by Jill M Beene
Samiris thought he looked like a cornered rabbit looking for escape. Narcise didn’t notice. She stepped closer to Behemoth, her face a perfect mirror of studied apprehension, shyness. But one manicured finger came up to pet Behemoth’s harness, almost absent-mindedly.
“We’ve missed you at the castle,” she said. Then, batting her eyelashes, she said, “I’ve missed you.”
Such a statement should have been cause for a blush, but no tell-tale pink flush caressed her ivory cheek.
“I have returned to do my duty,” Artem said, pressing Behemoth a step back with his heels. The leather strap slipped away from beneath her polished nail.
“If only there was something we could do, to show our gratitude,” she said, her voice breathy.
Samiris’ lip curled in amusement. The exchange she had witnessed between Artem and Narcise was just a different version of the same dance she had witnessed and participated in hundreds of times...hunter and prey.
Lady Elise prodded Samiris and Cyra forward. “Don’t dawdle girls,” she wheezed. “I haven’t had a proper bath in weeks, and you both need to get settled before dinner.”
Lady Elise herded Samiris and Cyra toward a wide archway across the courtyard and pushed Samiris and Cyra through a set of doors.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The walk to their new rooms was quick and disorienting. Samiris was distracted, and at the pace that Lady Elise set, she was only able to get impressions of the palace. Wide stone stairs and hallways, ornate carvings, rich oil paintings everywhere she looked. Fine ladies and richly dressed men engaged in polite conversation in small groupings, servants bustling along, heads down. Waving palm fronds in painted planters were set against the white stone of the hallway, and light streamed in from eyes of lead glass windows framed by brows of rich silk.
Lady Elise was like a tired horse who scented her home stable. She could not wait to be rid of her responsibility. She pressed Cyra and Samiris forward, tsk-ing when they paused to try and get their bearings, huffing in impatience when Samiris lingered for a second at the entrance of a second-story balcony that looked over the ornate gardens.
“You’ll have plenty of time to see it later,” Lady Elise snapped, giving a small shove at the small of Samiris’ back.
She unceremoniously deposited Cyra at one set of carved wooden doors down a wide, carpeted hallway, then gestured Samiris toward another set just across the way. With a sharp, frowning nod of farewell, she left them both. Samiris paused awkwardly, her hands on the gilded handles, her eyes still on Cyra.
“At least we are close to each other,” Cyra said.
Samiris offered a tremulous smile, a nod, then entered her bedroom. Except it wasn’t a bedroom, she realized when the doors closed behind her. She was in a small antechamber, with doors leading off in different directions. Thick carpeting was plush underfoot, and richly detailed paintings crowded the walls. Samiris walked through the open archway in front of her.
It was a small sitting room, with large windows that looked over a courtyard. To the right was another archway that led to a study. Samiris wandered. There was a gold-leafed tiled bathing room with a marble tub large enough for two people to share, a dining room with a carved table under glass that depicted an elaborate battle scene, a bedroom with a canopied bed large enough for a king, and a mirrored dressing room as big as the bedroom.
Everywhere she looked, Samiris saw wealth. The carpets were richly dyed in complex patterns. Delicate chairs and tufted settees were upholstered in silks and soft velvets. The canopy of her bed was richly embroidered with inset gemstones and fringed in layer upon layer of tassels. Every piece of furniture was polished to a high shine, topped with marble, inlaid with ivory, or gilded with gold. Every room, including the bathroom, had a marble fireplace. Every mantel was carved, one with grapes, another with cherubs, another with a hunting party chasing a stag.
When she had come full circle, Samiris took a deep breath and let it out slowly. What had she expected? That the Chosen would be sharing one long, drafty bunk room? This was the home of the future Emperor. He could not be shamed with shabby interiors. Every aspect, every object was meant to inspire awe, to proclaim wealth, to awaken respect and declare his power. Samiris reached out to touch a statue of a golden bird on a side table in the sitting room. When she hefted it in her hand, the weight told her that it was real. Real gold. Just sitting on a side table in an under-used guest suite.
Samiris dropped the bird back on the table with a thunk and pressed the heel of her hand into her breastbone. She felt hot and confined. She couldn’t breathe.
When her father had become ill, a merchant told her that it would take two cartfuls of pure gold to buy the tonic to cure him. How many golden birds would it take, she wondered, to fill two cartfuls? Surely there was enough wealth on display in this palace to have bought the required cure. Had she lived here, had this been her home, she could have walked from room to room with a sack, collecting golden tchotkes until she had enough to pay for the tonic. No one would have noticed. No one would have missed this golden bird.
Samiris gasped for air, wave after wave of nausea washing over her as if she were a too-small boat adrift on an angry ocean. She threw open the windows to try and get some air.
Breathe, Samiris. Just breathe. She leaned against the thick windowsill and repeated that mantra to herself until her breathing slowed, until sick sweat stopped beading along her hairline.
In the center of the courtyard below, a gnarled oak tree unfurled its heavy arms over the paving stones. Squirrels capered, dashing in and out of the labyrinth of branches, chattering and squawking at each other behind whispering veils of green leaves.
Samiris tracked their skittering movements with a trained and sullen eye. No one had ever hunted these animals. No one had ever tried to kill these well-fed, furry beasts and put them in a pot. The squirrels in Faro didn’t frolic; they darted to and fro with cagey eyes, on necessary business only.
“Excuse me.” A quiet voice sounded near Samiris.
Samiris thrust herself back from the windowsill so violently that she almost toppled backwards over a low velvet pouf. A small but firm hand caught her elbow and helped keep her upright.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” The girl let go of Samiris’ elbow as soon as she regained her footing, and cringed.
The girl was short and delicate. Her clear green eyes were currently wide with fright, but she swallowed deeply and said, “My name is Aster. I’m sorry to have startled you. I am one of your servants.”
Numerous questions soared through Samiris’ head, crowding and bumping into one another like a frightened flock of birds taking flight. The first question that made it from her mind to her mouth was rude.
“Your hair is purple?” Samiris said.
Aster fingered the end of her complicated braid. Her hair was black, but the tip was a shocking purple color.
“Yes. If it displeases you, I can change it.” The last words were said with cool detachment while Aster gazed just over Samiris’ right ear.
Samiris snorted, and Aster’s eyes flicked back to meet hers. “I don’t care what color your hair is. I’ve just never seen that done before. How did you dye it?”
“Laundry whitener and roxa berries.”
There was an awkward silence until Samiris cleared her throat and asked, “So what do you do, clean the rooms?”
Aster frowned. “No, the chambermaids do that. I’m here to help you with your schedule, your hair and makeup, your errands, teaching you etiquette and names, things of that nature.”
“My hair and makeup?” Samiris said with a raised eyebrow. “Good luck with that.”
Samiris thought she saw a hint of a smile graze Aster’s lips.
“Now, as for your other servants.”
“Other servants?” Samiris stood up straight. “What do you
mean, other servants?”
“You are allowed to hire up to three other servants to help you with your needs,” Aster said, patiently. “They will be paid by the Crown Prince.”
“Do most of the Chosen have three servants each?”
“Yes. Lady Naricise has six, but only three are paid by the Crown Prince.”
Samiris’ mind whirled. In the span of about a week, she had gone from working twelve hours a day in order to keep herself and her family fed, to being told that she didn’t have to lift a finger to do even the most basic things if she didn’t want to.
“You know what?” Samiris said, slowly. “The less people in and out of here, the better. I don’t see why I need any additional servants.”
Aster studied Samiris for long moments, then nodded. “As you wish. The Chosen events will begin in the morning. May I suggest that this evening, you take dinner in your rooms and rest?”
“Yes. Have them bring up something hearty, and lots of it. Lady Elise thought that Cyra and I could survive on butter cookies and dried fruit the entire journey here.”
When Samiris asked for a bath, Aster led her into the bathing room and showed her how to operate the taps. Samiris started in amazement when hot water flowed from the brass pipe in the wall, and Aster smiled.
“The Crown Prince is an inventor. Although, many of his creations do not work as well as this one does.”
“How...” Samiris began, letting her fingers play in the running water.
“There are huge boilers above us,” she said, pointing toward the ceiling. “The men pump water into the boilers, then keep the fire stoked all day and night. There are pipes in the walls, and when you open the tap...” Aster gestured toward the hot water in conclusion.
Samiris just blinked in amazement.
“It saves the servants a lot of time. Saves our backs, too.” Aster looked away quickly, as if this were an admission of weakness.
“Then it’s wonderful,” Samiris said, firmly.
Much to the servant’s consternation, Samiris dismissed Aster and bathed alone.
Dinner was waiting for her when she emerged from the steaming bathroom, as were her trunks. Samiris had wrapped herself in a plush robe as soft as goose down, but was excited about wearing her own clothes once again. She threw open the lid, rummaged to the bottom, and came up with breeches and a tunic.
Samiris dressed quickly while Aster was in the other room, feeling as if she was breaking the rules somehow, worried that Aster might shriek and try to pull the comfortable clothes out of Samiris’ hands before she could step into them. When Aster came to the door to announce dinner, she didn’t so much as blink in surprise at Samiris’ appearance. Her face was as emotionless and unreadable as the flat desert landscape of Chaikine had been.
While Samiris ate at the dining table, Aster stood before her and recited, “Your schedule for tomorrow is light. In the morning, you are to convene with the other Chosen for breakfast and formal introduction to the Empress Dowager and her ladies. Afterward, you have a meeting with your dressmaker in your chambers. The rest of the day is yours, to prepare for your first formal dinner that evening.”
“Prepare?” Samiris said, her spoon pausing halfway from her bowl to her mouth.
Aster could consider herself lucky that Samiris had heard a single word she had said. The stew was rich and filling, so full of meat and spiced vegetables that every spoonful was an adventure for her taste buds. The bread was crusty on the outside, warm and soft on the inside. And the butter...the butter...
“Yes.” Aster frowned. “Are there no formal dinners where you live?”
Samiris quirked a grin without humor. “Most of the time, we considered ourselves lucky if there was dinner.”
Aster’s eyes softened like butter set in the sun. “Dinners at the palace are less about eating, and more about seeing and being seen.”
Samiris’ nose wrinkled. “What does that mean?”
“It means that ladies here are more focused on social interaction during meals than they are on eating.”
Samiris frowned, considered. “Why?”
“Because they often eat dinner before dinner, so that they can focus solely on those around them.”
“They eat dinner before eating... dinner?” Samiris thought that she might understand the words better if she heard them a second time, but she was mistaken.
“Yes,” Aster said. “So a formal dinner, for most ladies, is more about looking beautiful and socially interacting with others than it is about eating.”
Samiris sighed and took another bite of the stew. She had so much to learn. Every single thing was different here. She wanted to keep her promise to Tamrah. She wanted to try and win the Crown Prince’s heart, and to do that, she had to try and fit in.
“Please tell me what I need to know,” she said.
Samiris’ head was swimming with information as she lay in bed that night, studying the intricate canopy above her. Aster had done her best to explain how things worked here, had done her best to answer all of Samiris’ questions, but the one question she could never answer was: why?
Why did the women wear dresses, and not breeches and tunics?
Why were the Empress Dowager and her ladies in charge of how often the Chosen saw the Crown Prince?
Why were the Chosen discouraged from speaking to other men during the season, when only one of them would face the Questioning at the end?
Why was Narcise so horrid?
Why was the Choosing season celebrated with balls, dinners and exhibitions when it always ended in death?
Why, why, why, why, why...
Samiris fell asleep with the questions swirling in her head like water down a drain.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The dawn brought no additional clarity. Samiris rose with the sun, dressed in her customary pants and tunic, and propped herself on the deep stone window ledge in the sitting room. She faced out toward the large oak tree and watched the sun bring color back to the gnarled trunk and the whispering green leaves, watched the squirrels begin their day of toil, listened as the birds trumpeted the morning’s arrival.
Samiris wasn’t comforted by the familiar sights and sounds of nature. Her shoulders were tight and hunched nearly to her ears, her eyes were suspicious slits. She nibbled her short nails to the quick as her mind rushed like a torrent of water down a gorge about the possibilities of the day.
“You scared me,” Aster said behind her, hand to her throat. “I thought you’d still be in bed.”
“I’m not used to sleeping in,” Samiris said, her eyes still on the courtyard.
“Breakfast is in two hours,” Aster said.
“Two more hours?” Samiris said, finally turning from the window to look at her servant in dismay. “Why so late?”
“Ladies usually stay in bed much, much later than this.”
Samiris rolled her eyes and turned back to the window. A few hours into her first morning at the castle, and she was already annoyed.
“One of your travelling dresses will have to do for breakfast.” Aster frowned. “You don’t meet with your seamstress until later. But I will do your hair for you, and I’m sure the other ladies will understand your appearance.”
Samiris snorted and kept biting her thumbnail. Her mind went to Narcise. A less understanding person would be hard to find. Samiris’ gut clenched. What if the other Chosen were all as bad as Narcise? What if they were worse? She swallowed around the dirt clod of worry that had appeared in her throat.
“Stop that,” Aster said, waving her hands at Samiris. “You didn’t have much for me to work with as it was. Don’t bite the rest of them off.”
“I’m nervous,” Samiris said, her tone as blunt as a block of wood. “After meeting some of the ladies yesterday, I don’t think I’ll fit in here.”
“There�
�s room enough for all of you,” Aster said, refusing to meet Samiris’ eyes.
That was answer enough for Samiris. Her posture wilted like a dying flower as she slumped against the side of the window. “I promised my sister I would try to win the Crown Prince’s heart, that I would try to break the curse. But what’s the point of trying when I’m so far behind already?”
Aster considered her, her head cocked to the side. “It can be very surprising,” she said, carefully, “who people fall in love with. Has anyone told you the story of Beatrice?”
Samiris’ forehead wrinkled. “No.”
“She was a Northern lady, yes, but her family was smaller and poorer than most. Her appearance wasn’t ideal, either. She... well, she loved to bake.”
Samiris smiled at Aster’s diplomacy.
Aster continued, “Yet, the Crown Prince fell in love with her, and she with him.” The corners of her mouth drooped. “Everyone thought that she would be the one to break the curse...” Aster looked out over the sitting room, frowning.
“What happened?” Samiris asked, when the silence became too heavy a burden for her to bear.
“She burned. Like all the others. No one knows why.” Aster’s eyes were sad. “They say that she must have been the best actress in the world, for she had convinced everyone of her love, even herself.”
Samiris frowned.
“There are others,” Aster continued, “who hold Beatrice up as proof that this curse cannot be broken. They say that since the fae princess is dead, something went wrong with the curse, and it is now permanent.”
Samiris swallowed deeply. “What do you think?”
Aster met her eyes, her expression as solemn as a priest at a funeral. “I think the one benefit of being a peasant is that I’ll never be Chosen.”
It took nearly the full two hours before Aster stepped around Samiris, eyeing her as one might look at a horse they were on the cusp of buying. Her eyes ran up and down Samiris’ frame, taking in the hair that had been washed, brushed and fashioned into a braided circlet on her head, the stiff, brown brocade dress that was serviceable but by no stretch of the imagination pretty, and the uncomfortable hunch of Samiris’ shoulders.