by Jill M Beene
“Of that, I have no doubt,” he said. “What a spectacle you were, flying around that track! And cutting off that dress! People will be talking about it for years to come.”
Samiris winced. “Gia’s going to kill me for that.”
“Looks like she’s going to have to stand in line for the pleasure,” Kinsley said, laughing.
Artem was approaching with long strides, fire in his eyes, his jaw clenched. He shouldered past Kinsley roughly, who just chuckled. Artem unclasped his cape and tossed it up to Samiris, all the while looking like he wanted to murder her and planned on doing so as soon as there weren’t so many pesky witnesses.
“Cover yourself,” he snapped.
Samiris looked down. She wore her linen shift, which had hiked above her knees because she was astride Behemoth. Her corset was still tied, so she was well-covered where it was important.
Samiris rolled her eyes, slung his cape about her shoulders, but didn’t pull it closed in front.
“Why thank you, Captain Trego,” she said. “I was getting a bit chilled.”
Lord Kinsley laughed as Artem’s eyes fairly threw sparks. But Samiris just gave Behemoth a gentle nudge back toward the stables. She wasn’t interested in sticking around for a lecture; she had completed what she had set out to do.
Three points closer, Samiris thought. Three points closer to freedom.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Now that the Opening Ball was done, there was a formal dinner or a ball every week. The other Chosen tittered with delight at breakfast whenever another event was announced, but Samiris just gritted her teeth. The only one who made the events bearable was Lord Kinsley, who had been called away to Brizelle the week before. Samiris would have no friendly face to sit next to at dinner tomorrow, nor would she have a partner to whisper with in the shallows at the edge of the whirlpool of dancing tonight.
She busied herself with the Chosen events during the day, letting her mind run free with plans for the garden and the Sands while her face remained safely blank. Surprisingly, the bright spot in the Chosen events was the Crown Prince. When he spoke with her, he listened closely and asked careful questions that made Samiris feel like he cared. She still was in no danger of falling in love with him, but they were assembling the framework of a tenuous friendship at least.
But as soon as Samiris retired to her chambers after the last Chosen event of the day, she shucked her dress off impatiently, donned her tunic and trousers and boots and strode down to the kitchen garden. Here’s where the real work was happening. Here’s where important things were getting done. Try as she might to beat him, Artem was often elbow-deep in soil by the time she made it down there. Invariably he would tsk and make some snide, sarcastic comment about her lack of commitment to the cause.
Samiris was surprised to find that they were friends now, too. Oh, they still bickered like territorial crows over many issues, but she discovered you couldn’t spend that much time working side by side with someone without developing some kind of rapport. It was hard to translate that to court life, however. Artem still demanded that she hold up her end of the bargain, and Samiris still detested the flippant frivolity of eight-course dinners and tea parties. Not to mention the balls.
Samiris stood to one side of the ballroom, away from the swirling skirts and eddies of the dance. She liked the dress Gia had made for her, a sapphire-blue creation with a neckline that only showed her clavicles. It fit her form to the waist, then draped gently to the floor. Compared to the riots of bows and flounces that the other ladies wore, Samiris’ gown was shockingly simple--austere, even. She didn’t care. She could move in it, and the large sapphire and feather brooch pinned in her hair in lieu of a hat didn’t cause her neck to ache.
Samiris barely saw the dancers before her, barely heard the lilting strains of the melody played by the stringed instruments in the corner. She was busy calculating how many rabbits she could skin and hang to dry the next morning before breakfast. They were low on dried meat and legumes. Besides eggs, these were the only sources of protein the garden had to offer as of yet, although Marla had begun to experiment with making yogurt and cheeses.
They would need another kitchen station if Marla was to expand that operation, and maybe another couple of workers. Samiris sighed. Although all of the indentured servants of the castle had sent out letters, Samiris and the others thought it best to keep the actual day-to-day workings of the kitchen garden as secret as possible. The less people who knew how it worked, the less chance there was of someone letting it slip to people who wouldn’t be pleased. There were many in Teymara, Samiris knew, who profited by growing crops here and selling them for an exorbitant sum elsewhere. Not everyone would approve of what Samiris and the others were doing.
Samiris was so involved in her thoughts that she didn’t notice Artem standing next to her until he cleared his throat.
“Oh, hello,” she said. “I didn’t notice you. Sorry.”
Artem smiled down at her. “You know, a man with a fragile self-esteem wouldn’t last five minutes in your presence.”
“His hypothetical problem, not mine,” Samiris said, shrugging.
Artem chuckled. “True. What were you thinking about?”
“How to skin a rabbit faster,” she said.
“Naturally. What else?”
Samiris frowned at his teasing sarcasm and peered up at him. “Did you want something?”
He chuckled. “Just saw you over here all alone and wanted to say hello.”
“That’s far too civilized,” Samiris said. “My guess is you’re trying to hide from Ladonna.”
He grinned. “That’s not too far from the truth, but I did want to say hello.”
A slim white hand came to rest on Artem’s shoulder.
“Captain Trego,” Narcise purred, angling her body close to his. “I’m beginning to feel neglected.”
Samiris didn’t even bother to hide the eye roll that was nearly involuntary at the words.
“Oh?” Artem replied with a smile that looked cousin to a grimace.
“You’ve danced with three other Ladies, but haven’t even asked me yet.” Narcise pouted prettily, fluttering her eyelashes.
Samiris was certain Narcise had practiced that expression in the mirror to get it just right.
“An oversight that will soon be remedied, my Lady,” Artem said, his voice polite.
But Samiris could hear the irritation in his tone.
“Oh,” Narcise gasped, her eyes wide as she looked at Samiris. “I’m sorry. Were you busy with her?”
“Not at all,” Samiris said, with a grin and sudden inspiration. “In fact, he was just talking about how he was trying to get up the nerve to go talk to you. He’s very shy, after all. You may have to do all the talking for him, and not take no for an answer when you demand another dance. He’s quite lonely.”
Samiris picked up her skirts and hurried away, laughing internally at the way that the murderous expression on Artem’s face contrasted Narcise’s suspicious delight. Now Artem was occupied, and Samiris had time to get out of this ballroom, out of that conversation, out of the dress, which, although beautiful, was still more uncomfortable than her trousers and tunic.
A hand shot out and gripped her upper arm gently, stopping her. She looked up into the eyes of Lord Kinsley. Samiris smiled and threw her arms around his neck impulsively. He hugged her back and laughed, a rich, booming sound that had every eye in the place turning. Whispers of gossip spread like a wind through dry grass around them.
“Oh,” Samiris stuttered, releasing him instantly. “I guess I shouldn’t have thrown myself at you in public like that.”
Kinsley didn’t release his hold on her waist, just chuckled and said, “It will give the court something to talk about for a couple of days.”
Samiris glanced around them, and saw that he was right. They
were indeed the topic of many conversations. The Crown Prince, the Empress Dowager and Lady Evanora were whispering on the dais while looking their way. She caught Artem giving Lord Kinsley a murderous look, and Narcise watching Artem closely. Even the Marquess of Brizelle had noticed the exchange.
“Just wonderful,” Samiris muttered. “Just what I wanted. More attention.”
Lord Kinsley laughed and swept her easily up into the dance that was just starting. “I came back early to see how you were. I thought I could stay a couple of days before I head East.”
Samiris smiled up at him, a real smile. Though she didn’t love him in a romantic way, she felt warmth in her heart at knowing that he cared for her, at least as one friend cares for another. That’s what this was, right? As she studied his face more closely, she felt her smile waver. Lord Kinsley didn’t notice.
“... and I realized they didn’t need me there another day after all. I ditched the carriage and made better time on horseback.”
“How wonderful,” she said, but her tone was off. Samiris was grateful that he was involved in his story.
“So what mischief have you gotten yourself into since I’ve been gone?” he asked, eyes twinkling.
As always, just as she was on the cusp of telling him what she had really been up to--about the garden, the midnight deliveries, and the servants who were her friends, she stopped.
“Well, a pig interrupted the garden tea the other day...” she said, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “And I may have encouraged a little hysteria.”
“Just a little?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.
“Alright, I encouraged a great deal of hysteria.”
“Tell me about it.”
Samiris did. But she told him the easy version...about a pig who had wandered into the garden tea, and how Samiris had prompted a full-scale riot. She didn’t know why she hadn’t brought herself to tell Kinsley about the garden, about the Sands, about what they were doing. She told herself that it was because she didn’t want to betray anyone’s confidence, but she wasn’t really sure.
If she were to marry Kinsley, shouldn’t he know about what was most important to her? Shouldn’t they be not only friends, but good friends? Samiris pushed such thoughts to the back of her mind, determined to think about them only when they didn’t make her uncomfortable, when those thoughts weren’t accompanied by doubts that fluttered in her stomach like rustling leaves blown by an ominous wind.
When Kinsley leaned down and whispered, “Well, should we scandalize them all and dance together again?”
Samiris grinned and nodded her assent.
The next morning found Samiris on an outing with most of the Chosen. They were on a nature walk, the name given to the slow-moving meandering of ladies who liked nature--as long as it was kept under glass or at a safe distance and couldn’t get them dirty. Fitzhumphrey had taken to bed with a cold and wasn’t with them, so it was a rather sullen, straggling group that Artem led through the outer gardens of the palace. This was where the gardeners’ realm ended, and nature was allowed to sprawl mostly unchecked.
But the ladies had been promised a picnic, and there was last night’s ball to talk about once they were there, so they soldiered on. Samiris amused herself by pretending to be daft and absolutely useless, asking for Artem’s help over logs that were no more than six inches high, and ducking whenever a bird flew by. When they reached a small creek, with large, dry, flat stones placed across it, Samiris paused at the edge and pretended to dither.
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly walk across the stones in the water,” Samiris finally said, blinking stupidly up at Artem with her eyes wide. “My feet might get wet.”
Artem nearly bared his teeth at her, but Samiris swallowed back her laugh like a huge bite of frosting as she continued.
“Someone will have to carry me,” she said, primly, folding her silk-covered arms across her chest.
“Me too!” Ladonna called out from Samiris’ side.
“The water’s three inches deep!” Artem argued, gesturing toward the stream.
It was three yards wide, and the water was moving as gentle as a wandering lamb.
“But our feet,” Samiris insisted, battering her eyelashes at Artem.
“Yes,” Narcise said. “They’d get wet, and we might catch ill, and then we’d all be sick like the Crown Prince.”
“Most certainly,” Samiris said with a solemn nod. “Captain Trego will just have to carry all of us.”
“Me first!” Ladonna squealed, latching on to Artem’s arm with a vise-like grip.
Samiris smirked and stood back as the ladies clamored for Artem’s attention. Artem’s mouth was set in a grim line and his eyes shot daggers at Samiris, but he was the pinnacle of politeness. One by one, he carried his unwanted burdens across the rocks. By the time he got to Samiris, a sheen of sweat had appeared on his brow. Samiris thought it most likely was caused by stress and not over-exertion.
Samiris was prepared when he lifted her with a bit more force than was necessary, and she was ready with her closed fan.
“Ow!” she cried, while smacking him on the head. “Do be gentle.”
Artem snaked his hand to her rump and pinched it sharply. “Knock it off.”
Samiris gasped, truly shocked, then chuckled. “How did you even find my posterior through all that fabric?”
“Well, that’s half the fun, guessing where things might be,” Artem said.
Samiris smirked. “Just think, I could be happy in the kitchen garden right now. You wouldn’t have to deal with me at all if you hadn’t forced me to try and act like I belonged in the Chosen.”
Artem gave an unintelligible, “mmph,” as he adjusted his grip. “You aren’t going to get out of this arrangement by being difficult,” he finally said. “So why act like you’re afraid of a little water?”
“Maybe I can’t swim,” Samiris protested.
“Oh yes, you can,” Artem said. He leaned in and whispered. “If I remember correctly, you prefer the backstroke. Or maybe you can only swim by moonlight? In ponds?”
Color rose in Samiris’ face like a ripening apple. “You... you...” she spluttered.
Artem deposited her on the other side of the creek briskly. “No more games, Samiris. You won’t win.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
The next afternoon, there was a letter with her father’s seal propped against her mantel.
Samiris,
I am so sorry to report this, but things at home have taken a turn. Tamrah was complaining about not feeling well for a few days, and two days ago, she didn’t get out of bed. Kalan fetched the healer, who confirmed it. There is no easy way to tell you this, especially in a letter. Tamrah has the Wasting.
You have helped us so much already; the food you sent from the capital will be enough to see the whole village comfortably through the winter. I hate to ask, but for Tamrah, I will. Is there any way you can come home to us?
Kalan has been doing too much already, and I hate to ask him for more. But I am unable to take over Tamrah’s duties, so we are now completely reliant on the generosity of the village. They have been gracious so far. After all, it was you that sent the food. But I don’t know how long the generosity will last.
If you have friends there, will you please ask them for help? I know you are proud, but if there is ever a time to humble yourself enough to ask, it is now.
Much love to you my darling,
Father
Samiris’ breath came in quick gasps, her heartbeat thundered in her head like Behemoth’s hoof beats. The paper trembled in her hand like a dry leaf in the wind. Tamrah. Sweet, beautiful, kind, witty Tamrah had the Wasting, the disease that had stolen her father’s mobility, his ability to provide for his daughters. The disease ransacked muscles and inflicted pain. And now Tamrah had it.
Samiris
’ mind was a whirlpool of despair and guilt. Maybe, if she had been at home taking care of her duties, Tamrah wouldn’t have gotten sick. Her sister had probably been working too hard trying to do everything. If Samiris had only been there...
She clutched her father’s letter and read it through once more. Friends? Samiris wanted to laugh. Most of her friends were servants, and they were less free than she was. Lord Kinsley was away from the capital and couldn’t be reached. Her mind flicked to Artem, but she immediately dismissed the idea.
And it had been days since this letter was sent. At least a week where her sister and father needed her desperately, and she was safe and well-fed in this castle, playing dress up for people who would never care about her. Samiris felt bile rise in her throat.
Samiris strode to her dresser and divided up the remaining hektes. Half went into her leather satchel. She wrapped the others in a length of spare silk and jotted a letter to Marla. They would have to keep the garden going without her. Samiris wondered briefly if Artem would help them after she was gone. She hoped so.
Samiris packed light; she would be leaving most everything behind. Her gowns and jeweled slippers had no place in Faro. She felt like a snake shedding a skin. Despite her determination to not form any attachments while she was here, her new life in Teymara stuck and pulled at her even as she mentally peeled it off and abandoned it.
Logic told her it had been days since her father had penned the letter and a few more hours wouldn’t make a difference, but Samiris could barely sit still as she waited for night to drape its cloak of silence and secrecy over the castle. She told Aster that she wouldn’t be down to the gardens, that she had a headache and wished to be alone. The maid gave one glance at Samiris’ face drawn in tense lines and nodded, shutting the door behind her. It was all Samiris could do not to pull her into a crushing farewell hug, but Aster must remain completely ignorant of Samiris’ plan or the girl might be punished.
Hours past nightfall, Samiris cracked open her chamber door. The castle slumbered; she saw no one on her way down the silent halls and stairway to the kitchens. Once there, she filched a loaf of bread, some apples and a wheel of thick-rinded cheese. It would be tight, but it would be enough to keep her until she reached Faro. She ignored the pang of regret that shook her when she thought of never seeing Marla and the rest ever again.