“You want Eskandel your boy to support,” Fariola said.
“I want Eskandel to acknowledge Felix as King of Tremontane,” Willow said, “and then we can talk about what kind of support you might give.”
“Terence Valant is King. We have acknowledged him.”
“It’s illegal for Terence to rule because he’s an Ascendant. My country is rising up against him already. Eskandel should support the true King, not someone who murdered his way to the throne.”
“You think to tell us what to do?”
“No, I’m just pointing out the facts.”
“And the facts say Eskandel should wish a boy of eight years to rule? Better the stability of an adult King.”
“It’s hardly stability if there’s no agreement. That’s what they’re fighting about.”
“Then go to one of your lords. Ask him to take the Crown for this child.”
“They want the Crown for themselves. If they were willing to follow Felix, it would be to install themselves as the power behind him. He’d never be able to become King in his own right. We want Eskandelic support because your country has no interest in Tremontane except as a stable, peaceful neighbor.”
Fariola nodded slowly. “How fares Gessala?”
The abrupt transition left Willow groping for a response. “Um…she’s well? I haven’t seen her display yet.”
“Those harems interested in gaining a new sister do not speak to their harimi here. But we wish to assure her of the sincerity of our offer. Perhaps you will tell her this.” One of the other women standing behind Fariola, a plump young woman with thick, curly brown hair, looked as if she wanted to say something, but glanced at Fariola and subsided.
Willow glanced again at Catrela, who was practically rigid. “I think it’s not for me to convey that kind of message,” she said. “But I imagine she knows you are sincere.”
“Knowing and hearing are not the same,” Fariola said. “Gessala receives many invitations and needs some way between them to distinguish. It is a small thing, but one that may have…large results.”
“I can imagine,” Willow said. “But I can’t interfere.” Please let Catrela be right about this, please don’t let me ruin Felix’s chances with this woman…
The curly-haired woman looked as if she were almost bursting with what she couldn’t say. Fariola nodded at Willow. “I see,” she said. “Hajimhi Principality honors you. We will speak again, Willow North.” She bowed again, smiled, and turned away. Her sisters followed her, though the curly-haired woman gave Willow what was almost a pleading look as she left.
Willow let out a deep breath. So, Hajimhi believed Terence was the rightful king. Or at least felt he’d bring more stability than Felix would. But could that translate into a desire to get Felix out of the way permanently? Willow moved Hajimhi Principality onto her list of possibles. They bore closer attention.
“Excellent,” Catrela said, and Willow jumped again. And she thought she was sneaky. “She will respect that you understand our customs enough not to break them. Though I wish I knew why they so intent on courting Gessala are. I love my daughter, but she an indifferent artist is, with skills other than those on display, and Hajimhi…they are not so powerful as we, but they weak are not. I dislike not knowing others’ motives.”
“Maybe they just like Gessala. She’s very sweet.” Or maybe they’re playing a very deep game.
“‘Sweet’ is not a thing harems put first, when it a marriage is.” Catrela took Willow’s hand and squeezed it. “I will learn their secret soon. Let us now see who else has arrived.”
They were a few steps behind Janida and Imara, who were having a low-voiced conversation in Eskandelic that was gradually becoming loud enough for Willow to overhear, not that she could understand. It was easy enough to read their reactions, though. Imara held her shoulders stiffly, as if she were under attack, and Janida gestured frequently in the direction of the speaker.
Imara shook her head, then shook her head again when Janida’s next words were more forceful. Then she said something that sounded angry and walked away. Janida watched her daughter go, but didn’t follow her. One fist slowly clenched, then relaxed. She said something to Catrela, who glanced at Willow before replying. Janida nodded, and walked away in the direction Imara had gone.
“You polite are, not the question I can see in your face to ask,” Catrela said, motioning to Willow to join her as she moved toward another display. “It a secret is not. Janida wants Imara herself harima to make, and Imara refuses.”
“Why doesn’t Imara want to be harima?”
“She says only that it the life for her is not. But she will not say what life she does want. Janida wants great things for her because of her talents. She would be more courted even than Alondra was, if she chose.”
“Is she that good an artist?”
“She is that good a writer. Better than that young woman. It is part of the Conclave that the princes speak to one another on behalf of their question—a speech, you understand—but it is the harems who write the speeches, and one as gifted as Imara in the art of rhetoric and persuasion would be…she would mean great power to a principality.”
“But if she doesn’t want to join a harem….” Was Imara’s secret affair the reason she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell Janida the truth?
Catrela shrugged. “Janida believes she simply does not understand the joy we take in our sisterhood. That she fears choosing poorly. But I think Imara fond of politics is not, and has other desires for her future. If she would tell Janida…but it is not my place to interfere.”
Willow stopped to admire a woven wire sculpture made of fizzing silver whose parts shifted to change its appearance: a sun, a tree, a bird taking flight. More moving parts, these of copper and brass, were hidden in the base. A Device. It wasn’t drawing nearly the attention of its neighbors, but Willow couldn’t stop looking at it.
“I guess it’s hard when you want things for your children they don’t want,” she said. “And when you don’t want to disappoint your parents.” It felt like her blood was fizzing along with the silver, an enjoyable feeling Willow knew would turn uncomfortable before long. She turned away and saw Catrela had moved on to the next display. Had she even heard Willow’s words? Not that it mattered.
“Dua! Comeiti duesh almeti terojman khes adenuti!”
The strident sounds rose above the general murmur of the crowd, silencing those nearest Willow. A large, elderly woman pushed past a few women who weren’t quick enough to get out of her way and stopped just inches from Willow, leaning forward to loom over her. Willow took a single step backward, toward the sculpture, before regaining control. “Excuse me?” she said.
The woman’s slightly protuberant eyes bulged more. “You do not belong here,” she said. “You foreign are and you defile this gathering with your presence. How dare you dress as if you one of us are?”
Willow took a deep breath. The fizzing was getting harder to ignore. “My name is Willow North,” she said, “and I represent King Felix of Tremontane. Who are you?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “I Abakian Raena am,” she said, “and you represent an impostor.”
Chapter Four
“I beg your pardon,” Willow said, “but that is a serious accusation you don’t have any proof of.” She remembered that name. Abakian, definitely on the enemy list, possibly controlling the Takjashi Principality. “Are you suggesting that King Felix isn’t who he says he is?”
“Felix Valant murdered by an assassin was,” Raena said. “Terence Valant King of Tremontane is.”
“Terence killed his brother and tried to kill Felix. Serjian Kerish and I smuggled Felix out of Aurilien. Are you calling us liars?”
That got a rise out of the women around them, though Willow was afraid to look away from her opponent to see exactly what they all thought of this. The silver was making her irritable, and she knew her patience was slipping away. In a few minutes, she’d say something undipl
omatic, and who knew what that would do to Felix’s cause?
“I say you saw an opportunity to take power,” Raena said, raising her voice. “You have deceived Serjian Principality with this boy who is not Felix Valant. You think our country to mock by dragging us into war?”
“I think you—” are delusional? Want to destroy us?—“are mistaken. I’m eskarna, no one who could benefit from pretending to have the heir to the Crown in her care or from getting Eskandel involved in Tremontanan politics. Before Kerish came to me for help, I had a good career as a thief and I was happy with my life. This whole thing is nothing I would have chosen.”
“Then you admit you have no loyalty to this child? Your words prove what I have said. He an impostor is.”
“You’re twisting my words. He’s my King.” Raena was trying to make a point, but what?
Raena smiled, a thin twist of her lips. She resembled Maitea when she did that, but where Maitea’s eyes were dark and piercing and looked as if they could read someone’s thoughts, Raena’s bulging eyes made her look like a fish. A dangerous one. “Eskandel has an opportunity like no other,” she said. “The discovery of a southern continent means great economic expansion. You, on the other hand, would sap our resources to benefit another country, on behalf of a child whose identity unproven is.”
“I wasn’t aware it was appropriate to make such bold statements about the questions on the adjeni here,” Willow shot back, no longer caring about diplomacy. “You must not be very certain of yourself, to take advantage of this gathering like that. But that’s all right, I don’t mind if you want to make a fool of yourself.”
“You—” Raena began, her face reddening. She drew in a great breath, said loudly, “Abakian will never support the Serjian question,” and left, forcing the crowd to part or be run over. Willow immediately took several steps away from the sculpture and took in a deep, calming breath. She’d been so stupid. True, Abakian was never going to be an ally, and they were high up on Willow’s list of possible assassins, but how many people had she alienated by insulting Raena so publicly?
“I will not tell you how foolish that was, because I certain am that you already know,” Janida said in her ear. “Come with me.”
Willow followed in her wake, passing several displays and dozens of women who were definitely staring at her. “I’m sorry,” she said under her breath.
“It will pass,” Janida said. Safely headed toward one corner of the vast chamber, to Willow’s relief some distance from the metal, she added, “You correct were that Abakian displayed poor behavior. Many will judge them harshly for it.”
“And many will judge us because I lost my temper,” Willow said.
“True, but not something that fatal is. However, you should more cautious in the future be.”
“I will be.”
Janida’s steps slowed. “Now is the time to prove it,” she said. Willow was about to ask what she meant when Janida said, “Mahnouki Adorinda,” in a sort of rushed, breathless voice, as if she were hurrying to push the words out.
“Serjian Janida,” said Adorinda, half a breath behind Janida.
“A pleasant day, yes?” Janida said with a polite smile.
Adorinda flicked a glance at Willow, the tiniest movement of her dark eyes. “For those who can appreciate it,” she said, smiling just as politely. “Serjian Gessala’s art lovely is.”
“Thank you for taking the time to observe it.”
“I am certain Serjian Imara will as successful be.”
Janida’s hand twitched. “We wish only for her happiness. As you know.”
“Of course. As you did for Bejdrossi Alondra. She seems very content.”
“Your interest in her well-being, touching is. And what of you? Mahnouki Ghanetan pleases you?”
Now Adorinda’s smile was smug. “In every way.”
“A pity Mahnouki Ihtzian could not…please you,” Janida said, and Adorinda’s smile disappeared for a moment. “But of course one cannot endure weakness in a Prince.”
“Of course,” Adorinda repeated, less pleasantly. “But Ghanetan clever and well-spoken is. He did present our question in Conclave most successfully.”
“A daring question. One that places much demand on the hearts of Eskandelics.”
“As does yours. But we both know how much our people care about Tremontane.”
“As much as they do for the possibility of your success.”
Adorinda’s smile widened, and then she said, “Willow North. How do you find our hospitality?”
“The Serjian Principality has been very kind,” Willow said. “Eskandel is a lovely country.”
“A fair refuge for your young King. Do you intend to stay long?”
“Long enough to secure Eskandel’s support of Felix.” She was certain that superficially pleasant conversation had concealed something vicious, but she had no idea how to follow Janida’s example. Straightforward politeness would have to do. “I hope the Conclave sees the benefit of doing so.”
“The Conclave has many concerns and will consider yours as carefully as any other.” Adorinda tilted her head, the barest inclination. “We always act for the benefit of Eskandel.”
“Well, supporting Felix benefits your country, and I hope others will see it that way.”
“I think they will see the truth.” Adorinda smiled again, then walked away without a nod, without a bow.
Janida stood watching her for a few moments, then said, “Let us find Gessala and then leave.”
“But we haven’t spoken to hardly anyone.”
“My sisters have been meeting with others. They are competent and will garner support for our cause. This has been productive.”
“I’m certainly convinced Mahnouki could be behind the attack. What was all that with Adorinda?”
“Old battles. She thought to rattle me, but I think she unsettled instead was. Though I will make her regret bringing Imara into it.”
“I don’t know where the insult was in all that, but I could tell there was one.”
Janida snorted, the least delicate sound Willow had ever heard her make. “Gessala has not a fraction of the talent Imara does. To suggest her success will only be as great as my zuareta’s…she has always been jealous because she childless is. But this is a conversation for another place. There is Gessala now.”
Gessala was near the back of the room, standing next to an easel displaying a landscape in oils that Willow thought was very good, but then she didn’t have an Eskandelic eye for beauty and form. Janida stopped to talk to someone—it sounded like a genuinely friendly discourse, not the veiled viciousness of the exchange with Adorinda—so Willow proceeded alone.
Gessala was speaking to someone rather intently, their heads close together, and as she approached Willow identified the second woman as the curly-haired companion of Hajimhi Fariola. Willow slowed down, not sure of the etiquette involved. The interested harems weren’t supposed to talk to the harimi, and Gessala looked furtive enough that Willow was sure she was doing something that was at least frowned on.
The curly-haired woman glanced around as if ensuring they weren’t observed, saw Willow looking at them, and after a few quick words to Gessala and a brief squeeze of her hand, nearly ran away from her. Gessala deliberately didn’t look at Willow, but she had a mulish look on her blushing face. So, definitely frowned on, but—
Willow thought about how close the two had been, the way they’d looked at each other, and suddenly she had a very good idea of why Hajimhi Principality wanted Gessala so badly—or at least why one of their sisters did. It had never occurred to her to wonder what women who were attracted to other women did if they wanted political power, but surely it couldn’t be that uncommon an occurrence? And if Catrela didn’t know…no, meddling would probably make things worse. How many of Serjian Principality’s secrets would Willow have to bear? Well, Catrela would figure it out eventually. And it wasn’t enough to take Hajimhi off her list.
“I l
ike your painting,” she said when she neared Gessala.
“Thank you. It is a place I love,” Gessala said. She didn’t meet Willow’s eyes.
“I understand about love. You never know where you’ll find it,” Willow said.
“That is true,” Gessala said. “I painted this because I cannot go there again. I think it is the most terrible thing, loving someone—something you cannot have.”
“I completely agree,” Willow said. “But you never know whether things might change.”
“Do you love my fuoreno?” Gessala asked.
It was so abrupt Willow couldn’t think of a glib, deflecting response. “Do I…why do you say that?”
“I watch, and make conclusions,” Gessala said, “because one day I will eskarna be, and Kerish and I were close once. I think something there is that drives you apart. But it causes you pain, and I will say nothing more.”
Willow once again couldn’t think of a response. She turned her attention back to the painting. Even looking more closely, she had no idea how good Gessala was, but she now saw more than just the artistry. Gessala had included tiny details, the color of the fish in the pool, a squirrel hidden in the depths of a shadow, that only the most observant eye would see. Willow was certain she’d painted the scene as she remembered it, that the squirrel and the fish had been there and weren’t just features she’d added to the scene to make it interesting. Assuming the viewer even saw them. Catrela might be right that Gessala’s skill as an artist was indifferent, but her skill as potential eskarna was exceptional.
“You see what in the painting is?” Catrela said.
“Do you always have to sneak up on me like that?”
“If I can conceal myself from one like you, that a challenge is. Do you see the squirrel?”
“I do. So you meant you thought people wouldn’t appreciate Gessala’s real talent.”
Catrela sighed. “It is difficult an eskarna to find, because she cannot be known as such to other harems. Eskarnas must their talent display in secret, may not reveal it even to the harems who court them, and until the marriage it known may not be. But there are ways to know what a harem seeks, and I see none of that in the harems courting Gessala. I do not want my daughter her abilities to waste.”
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