone painted gold and covered in framed paintings. Everything was so colorful and splendid. If this was frugal Sarikarian decor, Mielle could not imagine what Castle Everton must look like inside.
Despite herself, she couldn’t keep from being thrilled. But she wouldn’t lose herself. She must not forget Margeet and her little brothers or Jespa, Lareno, and baby Hooj—all homeless after the last quake.
Mielle peeked into every open doorway they passed. There was a dining hall that sat over two dozen people, a chamber with a carpeted staircase that split in two directions to reach the second floor, and a Temple Arman with a bronze shrine of the sunbird Nesher.
Up ahead, Hoyt stopped outside an open set of iron doors. “Please wait in the drawing room.”
Mielle walked inside and stopped, taking it all in. The stone walls had been painted lavender and crisscrossed with fine white lines. Elaborate candelabras hung from a pale pink ceiling, though the candles weren’t lit—two wide windows on the far wall let in plenty of sunlight. Fancy chairs upholstered in gold satin had been arranged around a white brick hearth.
“It’s so lovely,” Mielle whispered.
Kal sat on one of the satin chairs, propping an elbow on the dark wood arm.
Wood. She glanced around the room again. All the furniture had legs and arms of wood. A table against the wall was made entirely of it. The realm of Sarikar was famous for its trees, which were rare in Armania. Selling even a single piece of wooden furniture here could enable Mielle to rent an apartment in the Sink for two years.
“How do you feel?” Kal asked. “Remember everything I told you?”
“Yes, Kal. Stop worrying.” But in all honesty, she wasn’t sure.
The door opened and Hoyt returned. “Her Royal Highness will see you now, miss.”
Mielle exchanged her nervous look for Kal’s encouraging one and followed Hoyt. They passed into a huge room covered in murals. As their steps over the stone floor echoed off the high ceiling, the beauty distracted Mielle from her apprehension. “What room is this?”
“The ballroom, miss,” Hoyt said. “The princess hosted a ball here three weeks ago on her thirty-first ageday.”
A ball. Mielle stared at a mural of a man kissing a woman’s hand, enthralled by the expressions on their faces. Her foot caught on the edge of a carpet, and she just kept herself from falling. Hoyt, it seemed, had not noticed. Mielle gathered her skirt and hurried after him.
At the end of the ballroom, Hoyt knocked twice on another iron door and pushed it open. “Miss Mielle Allard, Your Highness,” he said, stepping aside.
Mielle entered and flushed, searching the room for the princess, uncertain where to look. The room was vast, painted gold as well, though the floor was carpeted in a huge turquoise rug. A simple throne of pale wood sat at the far end of the room under a canopy of cloth of gold. A woman sat there. Mielle took two steps, then remembered to curtsy.
Tuhsh! She was messing up already!
“Come forward,” the woman said.
Two rows of vacant chairs upholstered in turquoise satin formed an aisle to the throne. Mielle walked carefully, trying to be graceful. She stopped two paces from where the princess sat and curtsied again.
Mielle had never seen a woman as beautiful as Princess Nabelle. She couldn’t be thirty-one years of age! She sat her throne with perfect posture in robes of gold and green. She had the blackest skin and hair, which fell in waves over her shoulders and down past her elbows. Her eyebrows were two thin arcs over eyes the color of apricots that nearly glowed in her dark face. She wore a simple gold circlet on her head and no other jewelry save a ring on each hand.
“You are ward to Sir Kalenek Veroth?” the princess asked.
Mielle fought to keep her voice even. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“Your mother was Lady Olah?”
“Yes, Your Highness.” If Mielle only had to repeat, “Yes, Your Highness,” the entire interview, she might actually obtain the position.
“Lady Olah was one of my honor maidens before I married. Did you know that?”
Mielle’s breath caught. “No, Your Highness.” She knew very little about her mother.
“Who has educated you these past years?”
“First my sister Livy. Now my nurse, Darlow. Kal has taught me much as well.”
“Your sister Liviana died in the Centenary War, is that correct?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Many would criticize my hiring you as honor maiden to my daughter. Can you guess why?”
Mielle knew all too well. Kal and Darlow had talked of little else these past few days. “Because I’m orphaned and my family has had bad fortune. People will say I’m poor, unconnected, and cursed by Mikreh’s hands. They’ll say a girl like me would not be a blessing to Lady Zeroah’s retinue. They’ll also fault me for being . . . tall.”
“Very perceptive. How do you think I should respond to such concerns?”
Mielle had also practiced the answer to this question. “You could tell them that Miss Mielle Allard came from a highborn family. Her parents gave their lives for their realm. Miss Mielle cannot make up for the grievous loss of her beloved parents, sister, and nephew. But she makes consistent sacrifices to the gods, devotedly serving Cetheria, who she feels made her tall and strong so she can see danger coming from afar and thwart it.” Her heart pounded, but she held eye contact with the princess, hoping her answer would satisfy.
“Cetheria is the only Armanian goddess worth serving,” the princess said. “And what is your position on the Heir War?”
“That Prince Wilek should someday rule Armania.”
“Sâr Wilek is his official title, and you will use it.”
Curse her careless tongue! Mielle curtsied. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“Well, you are plain enough and well-mannered,” the princess said. “Clearly well fed. Sâr Wilek swears my daughter could do no better in regard to your character. You may as well meet her. Flara, take Miss Mielle to Lady Zeroah’s chambers.”
Flara? Confused, Mielle turned and saw the woman who answered to Flara standing beside Hoyt. She must have come in after Mielle.
“You brought your belongings, I assume?” Princess Nabelle asked.
“No, Your Highness.” Wouldn’t that have been presumptuous?
“Hoyt, inform Sir Kalenek that he may go. Ask him to send Miss Mielle’s things.”
“Right away, Your Highness.” Hoyt left.
Go? She was sending Kal away? But what if Lady Zeroah didn’t like her? Mielle opened her mouth to speak.
“This way, miss.” Flara crossed the back of the receiving room and held open a second iron door.
Mielle hesitated only a moment, then curtsied once more to the princess and followed Flara, assuring herself that this was a good thing. If the princess sent Kal away, Mielle must have gotten the position, even without having met Lady Zeroah.
Flara looked to be in her l
ate twenties and wore a simple green dress and brown sandals. She led Mielle through a series of short hallways until they came to the foot of the grand staircase. Up they went, and Mielle marveled at the softness of the red carpet underfoot.
“When you’re waiting on her ladyship, simply knock twice, open the door, and enter,” Flara said. “You don’t have to wait for permission.”
“But what if she’s dressing?” Mielle asked.
“Only females are permitted to enter Lady Zeroah’s chambers,” Flara said. “Servants have been dressing her since she was a babe. She’s not shy.”
What must it be like to have someone dress you?
At the top of the stairs, Flara led Mielle down yet another hallway. The walls were gold here as well, lined with rushes that made the corridor smell sweet. Flara stopped in front of a single black iron door, knocked twice, and entered.
Inside, warmth embraced Mielle. Tapestries had curtained off a triangular section of what seemed to be a much larger room. A fireplace in the far corner filled the area with heat. Two large picture windows fed sunlight into the chamber. A slight girl about Mielle’s age sat embroidering on a longchair before the window closest to the hearth. She wore a pink satin dress with a black belt and a two-tiered skirt that reached her calves. Black beads lined the hem of each skirt. Her hair had been braided into dozens of tiny braids that were wrapped in a coil atop her head. Intent on her sewing, she did not look their way when the door opened and closed.
“Pardon, Lady Zeroah.” Flara bobbed a quick curtsy.
The girl looked up. Her face was slender with delicate features: a small nose, small eyes, small lips—the opposite of Mielle in every way. She had her mother’s skin tone, but eyes set a little too far apart and a pointed chin made her not nearly as pretty. Her eyelashes, though, seemed longer than any Mielle had ever seen. Nor had she ever seen anyone with so much hair.
Lady Zeroah’s eyes quickly switched from Flara to Mielle. “Yes?”
“This is Miss Mielle Allard, lady. The princess bid I bring her to you.”
“You’re the one Sâr Wilek recommended to my mother.” The girl’s voice was soft and airy.
“I am.” Mielle curtsied.
“No, you must not curtsy to me. Not yet, anyway.” Lady Zeroah set down her embroidery and stood. “It is nice to meet you, Miss Mielle. May I call you Mielle?”
“Yes.”
Lady Zeroah smiled. “Then you must call me Zeroah, though not in front of my mother. You may go, Flara.”
“Yes, lady.” Flara quickly slipped from the room, closing the door behind her.
“Won’t you sit?” Zeroah motioned to the end of the longchair.
“Thank you,” Mielle said, relieved by the girl’s friendliness.
When they were both settled, Zeroah eyed Mielle. “I have some questions for you. It’s important that you be completely truthful.”
“As you wish.” Though Zeroah’s tone made Mielle nervous.
“What is your favorite color?”
That was all? “Red.”
“Mine too, though my mother forbids me to wear it. She says it’s too brash. Do you have any siblings?”
These simple questions made Mielle relax. “A little sister named Amala. She’s twelve.”
“I have a brother who is eleven. He lives with my uncle in Pixford. So you and I are both the oldest.”
Mielle wanted to correct her, to say that she wasn’t the oldest, but the middle child. But she didn’t think it the time to mention Livy. She was dead, anyway. So Mielle supposed she was oldest now.
“Do you like to ride?” Zeroah asked.
“Oh, yes! I mean, I think I will. I’ve never ridden but have always wanted to. I like animals very much. Kal used to have a cat named Hinney.”
“I adore cats. My mother is allergic, so I cannot have one. Plus she fears the little beast might scratch my face. What is your favorite way to spend an afternoon?”
“Swimming in the Eversea.” Which seemed a very pleasant idea at the moment; this room was sweltering!
“I cannot swim,” Zeroah said. “Perhaps once I’m married I shall be permitted to learn. Mother thinks it too dangerous. Do you like embroidery?”
Mielle wrinkled her nose. “Not very.”
“You will have to learn. It is Mother’s favorite task for me, so it will be for you as well. Do you want to be my honor maiden? Or are you here because your guardian is forcing you?”
“I must have some profession.” One Mielle hoped would give her the means to help her less fortunate friends. “Many girls my age aren’t so lucky.”
“What is your age?”
“Sixteen.”
“I am fifteen. We are both adults now. Strange, isn’t it? I do not feel like an adult. Not really.”
They stared at each other for a long stretch of silence. Should Mielle say something? What was Zeroah thinking? It would help to know what was expected of her. “What are my responsibilities as an honor maiden?”
“Most importantly I need someone who will speak honestly with me and will guard my inmost secrets with her very life. Even from my mother.”
Keep a secret from the princess? Was that allowed?
“Do you refuse?” Zeroah asked.
“I’m only wondering whether or not you are testing me.”
“Well, of course I am.”
“Yes, but testing me how? Do you want to see whether I’ll speak honestly to you? Do you want to know if I’m capable of discretion in keeping your secrets from your mother? Or did your mother ask you to find out whether I would be willing to keep secrets from her?”
“The second one. Some things I wish my mother not to know.”
“Then I would do that for you, lady,” Mielle said. “After all, I’m your honor maiden, not your mother’s. My duty is to you.” At least that’s how Mielle saw it.
Zeroah smiled. “I am glad to hear it, but how can I know you speak the truth? Perhaps my mother told you to say that.”
Gracious. Why would anyone’s mother be so deceitful? “I could tell you a secret of my own?”
“Oh, I should like to know a secret! No one tells me anything worth knowing.”
“Very well. My secret is this: I’m trying very hard to act the part of a proper lady today. But the truth is, I’m a hopeless chatterbag who daily embarrasses her guardian with my wild ways. Though now that I’m here, I promise to behave.”
Lady Zeroah laughed. “I shall keep your secret, Mielle. And you may talk as much as you like with me.”
“You’re very kind.” Mielle liked Lady Zeroah already.
“You are so clever to have puzzled out all the possibilities of what my question might have meant. I was being honest, but many women at court are not. I am ever so glad I shall have your sharp mind to help me analyze potential motives.” Zeroah grabbed Mielle’s hand. “Now I shall tell you a secret, but you mustn’t tell anyone, upon pain of death.”
“I swear to secrecy, lady.”
“I am afraid of Sâr Wilek. I can hardly speak when we are together. It is so humiliating.”
“But he’s kind, isn’t he? He seems so, and Kal believes he is. Why does he frighten you?”
“Because . . . he holds my happiness in his hands. I confess I do not trust him with it.”
“Why not? I should think that most girls would be thrilled to marry a prince.”
“I so desperately want him to like me—to someday love me. But . . . have you met Rosâr Echad?”
Mielle shook her head.
“He has five wives, dozens of concubines, and claims whatever girls please him, whether they are servants, honor maidens, or other men’s wives. He has an irritable temper and always has his way. What if the son becomes the father? I have seen Rosârah Brelenah’s unhappiness. Rosârah Thallah is equally dejected. How could I ever be happy living like that?”
Mielle didn’t know.
“Mother said I have no right to happiness. That my life will belong to my husba
nd. But something in me thinks a husband’s life should belong to his wife as well. They should love each other. He should not have other wives. That is how things are done in Sarikar.”
“Sounds nice,” Mielle said.
“There is more,” Zeroah said. “Sâr Wilek has a concubine. The Honored Lady Lebetta. She was given to him on his ageday almost ten years ago. She is dazzlingly beautiful. I see how he looks at her. He loves her, Mielle. Ten years, they have been together. How will I ever compare?”
Mielle shook her head at the tragedy of it all. She hadn’t considered that a rich daughter of a princess might have trials.
“Forgive me,” Zeroah said. “I have dumped all my burdens into your lap. I have never had a friend before and am so glad you will be living with me for now and forever. Will you miss your sister terribly?”
Forever? “I will miss her, but she can be difficult at times.” Would Mielle never go home again?
“Perhaps when she has grown a little older, she can be an honor maiden too.”
“Oh, she would like that,” Mielle said. “It’s her greatest joy to wear fancy dresses. Why is it so hot in here?”
“I chill easily. Mother does not want me to fall ill.”
“Oh. Is that your real hair?”
Zeroah laughed. “Yes, though it is not all attached to my head anymore. Whenever my hair has been cut over the years, the braids have been saved for embellishments. Does it looks silly?”
“Not at all. You look like a princess.”
“That is the idea.”
“Do you spend much time at Castle Everton?”
“Very little. Mother says we may go only when the sâr invites me. He has only done that twice since I have been in Armania these three months. He is very busy, working for his father.”
Mielle frowned. How could Zeroah earn the prince’s favor if she never saw him?
“What is wrong? What are you thinking? Tell me, Mielle. You must!”
“Why would the prince invite you to Castle Everton if he thinks you don’t like him? If I liked a man, I’d do all I could to be near him. He would have no doubts about my affection.”
Zeroah’s eyes bulged. “But that is not proper.”
“Why must a lady sit around and wonder whether or not a man admires her? If he will not say so, why can’t I? Then I’ll know. And if he doesn’t admire me, I won’t have wasted days pining over the question.”
King's Folly Page 3