by J. D. Vaughn
“Would you?” Xiomara dropped into a small chair in front of her dressing mirror, as if she were melting.
“You have beautiful hair, Princess,” Brindl said, her fingers loosening the pins and unraveling the complex braids.
Princess Xiomara nodded but did not respond to the compliment itself.
“My maid Kalla could do this, but I wanted to talk to you alone. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. I am your lady’s maid, after all.”
“Yes, well,” Xiomara said, reaching for a moist towel left for her use, “that was not the original plan.”
“The original plan?” Brindl asked, her fingers snagging on a knot in the princess’s hair. She reached for the comb and gently pulled it loose.
“Yes, the original plan was for you to be counselor to me alongside Zarif,” Xiomara said. “Saavedra thought you would offer me great insight into the Earth Guilders of the realm.”
“He told you this?” Brindl asked, incredulous.
“We discussed it at length in our letters,” Xiomara said, wiping her face with the damp rag, erasing the kohl around her eyes, “but your very Earth Guild status prevented it.”
“I am honored he thought me worthy of such a role,” Brindl said, smoothing the princess’s long hair into a shiny black waterfall.
“He was a wonderful tutor, but he caught the ire of the Queen,” Xiomara said, sighing. “She banished him to the Alcazar as a lowly pigeonkeep because he told her the truth rather than what she wanted to hear.”
Brindl tried not to be a bit smarted by the words “lowly pigeonkeep.” It was, after all, her own position.
“I was lucky to know him,” Brindl said, “but his talent was wasted tutoring me and holding court for Second Guard pledges.”
“He didn’t think so,” Princess Xiomara said. “Brindl, would you call me Xia? It was what Saavedra called me. I’d like to hear it spoken again.”
“I will try…” Brindl hesitated, and smiled at the princess in the mirror. “Xia.”
“The Guild system does have its limitations,” Xiomara said, dabbing her finger in a small jar and smoothing the cream over her lips. “It seems unfair that you should be excluded from my counsel due to your birth.”
“Each of us has a role to play,” Brindl replied, considering her words. It seemed unthinkable that a Royal might actually consider what it might be like to be an Earth Guilder. Yet Xiomara just had. She wished she could speak freely to the princess, tell her about the concerns of the Shadow Guard. But she had sworn an oath of silence to Machué.
“Apparently my role is to be sold off to the highest bidder,” Xiomara said, a flash of anger crossing her face.
“Would she do it?” Brindl asked.
Xiomara stood and gestured for Brindl to help her unhook the gown. It spilled off her shoulders into a heap on the floor. She looked so tiny without it on, so small in stature compared to the Queen.
“She would like nothing better than to be rid of me.”
“But you are next in line for the crown,” Brindl said, handing the princess her nightgown. She grabbed the fallen dress from the floor and carefully draped it over a nearby chair.
“Exactly why she’d sell me off, so she could replace me with a new Queen-in-Waiting who will do her bidding. It was definitely a threat for me to hold my tongue.”
“Well, she can’t exactly make you a pigeonkeep,” Brindl said.
The princess laughed, then dropped onto her bed, folding her legs up beneath her. She looked so young, her face so open. She patted the blanket for Brindl to join her. Brindl tried to act like this was just an ordinary girl from Zipa, sharing a festival night together, and not the future Queen of Tequende.
“Now you must tell me everything you noted tonight,” Xiomara said.
And Brindl did tell her everything.
Almost.
A lady’s maid shall always keep her emotions in check. A demure, measured response is always preferred to unseemly expressions of irritation, enthusiasm, or ire.
—CH. N. TASCA, Palace Etiquette
Two days later, the gallant procession of boats reached Lake Soga. Brindl and Zarif met early in the morning before the others started their day to share coffee and a few words alone. They spoke easily of the previous day’s events and discussed how to get more information from both regents, if possible. But their conversation changed as the boat slipped from the river into the lake itself. It was like they’d been transported to a new realm.
The lake was large, though not as vast as Lake Chibcha in the south where they’d spent a year at the Alcazar in training. The early morning mists rolling across the placid waters made the bank of the far side invisible. Houses appeared to float over the lake like apparitions. Constructed on tall stilts, they reminded Brindl of shore birds on their skinny legs hovering over the water. A few of the houses even had fences partitioning off a part of the lake, like a yard of water. Inside the fences vegetables and flowers bobbed in the wake on a garden bed of mosslike plants.
As they neared, Brindl saw that the houses looked like they’d been pieced together from scraps and castoffs, with odd angles and half-chewed planks. Longboats had been tied up alongside many of the houses, their hulls stacked with cone-shaped baskets, which Brindl supposed were used to trawl for fish.
Zarif pointed to a man who balanced on the back of his boat and paddled with a long pole, while a large bird stood in silhouette on the prow.
“He fishes with a bird to balance his boat?” Brindl asked, for she thought it looked like something from a fractured dream.
“In fact, the bird does some of the fishing for him,” Zarif answered. “Oh, how I have wanted to see Lake Soga since I first…”
“Read about it in a book?”
“You know me well, Brin.” Zarif grinned, raising his hot coffee to his lips and blowing across its surface before sipping.
“But do tell me how the bird fishes for him.”
“He ties a ribbon around the base of its neck so the larger fish cannot be swallowed.”
“Genius! But if the bird does not get fed, why does he do it?” Brindl rubbed her arms, for gooseflesh had appeared on them. It was cooler on the open water than the protected banks of the river. Zarif removed a wrap from his shoulders and placed it around her. It was a kind gesture and she smiled at him appreciatively, murmuring her thanks.
“First, because the bird is raised to do it, much like our bluejackets are trained to come home. But the fisherman must also reward the bird.”
“He feeds it out of his own hand, I suspect,” said Brindl, “so the bird learns to depend on him and not his own work alone.”
“That is exactly so. How did you know this?” Zarif asked, his face obviously surprised by her insight.
“It is how we train packhound puppies loyalty to their Earth Guild families,” Brindl said, “though Machué teaches us to be kind masters over her animals.”
“This makes sense to me,” Zarif said, accepting another cup of coffee from a servant girl without pause, “as they are valuable assets to a family.”
“They are more than family assets,” Brindl replied. “They are family members.”
Zarif shrugged. “I’m not sure I see the difference.”
Brindl bit her tongue.
An hour later the whole boat was wide-awake and bustling about to prepare for the day. They’d arrived just in time for the Soga Games, an annual event in which the local fishermen invited the loggers from the neighboring forest to join them for a day of sport. Over the centuries, it had turned into a great rivalry, followed by a communal fish fry and celebration.
The fishermen were naturally small people but possessed amazing balance and coordination. The loggers were gigantic, or so they seemed in comparison, and relied on brute strength and endurance to survive. Both peoples were said to descend from the same great matriarch, whose twin sons had divided their inheritance fairly between them: one who loved the lake and the other
the forest. The story told that because each of the twins had followed his heart, everyone prospered.
Princess Xiomara’s boat skirted along the shoreline northward to the log-rolling event. Lord Yonda had joined them, as the Queen had decided to skip the morning’s festivities, preferring to anchor her ship away from the noise and crowds.
Brindl was relieved she did not have to be in company of the Queen that day, and nor so it seemed did the rest of Xiomara’s party. After the intensity of last night’s meal, it almost felt like they’d received a day off.
While Xiomara gave Lord Yonda a tour of the boat, Brindl sat with Zarif, Chey, and Tali in cushioned deck chairs as they traveled to the other side of the lake.
“I thank you again, Chey,” Tali said.
Chey waved a hand as if to dismiss her thanks. “It was no trouble at all.”
Zarif looked from one to the other. “What needs to be thanked, if I may ask?”
Tali’s face lit up. “Chey arranged for a longboat to take me to the Soga floating market, where my family will be docked for the festivities. I can’t wait to see my father and Nel.”
“How fun for you, Tali,” exclaimed Brindl, though she felt a twinge of envy. Who in second-born service to the Queen would not? Brindl had not seen her own family in over a year.
“My warmest regards to your family, Tali. I wish I could share in some of your twin’s delicious treats,” Zarif said.
“The Queen’s own food does not satisfy your appetite?” Brindl asked, trying to lighten her own mood by poking Zarif a tad.
“You’ve never tasted Nel’s food,” Chey answered, a big grin spreading across his face. “It’s more noble and heartier than any palace fare.” He pointed a finger at Tali. “You’d best bring some of it back if you know what’s good for you!”
Just then, Princess Xiomara and Lord Yonda emerged from the upper cabin, and the four of them rose from their seats at attention. The princess nodded, and they made their way to the side of the boat, where servants had arranged a comfortable viewing area along the railing.
A short time later, the boat sailed into view of the first competition. The crowd, who had obviously been waiting for their arrival, cheered from longboats, platforms, and piers that jutted out around the competition ring. Babies were lifted onto the shoulders of their fathers to catch a glimpse of the princess, while a group of rowdy boys called and whistled to catch her attention. Xiomara smiled widely and waved to one and all, though Brindl noticed Tali and Chey scanning the crowd, alert for any faces painted in anger or cruel intent. To them a crowd meant chaos and an increased likelihood of danger.
The ring itself was a section of the lake circled by a floating fence. Inside, two men sat on a giant log facing each other, their feet dangling in the water like young children. A longboat floated nearby with two more men inside it. Like the pair on the log, it was obvious that one man was a fisherman, the other a logger, judging by their difference in size. All of the men were baked a dark brown from days in the sun, as were the onlookers gathered to watch.
The fisherman stood in the longboat and blew through a large shell to quiet the crowd. He cupped his hands around his mouth. “The log roll competition shall begin.”
The crowd roared its approval.
“The best three out of five wins the match. Men, stand and bow.”
The two men scrambled upright onto the giant log, making the marked difference between them even more pronounced. The fisherman, wiry and thin, looked half the logger’s size in every dimension, though he appeared more comfortable on the log, his toes pointed outward for better balance. The logger, an enormous specimen of a man whose neck looked like the stump of a tree, kept his giant feet pointed directly at his opponent.
Both men bowed, then the longboatsman drew the large shell to his mouth and blew it again.
At first the two men faced the same direction, to the mountains of the north, and slowly began rolling the log under their feet. It looked as though they were cooperating and not trying to throw each other off. The crowd began clapping slowly, in time with the rhythm of their feet. Then the fisherman jumped to face the opposite direction, changing the motion of the log. The logger tipped but did not fall. Then, with the strength of his enormous feet, the logger stopped the motion of the log and began spinning it once again toward the north. This time, it was the fisherman’s turn to teeter, and he threw his hands up behind him like a bird landing in a nest. When he regained his balance, he dipped his foot into the water and kicked it into the logger’s face, momentarily forcing him to close his eyes.
The fisherman switched positions again, an elegant dancer’s motion, and began running in place on top of the log in tiny little steps. Brindl found herself holding her breath and clasping the railing of the boat. As the log moved faster and faster under the fisherman’s command, the giant logger struggled to keep pace. His large feet were a burden, and he slipped and fell face-first into the lake. The fishermen in the audience roared their approval and the logger families cried, “Ohhhhhh!” Brindl longed to shout with them, but took her cues from the princess and clapped politely instead.
Everyone cheered as the victor helped pull his opponent back onto the log for the next round. This second ended more quickly than the first, with the fisherman again using his incredible sense of balance to his advantage. On the third round, however, the logger kicked a giant waterfall into the smaller man’s face, knocking his balance enough that he tumbled to the end of the log and fell off. The logger families began clapping in unison, chanting the logger’s name: “Toma! Toma! Toma!”
The fourth match was longest of all. The log switched direction no less than half a dozen times, equally controlled by the two determined competitors, though Brindl sensed the smaller man was merely biding his time. Having spent all of their lives navigating the lake in longboats, the Soga fishermen clearly had the advantage in this competition. They knew how to stay on top of the water rather than in it.
“I believe the fisher will soon win this competition,” Zarif said, echoing Brindl’s thoughts.
“Agreed,” she answered. The princess added her consensus, while Lord Yonda stood beside her, his mouth curled in what looked like a smirk.
“The people out here—all Earth Guilders, yes?—appear more”—Lord Yonda paused, obviously searching for words—“native than in the royal city.”
Brindl wondered if it was the villagers’ dark skin that made him say it or if it was their behavior itself, their loud, raucous enjoyment. Either way, she bristled at the less-than-subtle condescension.
“They do spend their days out of doors working, Lord Yonda,” Brindl said, unable to control the tightness in her voice. She tucked a hand inside her pocket, feeling the secret letter from Moth there under an extra layer of fabric.
Yonda raised an eyebrow in her direction, an amused look on his face.
Black tunnels. He baited me on purpose to see if I’d reveal my feelings.
Lord Yonda smiled, almost in apology. “It would certainly make them appear more rugged,” he agreed.
Finally, the fisherman unseated the logger one last time to both the great joy and disappointment of the mixed audience. When the logger reached up from the water to shake his opponent’s hand, he pulled him into the lake and the fisherman’s feet flipped over his head. Brindl gripped the boat railing. Would this be considered an insult? The fisherman came up laughing and sputtered into the logger’s face.
The onlookers roared, all of them, as the men swam toward opposite piers where their families stood waiting for them. The fisherman was hoisted out of the water and carried above the heads of the crowd among laughter and laud. Hearty pats on the back greeted the logger as everyone made their way to a floating pavilion where fish fritters and mountain ale awaited them.
A lady’s maid is often a Royal’s most intimate confidante. As such, a lady’s maid shall never discuss a Royal with anyone, lest she wish to immediately be relocated to the stables to serve the pal
ace barn animals.
—CH. N. TASCA, Palace Etiquette
The Moon Guild gown dropped to the floor, looking like a puddle of cream. Brindl stepped over it carefully, then picked it up and hung it on a peg by her bunk. She pulled a humble Earth Guild tunic over her head and stepped into the skirt that matched it, both borrowed from a kind fishergirl she’d met earlier that afternoon. As her fingers tied the deep-pocketed apron around her waist, she smiled to herself. Not many girls would choose scratchy, rough-woven llama wool over fine, soft-brushed cotton, but Brindl was one of them. She felt more herself than she had in weeks. Spirits lifted, she looked forward to being an Earth Guilder again, at least for an evening.
Brindl hoped her Moon Guild slippers would survive the trek up the mountain, but she had no further time to worry about it. She had to meet the fishergirl and her sister, who’d agreed to walk with her up to the festivities. Unleashing the fancy braids in her hair, she finger-combed it quickly. Just before she rushed up the ladder she remembered the purpose of her trip. What kind of messenger can’t even remember the message? She took a letter opener to her gown on its peg, ripped open the pocket seam, retrieved the letter, and slipped it into her apron.
Just as she was about to leave the boat, Tali turned the corner and waved to Brindl.
“Have fun with your cousin!” Tali called.
“Thanks! Enjoy the night with your family,” Brindl answered, turning away quickly to avoid any more lies. She felt terrible about deceiving her friends, but there had been no way around it. When Tali had invited them all to her family’s tradeboat that evening, Brindl was surprised, almost mortified by how easily the lie came to her. The story of her cousin Amani’s marriage to a logger slipped off her lips completely believable, without a hint of suspicion. It almost made it worse somehow. Where the falsehood or even the name Amani had come from, Brindl didn’t know. But the best chance to deliver the message to Manco would be tonight, while everyone was distracted, and she looked forward to being rid of it.