by J. D. Vaughn
Tali laughed and mussed the girl’s hair.
Brindl saw Zarif move toward them, careful to place his crutches just so along the slippery wooden dock.
“Tali and Brindl, we’re near ready to depart,” he said. “And who do we have here?” he added, nodding at Lili, who beamed at him.
“This is Lili, my new pigeonkeep apprentice,” Brindl said, placing her arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Lili, meet Zarif.”
“Your betrothed!” Lili gasped. “Why, he’s handsome as a godtale prince!”
Tali and Brindl laughed, while Zarif looked pleased and embarrassed at the same time.
“It is nice to meet you, Lili,” he said finally, offering his palm to her. Lili slid her hand on Zarif’s without taking her eyes off him, instantly smitten.
“Lili, it’s time you’re off to the birds,” Brindl said.
“And you to the boat!” Lili answered. “I’ll miss you much!” She squeezed Brindl hard and fast around the waist, then raced back to the palace.
The three friends stood there watching her zig and zag through the crowd toward the servant village.
“Isn’t she a bundle of lightning,” Zarif said.
“And words,” Brindl added, their eyes meeting in a genuine smile for the first time since the betrothal had been announced.
Brindl tidied her braided hairstyle, hoping it looked decent enough to pass for a Moon Guilder, then climbed out of the tiny chamber and up a long ladder to the deck. Fog still skimmed the surface of the river and Intiq had not yet found his way over the mountains to warm the valley below. Brindl inhaled deeply, pleased to be among the fresh air again. How quickly she had grown accustomed to her rooftop tower and expansive views, and how claustrophobic in comparison the small cabin she now shared with the princess was.
A slight breeze tickled Brindl’s neck and made her chill, but she was loath to go back down below to grab her shawl. Instead she tucked her hands into the pockets of her gown and wished for a cup of coffee. It was as if she’d summoned it.
“Coffee and a sweet?” asked a servant girl behind her, offering a tray of steaming mugs and breakfast cakes nestled inside scraps of lace. Brindl recoiled, remembering Tonio’s hurtful words: You’ll be the one served now in your white gown.
She tried to hide her discomfort and smiled at the girl. “With gratitude.” She plucked a coffee and sweet from the tray and bowed slightly.
The servant girl, caught by surprise, ducked her head and scurried off across the deck.
Brindl stood at the railing and savored the warmth of the coffee as it spread through her limbs, then dipped the cake into it. Its crispy, delicate layers melted on her tongue, while its coating of pulverized sugar floated to the surface of her coffee and sweetened it.
The delicious treat made her think of Tonio and Mama Rossi. Surely their hands had created it? Were they on board the supply boat with the other servants and cooks, or had they prepared cakes ahead of time for the journey?
Her hand absentmindedly slid over the letter sewn into the pocket of her gown. After she’d seen Tonio to apprise him of the Queen’s travel plans, he’d found her the next day and given her the letter. It was a message from Moth to the leader of the Soga loggers, a man called Manco.
Brindl had not wanted to take it, but Tonio had reminded her of the Diosa’s charge. Now Brindl could feel the letter pressing, almost burning with the secret it held, though she did not know what it said.
She heard the approaching click of Zarif’s crutches and turned to greet him.
“Did you settle into your quarters?” she asked, as he joined her at the railing.
“Indeed,” he said. “Chey and I are sharing a room, just like old days at the Alcazar.”
“How fun! And will you stay up all night talking like you used to?”
“If Chey’s snoring counts as talking, then I suppose so,” Zarif joked, as the servant girl returned and offered him coffee and cake. Though he thanked her politely, it was obvious that Zarif was used to being served: the subtle nod of dismissal, the unhesitating way he chose off the tray.
Brindl watched the girl slip away again, like a wisp of smoke. Like a shadow. “You don’t really see them, do you?”
“Who?” asked Zarif.
“Never mind,” said Brindl, turning her attention back to the river. “So is your appearance by my side an attempt to appease Xiomara’s demand that we look betrothed in public?”
“Currently, there is no public unless you count the fish and the birds.” Zarif smiled, and Brindl finally relaxed next to him. “But I thought we might practice.”
“Good thinking. And since we were once friends, it shouldn’t be that difficult.” As soon as she said the words she regretted them. The hurt was plain on Zarif’s face.
“Once friends? I thought we were still friends, Brindl.”
“Yes, yes, of course. We are friends,” Brindl said, putting her hand on Zarif’s arm, her fingers warmed by his skin. “I meant only that what do betrothed look like, if not friends?”
He nodded, but did not respond.
Things have changed, Brindl realized. Or maybe I’m the one who’s changed. She let her fingers slip from his arm.
“What do you think of the Queen’s ship?” she asked, trying to leave the uncomfortable topic behind.
“It is certainly meant to impress others,” Zarif said, clearly relieved to be talking about ideas rather than relationships. Perhaps they were not so different after all.
“It seems so big she should hardly be able to float.”
“It’s all a matter of which type of wood is used and how they seal it. Sap of the cordillo tree usually gives the best results.”
“Is that so?”
“Though I do wonder if they build the boats directly upon the water once their hulls are complete or whether they finish them on dry land.”
“I’m sure you’ll find out, or figure out which book to consult.”
Zarif chuckled, in the easy way she remembered back at the Alcazar.
Perhaps we’ll muddle through this after all.
All day the caravan floated down the Soga Tributary and villagers lined the banks to wave and cheer as she slid by. The Queen’s ship, painted a pearly white, fairly glowed on the surface of the dark water. Though Tequendian tradeboats were traditionally multicolored, like the bright clothes of their Sun Guild owners, the Queen’s vessel was as elegant and refined as she was, floating across the water like a white swan. The vast main deck had been designed for entertainment purposes, like dancing and large meals, and could connect by portable bridge to Xiomara’s boat or the supply boat that brought up the rear.
At times Brindl caught sight of the Queen waving at the crowds, which pleased them immensely, but more often she ignored them while speaking to Lady Ona and the regents on the deck of her ship. Meanwhile, Princess Xiomara did her best to make amends by smiling and waving at the onlookers from the railings of her smaller boat.
When evening fell, the caravan docked in the village of Tibaso. Brindl once more climbed the ladder to the deck, trying not to trip over her new gown, easily the most beautiful thing she had ever worn. Made of fine brushed cotton in three different shades of white, the sleeves just covered her elbows then ruffled out like flowers. The dress’s neckline scooped in front into a tight bodice, then flared at the hips and dropped to a jagged hemline near her ankles, showing off dainty beaded shoes. Brindl had pinned her hair high, and a few curls cascaded down her shoulders.
Zarif awaited her on the dock, handsome as always.
“You look lovely, Brindl,” Zarif said, his eyes scrolling across her. “Like a true daughter of Elia.”
Though meant as a compliment, his words made Brindl’s stomach knot. But I am Machué’s daughter and proud of it. She resisted the urge to pull the pins from her hair, and the ribbons from her gown.
The rest of the royal party disembarked from their boats then, greeted by the village leaders, who had planned an evening
of local food, musicians, and storytellers.
“Fair Brindl, how lucky I am to see you once more,” Lord Yonda said, joining her as they stepped off the dock toward the festivities. Brindl’s feet felt suddenly unsteady and she reached for Zarif, then quickly stopped herself, lest she knock him over. Lord Yonda grabbed her elbow.
“It is sea feet, my dear,” he said.
“Sea feet?” Brindl asked.
“When you travel by boat for many hours your feet get used to holding your body against the movement beneath it. When you step upon dry land your feet wait for the waves.”
“I wonder if my friend Tali ever suffers from it,” Brindl mused.
“Why would it be different for her?” the regent asked. “She is one of Xiomara’s guards, correct?”
“Yes, but she grew up on a tradeboat.”
“Are you talking about me again, Brindl?” Tali asked, coming up from behind. “I seem to be a popular topic today.”
“I was just telling the regent how you grew up on a tradeboat. We wondered if you ever suffered from sea feet.”
“Never.” Tali shook her head. “It’s one of the benefits for certain.”
“It must have been marvelous to grow up on a tradeboat, yes?” Yonda asked.
“The very best, sir,” Tali answered, “though my family’s boat—Cora’s Heart, we called her—was much more modest than these.”
“Of course, of course, she would be, yet equally charming, I’m sure. But you speak of her in the past tense. Why is that?”
Brindl glanced at Yonda in admiration. The man was about to glean an important detail of Tali’s life by noticing something as simple as one word in the past tense.
“Our tradeboat was destroyed in the Battle for the Alcazar.”
“I’m so sorry,” the regent said. “I hope your family has recovered its living.”
“The Queen provided new tradeboats for those that were sacrificed during the battle,” Tali answered.
“And this new tradeboat, is she much like your old one?”
Tali paused. “She suffices.”
Yonda nodded, his face thoughtful. “Sacrifices are not easily replaced.” He paused then and glanced down at Brindl’s Moon Guild attire. “Nor are new things always better than the old. But come now, ladies, let us put away sad thoughts and see if they know how to cook in Tibaso.”
The Queens of Tequende do not marry or have children, but may take consorts for entertainment and delight. A royal consort must be given the utmost deference and regard, as one of three chosen intimates of the Queen. As such, the consort shall not be subject to speculation or gossip within or outside the palace walls.
—CH. N. TASCA, Palace Etiquette
Five little girls stepped onto the makeshift stage dressed in clean and simple Earth Guild tunic and trousers, though inked designs scrolled up their hands and arms to mark the occasion, as if it were the Festival of Light. A small band began to play, the music reminding Brindl of the tunes played at home, and though she yearned to clap along like the villagers, she pressed her hands together like the other Moon Guilders in her company. The five girls began to dance and twirl, their feet playfully catching the rhythm of the band.
Brindl, sitting behind Queen Twenty-two and Lord Paulin, watched him lean in for the third time and whisper in her ear. The Queen fiddled with the lace on his cuff, then glanced up at him through her lashes, as if he were the fourth god of Tequende. Though the Queens of Tequende were not allowed husbands, there was no such prohibition on lovers. Brindl wondered if the Queen had already taken Paulin as her consort. An intimacy and easiness marked each interaction between them, their hands finding more subtle excuses to touch each other since the last time Brindl had seen them together.
Lord Yonda, on the other hand, seemed entranced by the performance, clapping his hands in time with the drummer and smiling encouragingly at the nervous girls. When the performance ended, the Queen’s party clapped politely and shifted in their small chairs, but Yonda cheered the young girls, whose faces lit up like lanterns at the applause. Brindl found herself liking Yonda even more for his generosity of spirit.
After the dancers came a storyteller, a trickster of the hand, and a panpipe ensemble to end the evening. The panpipers played a song of such longing and home that Brindl found herself swept back once more to Zipa, where she pictured her brother, mother, and father sitting around their plain table sharing the day’s news and a small meal of grain and root vegetables from the garden. How long would it be before she could go home?
The Queen looked relieved when the humble performances finally ended. The stage was reset with a large table covered in the traditional woven cloth and design of the region, interlocking diamonds in bright jewel tones. Small lanterns suspended from rope were strung above the table. Brindl hoped the hours they spent seated in conversation would prove useful to Xiomara’s cause. Tali had taken a knife for the princess; perhaps Brindl’s eyes and ears could prevent one.
At first, it was just another polite meal. Foods of the region were trotted out one at a time, prepared by local cooks to showcase their most spectacular dishes. How different the food tasted here than at home or in Fugaza. The meat course was presented on skewers with roasted vegetables between them, their savory flavor complemented by chunks of Lana fruit.
The conversation mainly focused on the earlier presentations, but after the third course, a cold green soup with swirled cream, words between the two regents became heated. Though Brindl had only caught snatches of their conversation prior, their voices now rose and came with a sharp edge.
“It was your monarch, not mine, that broke the Treaty of Cordova,” Yonda said, as a slab of spiced meat was set before him. It was the way he cut into it, with decisive strokes, that revealed his true feelings while his face remained placid, overtly polite, Brindl decided.
“Never,” Paulin answered, gesturing to a servant for more wine. “We all know my Queen did no such thing. It was a snake inside Tequende itself that orchestrated the attack on the Alcazar.”
“In Andorian ships with Andorian warriors?” Yonda challenged, his knife poised above his meat to attack again.
Surprisingly, the Queen remained neutral as the two parleyed. She looked at both as they spoke, but her face revealed nothing. Brindl noticed that Tali and Chey took a step closer to the table. Princess Xiomara remained silent. Lady Ona and Lord Paulin held a glance for just a beat too long. Or did they?
“Captain Telendor bought them with gold,” Paulin answered after swallowing another gulp of wine. “Loyalty often can be.”
“Do you think so?” the Queen asked casually, as if it were not about her own realm they were discussing, but an interesting philosophical question.
Lord Yonda was the first to answer. “I’d venture to say that men can be bought, but loyalty nay. Perhaps you might explain, Your Majesty, why you named Telendor’s own son, Jaden, as the new Queen’s Sword? It seems an…interesting choice.”
“He is the best,” she answered, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. “I only tolerate the best.”
Brindl saw that Tali was now intently following the conversation, her eyes unable to tear themselves away. Meanwhile, Chey stood with his arms across his broad chest, constantly scanning the hall for hints of a threat.
“Do you not worry that he will follow his father’s path and he, too, will betray you?” Yonda asked. The entire party seemed to pause in their meal, utensils poised mid-bite, glasses frozen at their lips.
“No more than I worry about you,” she answered, smiling with her lips but not her eyes. “Or Lord Paulin. And yet, you’ve both assured me of your peaceful intentions toward my realm. The Treaty of Cordova, signed by my predecessor, Queen Twenty-one, and your sovereign monarchs still stands, does it not?”
Lord Yonda looked amused. “Indeed, Your Majesty,” he said, turning back to his food with gusto.
“Though peace treaties are notoriously broken,” replied Paulin, stabbing a piece of meat
. “Now a marriage, on the other hand, is often a much more reliable alliance.”
“I have considered this possibility,” the Queen replied, swirling the dregs of wine in her glass.
“I thought the Queens of Tequende did not marry, Your Majesty,” Lord Yonda said, raising his brow, “though ’tis a pity for all mankind.”
“I did not mean me,” Twenty-two answered, looking across the table, “but Princess Xiomara would make a generous offering of goodwill to either realm, I should think.”
Princess Xiomara’s posture stiffened, her face registering shock before she could mask it.
“I’m sure the prince heir to Castille would be more than interested in such a lovely offer,” Lord Yonda said, bowing his head to Xiomara. “We would be honored to align ourselves with the great Tequende.”
“As would Andoria,” Lord Paulin said loudly, trying to hide the irritation in his voice. “My Queen’s heir and nephew, Prince Ricardo, will soon come of age and be in want of a wife.”
“Another possibility worth considering,” said Twenty-two, raising her glass. “To alliances.”
“Will you follow me, Brindl? Help me dress for bed?” Xiomara said much later that night.
“Of course,” Brindl answered, stifling a yawn. She almost felt more exhausted than after a day in the mines. As elegant as her new dress was, she couldn’t wait to shed it and slip into her narrow bunk to read.
Xiomara said nothing else until they were inside her room, the door closed tightly behind them. The princess reached up and pulled a pin from her hair and scratched at the spot underneath. It was an ordinary action, certainly, but Brindl realized she’d never seen the princess do anything like it before.
“That’s been pinching my scalp all evening,” Xiomara said. “I thought I’d never get to take it out.”
“Shall I brush your hair?” Brindl asked, knowing this is what a lady’s maid was supposed to do, but still uncertain of her role. The princess had any number of lady servants to help with her hair and dress in the palace, but here on the boat, there was only one other maid.