by J. D. Vaughn
Twice she noted that the Castillian and Andorian regents’ eyes locked and registered…what? Enmity? Scrutiny? If she’d not been on task, she’d have missed it entirely. The two men certainly knew each other, and if Brindl was correct, liked each other not at all. Surprised how exhausted she felt after standing and observing for hours, Brindl was relieved to finally scurry back to her tower when it was over. She longed to change into the clothes of an ordinary pigeonkeep and talk to Lili, who lit up her tower like a candle on the darkest night.
When entertaining guests of the palace, a lady’s maid will limit her conversation to that of climate, food, and the arts.
—CH. N. TASCA, Palace Etiquette
The following morning, after leaving Lili in care of the birds, Brindl moved through the halls as fast as she could while still looking like a lady’s maid, rather than a servant. For Royals and their attendants practically floated between important destinations in their white clothes; the benefit of jobs that used the mind rather than the hands, Brindl decided.
It was time to tell Tonio as much of the truth as she could. How will he react to my Moon Guild status and betrothal? At yesterday’s festivities, many servants had looked at her with raised eyebrows. Even now, as she raced through the palace, servants she’d crossed paths with dozens of times had hesitated after a delayed recognition.
Oh, that I’m not too late!
Brindl reached the bakery and pushed open the heavy wooden doors. Many heads turned to watch, as if she were an apparition. Looking for Tonio, she finally spotted him at the end of the long work table. When he glanced up from rolling out dough, she could see in his eyes that she was too late. The bakery itself seemed longer than it had before, and Brindl’s feet felt heavy as pearlstone as she approached him.
“Tonio, let me explain,” she said, placing her hand on his arm. He stared at her hand, frozen in his task; she dropped it to her side.
“Explain what? I’m nothing but a common servant, I need no explanations.”
Mama Rossi passed by and she could see the disappointment etched in her brow. The woman nodded but did not smile nor stop to embrace Brindl.
“Please, can we go someplace more private? I need…No, I must talk with you.”
“Is that a command? I suppose I cannot refuse a direct order from a member of the court, a Moon Guilder no less.”
“It’s not like that. Please, Tonio. Let me explain.”
“Fine. Follow me.” Tonio walked to the back of the bakery and into the family’s private room. How warm and inviting it had seemed that morning of her first visit. Now Brindl wondered if she’d ever be asked back. Tonio stood near the table but did not pull out a chair for either of them.
“Well?”
“I wanted you to hear it from me first,” Brindl said, her voice quiet but steady. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“Yes, I could see how it could be complicated for you,” Tonio answered, turning away toward the window.
“It’s not as simple as it appears,” Brindl said, trying to start her explanation over. “Things seldom are.”
“It looks simple to me. You left your guild behind to further your position in the palace.”
“I did not do this for myself,” Brindl answered, wrapping her arms around her gown, as if to protect herself from this charge.
“What servant wouldn’t want to be lady’s maid to a princess? Aren’t you lucky to have such influential friends,” he said, his eyes washing over her Moon Guild attire.
Brindl found herself annoyed then, anger crawling up her neck.
“And who are you to question my choices?”
“Your friend, I thought,” Tonio said, “but you hardly even mentioned this Zarif to me.”
“I didn’t know how or what exactly to tell you.” Brindl paused, searching for the right words “It wasn’t really…a choice.”
“How could your betrothal not be your choice?”
“I’m sorry,” Brindl said quietly, “but I can’t say.”
“What do you mean?” Tonio’s voice softened. “You should tell me.”
Could she trust him? He seemed more upset than she’d expected. Perhaps she should leave all this behind. Dedicate herself to the princess and her new role. Certainly she could not reveal that it was the Diosa who moved her decision. But Brindl couldn’t bring herself to walk away. Tonio was her friend. And she was a miner from Zipa, not some fluffy piece of cake in a bakery. She could make her own choices, and live with them.
“Princess Xiomara asked me to be her lady’s maid. I could not refuse her.”
“And the betrothal?” Tonio asked. Brindl dared not reveal more than she had. Already she was getting dangerously close to the precipice.
“Only Moon Guilders are accepted in the royal court.” She looked past his shoulder and out the window into the hazy light of early morning on the mountain. “It was a necessity.”
“I want to show you something,” Tonio said, turning and opening a door. “Will you follow me?”
Brindl nodded.
Tonio led them through the door and down a passageway.
“This is how we transfer large cakes to the palace in case of poor weather,” he said, as if that explained where they were going.
Brindl followed silently as they wended their way through a series of smaller and darker passageways that connected the bakery to the palace kitchens. It reminded her of the salt mines, only less inviting, perhaps due to Tonio’s mood. Finally, he stopped and opened a small unobtrusive door. Once inside, he lit a few lanterns and Brindl stood in awe.
Inside the small room were a dozen pearlstone sculptures of every size, from the smallest of birds to an enormous packhound. Brindl leaned forward to observe the details on the delicate bird sculpture, a fledgling taking its first leap into the air off an elegant twig. Elsewhere in the room were busts of various people and two sculptures of the palace itself, one small and the other quite large.
“This is my secret, Brindl,” Tonio finally said, standing behind her as she studied the larger palace sculpture.
“You made these?”
“I did.”
“You’re quite talented,” Brindl said, turning around to face him. “You must know that.”
Tonio shrugged. “Does it matter? Most of my work gets eaten.”
“But these are not cakes! They are amazing works of art.”
“And yet, I bake cakes.”
“I’m sorry, Tonio,” Brindl replied, not knowing what else to say.
“My own father was as fine an artist, better even than anyone in Tequende, and yet he was forced to be a baker to marry my mother.”
“I thought it romantic when your mother told the story.”
“That’s not how I see it.”
Obviously. But hadn’t Angelo Rossi made his own choice? Hadn’t he made a life for himself and young family? Brindl didn’t say it aloud lest she shatter this new peace.
“Don’t you see?” he said. “I want to make art even though I was born an Earth Guilder. I want choices. As it was meant to be.”
“You should have that choice,” Brindl said, though she knew it was not so.
Tonio nodded, brushed off some dust from the palace sculpture. “Can you meet me tomorrow night at twelve bells in the garden?”
Brindl tilted her head. “I suppose, but why so late?”
“I have some friends I want you to meet. Don’t be seen leaving the palace.”
“Why the secrecy?”
Tonio gave her a sad smile. “Don’t you remember? I have to keep some secrets so you’ll come back again.”
Brindl nodded. “Then so I shall.”
That afternoon, Brindl sat in yet another courtyard that she hadn’t known existed. How many people serve their whole lives in this palace and never see the entire structure? It was a beautiful day for the Queen’s planned festivities for the regents. Parlor furniture had been brought outside and the royal court mingled in small groups w
ith the regents and other honored guests of the Queen.
A quintet in the corner played just above a whisper on wooden flutes and stringed instruments. A banquet of treats stretched down one whole wall where one of the Rossis’ sculptured palace cakes towered over the table as the centerpiece, surrounded by other delicate pastries, sweetmeat pies, and breads. Dozens upon dozens of dishes lined the tables, the best the realm had to offer, and more than they could ever eat. Brindl remembered the piles of donated food at the Fray and wondered how many Quarry families could be fed by this lavish feast. Such a waste!
Brindl sat primly on the edge of her chair, trying to pick up on each nuance that passed between the guests without seeming to do so. Lord Yonda appeared before her, his plate laden with dozens of samples from the buffet. He bowed slightly. “May I join you, Lady…?”
“Brindl,” she answered, and bowed her head. “Of course, Lord Yonda,” she continued, suddenly nervous. She had not yet had occasion to speak directly with either regent until now.
At first the regent was quiet, sipping his ale and munching not as politely as Brindl would expect from a man of his refinement.
“It is my custom to try everything before I make a final selection,” he said, wiping his mouth on a kerchief, pulled from a velvety purple overcoat.
“How wise of you,” Brindl said, with a smile and a nod. Enough for two meals on his plate already.
She had to admit, the man did know how to take great pleasure in his food. Mama Rossi would approve, Brindl thought, watching him. His eyes lit up his large pasty face with each new bite. Around half a century or so in age, dark spots dotted his face and the pate of his bald head, though only a few wrinkles marked his eyes. Perhaps his skin has been filled in by sweets and creams.
When he finished off the last morsel, he licked his thumb appreciatively and said, “Such extraordinary options. The best I’ve ever sampled, easily.”
“I’m so pleased you like our fare,” Brindl said. “The sweets are a specialty.”
The regent leaned toward Brindl. “I’m not the only regent who enjoys the charms offered in the courtyard.”
Brindl followed his gaze, which settled on Lord Paulin tucked beside Queen Twenty-two on a small couch, his sharp good looks striking even from a distance. Just then, the Queen’s face flashed pleasure at whatever he’d said, their heads bent together companionably. Lord Yonda raised his eyebrows at Brindl, as if to confirm his observations. Obviously, lady’s maids were not the only ones sent to observe.
“Brindl, tell me, what do you love most about Tequende?” he asked then, changing the subject.
It was an interesting question. Brindl thought carefully over her answer.
“I’ve never been elsewhere for comparison, but I love her people most of all,” she replied. It wasn’t quite true. She loved the people of her own guild the most, but she couldn’t say something so divisive.
“All of the people or only some of them?” the regent asked, looking at Brindl with a bit of a challenge. He seemed to have read her mind.
“Whatever could make you pose such a question?”
“I do not like most people,” he said, laughing. “I find them tedious at best.”
Brindl joined him in his laughter, amused by his revelation. “An odd position for you as regent, I should think.”
“Too true, too true,” he said, then slapped his own knee, still chuckling. “But my father and his before him served as Castillian emissaries, so…”
“It was expected,” she finished.
“But we were discussing Tequende.” He smiled. “How cleverly you got me to reveal something of myself.”
“And what do you love most about New Castille?” Brindl asked, truly interested in his answer.
“The food,” he said, patting his large stomach.
Brindl grinned. He really was quite charming, and she liked his self-deprecation.
“Is this music to your tastes?” he asked, nodding toward the quintet, still plucking away on their instruments.
“It is a traditional sound, favored by the Royals.”
“Obviously so, but that, my dear, is not what I asked. Do you prefer it?” He squinted his eyes at her once more, daring her to answer honestly.
“I…” Brindl started, then coughed behind her hand to buy time. She decided to be honest. “I prefer something more lively.”
“Yes! Finally, an answer that is truthful rather than polite. How I hate polite banter, worse than a bedbug in your drawers.” He chuckled heartily and took a giant swig of ale.
Despite her reservations, Brindl found herself enjoying the picnic and Lord Yonda’s company.
A storyteller stepped onto a small stage then, and Brindl leaned forward. From her experience so far, storytelling seemed like an infrequent pastime in the royal city compared to Zipa, where most nights were spent around a fire retelling the godtales or spinning stories, each one more fantastic than the last.
The Moon Guild storyteller was older but not old, not beautiful nor ugly, plain of face and hair. But when she lifted her hands, the audience hushed. As she began recounting the birth of Tequende, her face transformed and her eyes became lit from within. Of all the godtales, the creation story was Brindl’s favorite.
“In the beginning, Machué, our Mother Earth, found herself lonely, spinning through the dark night of eternity. So, she created the animals to live upon her wide apron, and for a long time, they offered solace and entertainment. Fox dug holes and tickled her. Raven braided her hair into fancy designs. Bear, when he wasn’t sleeping in comfortable poses, played hide-and-seek.
“Still, Mother Earth wanted someone to share these lovely things with her. And so she decided, as many women do, to create children of her own. How content was Mother Earth preparing to be a mother of twins! To pass the time, she set about inventing things to amuse them: more animals, of course. Babbling creeks and rivers that led one to another for days and days for her children to explore. Vast caves and deep crevices with treasures tucked inside for their little fingers to discover. Mountains to climb so they would grow strong bodies. Art, music, weaving, and storytelling so they might find their own voices. Why, she almost forgot to give birth she was so busy!
“But one day, pain struck her down and she cried out. Tears sprung from her eyes. She cupped her hands to collect the tears and began mixing leaves, berries, and mud. With this she painted every living thing a new color to distract her from her labors. Finally, the twins were born: a son, Intiq, and a daughter, Elia. For many years the three lived happily together. But in the twins’ fifteenth year, they became restless and kicked the shins of their mother for freedom and power of their own.
“And so, Mother Earth let them seek their destinies, those cherished children, as long as they promised her grandchildren. Although it would leave her own powers much diminished, she gave her son, Intiq, three amazing gifts: creativity, resourcefulness, and craftsmanship, and tacked him to the sky. She then pinned her daughter, Elia, to the night sky and blessed her with three more powerful gifts: wisdom, beauty, and art. Afterward, Mother Earth was left only with strength, humility, and steadfastness.
“All three created humans in their own image, and they became the People of Machué. Mother Earth made the most children to fill every pocket of her apron. With only their humble gifts to guide them, the Earth Guilders became the farmers and salt miners of the great land. They produced crops and tended their Mother’s many animals, including packhounds, who became their guardians and companions.
“Next, Intiq created his own children, the Sun Guilders. Clever and enterprising, they became the traders and shopkeepers scattered across the realm entire. They prospered with lighter labors and enjoyed many hours of freedom under their father’s warm face.
“Lastly, Elia created the children of the Moon Guild, and they were luckiest of all. For hers were the artists and poets, musicians and scholars, the rarest gems in the land. And from a handful of moonlit earth, Elia molded th
e Queen, human sister to the Moon Goddess herself, whom she set to rule over all the guilds.
“To preserve the realm and protect her from foreign enemies, every family of Tequende, every child of Machué, Intiq, and Elia, follows the Oath of Guilds, binding their second children in service to the Queen. So it was and shall always be.”
The audience clapped politely but appreciatively, including Lord Yonda. Brindl thought it a lovely rendition of the story, told with more elegance than she was used to, though she hated to admit it.
“It’s quite a clever fable,” Lord Yonda remarked.
“Fable?” Brindl said, disturbed by his choice of words. “It’s our most cherished godtale, the creation story of Tequende.”
“Ah yes, a godtale that just happens to grant the Queen an army of people duty-bound to serve her,” Lord Yonda said, then patted Brindl’s knee in a grandfatherly way. “Very clever. Very clever indeed.”
Brindl blinked and sat back in her chair. Could a godtale be sculpted for power and control? Unimaginable. And, yet…Yonda’s words scratched like bedstraw inside her thoughts for the rest of the evening.
The vast majority of palace servants come from the Moon Guild, and are therefore trained in diplomacy and refinement. If you were born into the Earth or Sun Guilds, ensure that your bad habits do not follow you into the palace. Take your cues from the Moon Guilders around you, and leave your prior guild loyalties behind.
—CH. N. TASCA, Palace Etiquette
Darkness didn’t frighten Brindl; she had grown up amidst the dark and shadow of the mines. After all, a miner who was afraid of the dark was no miner at all. In the labyrinth underneath Machué’s apron it often felt like the Sun God himself had been swallowed whole, so the dappled darkness of the forest was a comfort to Brindl, one she hadn’t realized she’d missed.
Tonio attempted to move quietly along the narrow path, but made more noise than a wild boar, he was so unused to the dark. The moon was bright but the foliage dense, keeping them nearly hidden under the canopy of trees. A slim branch whipped back and Brindl caught it with her hand, though it stung her palm like a switch.