“You’re a lord,” I say, but it’s almost a question.
Filadon smiles briefly. “I am, and I have a friendship with the prince many are jealous of, but in return I gain very little. He does not shower me with gifts and rewards, nor do I expect them. Which means, in the court, that my worth is improved only so much. I am still just a lord with a small holding of little interest to anyone but myself.”
“The prince won’t listen to you?”
“He might,” Filadon concedes. “But until now, he’s been far too wrapped up in greater concerns—dangers he dared not turn his back on.”
It’s probably too soon to ask if the true princess has any thoughts on the subject, given her time living in the city. She’s only been at court for a week or two now.
“I’ll think about this,” Filadon says, turning back to his meal. “Perhaps we can discuss it again in a few days.”
“I’d appreciate that,” I say, aware that I am asking a lot of him. Melly shoots me a grateful smile and turns the conversation to Filadon’s day, spent in company with the prince and his betrothed.
After dinner, I retire to my room only to be called back a few minutes later by Melly, who gently reminds me of the cobbler’s impending visit, coming to measure me for slippers to match all my outfits.
“Oh,” I manage, and force a smile.
I commission shoes once a year and I hate it. Baba and I ride two days east to the nearest large town on the Kharite Road. There, a cobbler measures my feet, taking into account the turn of my left ankle and heel such that I walk on the outside of my foot rather than the sole. This affects the way the sole of the shoe itself must be shaped, as well as the overall shoe. After much muttering and grumbling, the cobbler provides us with a pair of riding boots, a pair of daily use slippers, and one set of fancy embroidered slippers, all at a relatively outrageous price. He’s the only cobbler who has been able to make shoes that don’t hurt me.
“Does this cobbler—has he worked with any other customers like me?” I ask as I follow Melly to the outer sitting room.
Her eyes darken with understanding. “I can’t say, but I’m sure he’ll do a good job. He serves a number of noble families. His reputation will be on the line if he doesn’t do well by you.”
I wish I could rest as comfortably in this knowledge as Melly does.
She reaches out to pat my shoulder. “It will be fine,” she says, as if she can see the future.
The cobbler is a middle-aged man with a too-wide smile and well-manicured hands. He wears a pair of simple leather slippers, embroidered in dark colors—understated and elegant, meant to show off his skill without being pretentious.
“I understand,” he says as he waves me to the sofa, “that you will require special shoes. I am quite looking forward to the challenge.”
My smile, stiff before, feels like it is carved upon my face. I seat myself silently.
“Now then, let’s have a look—”
“These are the slippers I have been wearing at home,” I say in an effort to prepare him so that he won’t say something I’ll hate him for. “They fit me perfectly, so you should be able to use them as a template for my new shoes.”
“Do they?” he asks, taking them from me. He sets the right slipper down and focuses on the left, turning it this way and that. “Very interesting construction. I don’t see why such a turn of the sole is necessary.”
Because I would rather not have seams beneath the side of my foot?
“As I mentioned,” Melly says, “the construction must suit my cousin’s needs.”
“Quite, quite, veria. If I can take a look at her foot, we’ll see what I can do to make an even better slipper.”
I bow to the inevitable with what grace I can muster and extend my foot.
“Hardly what I am used to,” he tells Melly as if I were not attached to the foot he is inspecting. As if I had chosen to be born with a deformed foot merely to aggravate him. “But of course I can work with it.”
He sits back without having made a single tracing, and after a quick conversation regarding colors and beads, the passing over of various swatches of fabric, and the promise given of new slippers to be delivered in the next two days, he departs.
“That wasn’t too bad,” Melly says, watching me carefully.
I shrug, well aware it won’t be so easy. “Depends on what he delivers.”
The following morning I walk into the dining room to find Filadon and Melly deep in discussion.
“Rae,” Melly says, catching sight of me, but there’s no warmth in her voice. She gives herself a slight shake and says, somewhat more like her usual self, “Come join us.”
“Is something wrong?” I ask, crossing to her.
“Not at all,” Filadon says, looking like a cat that has got into the milk. “Things have come right, and with your help, I think we may have an answer to a rather difficult question Kestrin has put me.”
“Do let her sit down, Filadon,” Melly says. “She hasn’t yet had a bite to eat.”
“The prince?” I demand, wondering what I could possibly have to do with him.
“Yes, yes, Zayyid Kestrin. Do sit down or Ramella will have my head.”
“Among other things,” Melly mutters in my ear as I bend to give her a quick hug. I swallow a laugh and slip into the seat beside her. “Don’t let him bully you. He’s got one of his harebrained ideas.”
“Those are typically such fun,” I say, starting to grin.
“Sometimes,” she agrees. “Harebrained ideas at court are a bit different.”
“Now, Melly,” Filadon says, taking her hand with a mischievous smile. “Don’t prejudice our dear cousin.”
She says with mock severity, “Rae is here to visit and keep me company. Not anything else.” She eyes Filadon darkly. “And she’s my cousin, not yours.”
“Details,” he replies, waving a hand. “Let’s put the question to her, why don’t we?”
“Please do,” I say. “Before I die of curiosity.”
Filadon sobers as he turns to me. “I assume you heard all the news about the impostor and the true princess. You haven’t asked a word.”
“It wasn’t my concern,” I say. “I only heard that the true princess has been found, and the impostor executed. Rather terribly.”
“She was hanged,” Melly says. “Though I doubt that got out as far as the tale of what she would have done to the true princess.”
“The princess prevailed upon Kestrin and the king to change the sentence,” Filadon explains.
I’m glad to hear that, at least. The initial sentence involving barrels and nails still makes my skin crawl. “But what does any of that have to do with me?”
Filadon studies me in silence.
“Go on and tell her,” Melly says.
He sighs. “To put it plainly, the new princess has asked Kestrin’s aid in finding someone trustworthy to help her. Someone who will not divulge her secrets or betray her.”
“Help?” I ask mildly.
“Not help,” Filadon says quickly. “She’s maids and servants aplenty. This is different.”
“He means a royal attendant,” Melly explains.
Me? A royal attendant? I haven’t even seen the court yet, let alone developed any concept of dress or propriety or anything, really. How could I possibly attend the princess? A small chuckle breaks from my lips. “That’s absurd.”
“Rae, let me explain,” Filadon says, sitting forward.
“Please do,” I say. “And while you’re at it, tell me why the princess would want a clubfooted country girl with no clue about the court, or fixing her hair, or doing whatever else it is attendants do.”
“She has a maid for her hair, and three other attendants who can see to the rest,” Filadon replies. “You don’t have to know the court; in fact, she needs someone who doesn’t have previous alliances. You just have to do whatever it is you think she needs.”
“Such as?”
He glances to M
elly, who answers. “Make sure she knows about our customs so she doesn’t offend anyone by mistake. Listen for gossip and intrigues and tell her what she needs to know. Keep her confidences, I suppose. And do what she asks you to do without betraying her trust.”
“Exactly,” Filadon says. “You’d be part of Alyrra’s entourage, if you will, staying by her side and giving good counsel.”
Good counsel? “I can tell her about horses,” I say dryly. “Not much else.”
Filadon shakes his head. “You might be surprised.”
“I suppose that’s possible.” Though vanishingly unlikely.
Filadon nods as if that has decided it. “Good, then. We ought to be able to meet Kestrin after breakfast.”
“What?” I blink at him and then look down at my still-empty plate.
“She hasn’t agreed to it yet,” Melly interrupts sharply.
“Let her think about it,” Filadon says, stealing her argument. “I’m sure Kestrin will want to discuss it with her, and they can both see what they think. After all, Kestrin can’t decide whether or not to recommend her if he hasn’t met her.”
“I don’t know,” Melly says, reaching over to spoon spiced liver onto my plate. “The royal attendants are all from the nobility themselves, Rae. Younger daughters of families with smaller holdings, women who won’t inherit much and so must make a good match. It’s a bit of a stretch for Filadon to propose you because you’ve never lived here and aren’t his direct relation.”
As Melly’s cousin, my standing will be negligible. Her lack of lineage and title might be overlooked through her marriage, but I’m just a poor relation brought in from the country. The other attendants will resent that and the court will hardly respect me for it. I have only to look at my four days of traveling, feeling more like an extra bundle stashed in the carriage than a person, to know that. Just as telling, Filadon doesn’t argue this particular point. But . . . attending the princess also means I’ll be able to talk to her—she must have already heard about the snatchers, living on the outside as she has. She might listen.
“I understand,” I say slowly. Melly purses her lips, still worried, so I add, “Anyway, can you imagine what Bean would say if she found out I refused to meet the prince on my third day in town? She’d never forgive me.”
Melly laughs. “True enough.”
Chapter
9
“Don’t forget to address the prince as ‘zayyid.’”
I shoot Filadon a glare. “I do know some things, even if I am from the country.”
He just gives a little hmm. I wipe my hands nervously on my skirt as we wait for Kestrin to join us. Of course I’m to call him “zayyid,” but then what? Curtsy and . . . say what? I bite my lip. Perhaps I shouldn’t have cut off Filadon quite so harshly. “Anything else?”
“Be yourself.”
“I thought that was the last thing you’re supposed to do at court.”
“True,” Filadon says. “I suppose you could try being Melly.”
I thump his arm. “You’re useless. How does the prince put up with you?”
He grins, glancing away. We sit together in a small salon of sorts, low-backed sofas running along the wall, a few small hexagonal tables bearing silver trays set here and there, ready to hold drinks or food as the need may arise. I clear my throat, look around again at the understated wealth of what appears to be a rarely used room. Chatting about being an attendant over breakfast and waiting in a well-appointed room to meet a prince are two very different things, it turns out. “I’m not so sure about this, Filadon,” I say unhappily.
“I didn’t think you’d have second thoughts so soon,” he says, frowning.
I haven’t had time to have first thoughts. “I don’t really know anything about the princess,” I say, which is neither here nor there.
“You’ll meet her soon, if all goes well. She’s a bit more like you than she is like me, which is why she needs an attendant she can trust.”
She certainly does after her last companion betrayed her so thoroughly, though what Filadon means by comparing me to himself, I’m not sure. “Why would she trust me?”
More than that, why would she trust a relative of Filadon’s if she’s looking for someone without prior political allegiances? Unless, I suppose, it’s essentially impossible to find someone without any allegiances at all, and this is one that she doesn’t distrust.
“You’ll have to earn her trust,” Filadon allows. “But you’ll still be a sight better than her other attendants.”
“What do you mean?”
Filadon sighs. “Mina isn’t too bad, but the other two—Jasmine and Zaria—have not quite realized they should respect her.”
“She’s a princess. Why would anyone think it acceptable to insult her?”
“They see a girl who was tricked out of her rank and title, which they blame on her perceived foolishness, rather than the impostor’s treachery.”
“Tricked?” I echo in disbelief.
He turns a level gaze on me. “Trickery is just another word for betrayal.”
It’s a truth I’ve known half my life, the little tricks played on me by the town children because I could not keep up with them—because I was clumsy and slow and different—tasting of betrayal. Still, calling what was done to the princess nothing more than trickery seems a bit much.
“You must consider that the princess spent the whole of the winter happily working as a goose girl,” Filadon goes on. “There is no one here, except perhaps you and Melly, who can understand that. As far as her attendants and half the court are concerned, that stands witness to her stupidity.”
“I think I’d go back to the geese if I were her,” I say with some asperity.
“Which is why you would make her an excellent attendant,” Filadon says.
“I don’t know. It doesn’t sound like she’s had much power or choice in all the things that have been done to her. Sure, I can understand her preferring hard work to court politics—at least on the surface. But . . .” I shake my head. “I don’t think I want to get involved in power at that level. I don’t understand it, and I won’t be able to help her.”
Filadon leans back, watching me. “Let me tell you a little story,” he says quietly. “One that stays between us. Once upon a time, a prince learned that his betrothed had been betrayed and replaced. So he went to the true princess and offered her a chance to return. She refused.”
I stare.
“She is only here because, in the end, she chose to return in order to serve our people better and stand by Kestrin when he most needed it. Do not be confused by what else you might hear.”
“You’re saying she has more power than the stories grant her.”
“A great deal more,” Filadon says. “The court will come to see that eventually, and she can manage the politics. In the meantime, she needs someone she can lean on without having to wonder if she can trust them to be there.”
“I see.” It’s got to be hard to have gone through what she did, and end up someplace where everything is political and her attendants . . . aren’t what she needs. I suppose I could stand in for her for a little while, if she wants me, as unlikely as that seems.
“So now that you understand the princess,” Filadon says, “tell me what you hope to gain from being an attendant.”
“Gain?” I echo. It’s true I want to speak to the princess about the snatchers, but I’m not aiming to be her attendant in order to use her, at least no more than she intends to use me.
“Why else would you agree?”
“Because you bullied me into it?”
He smirks. “Hardly. You would have said no if you didn’t want to be here.”
“Told you already, Bean would have my head if I passed up a chance to meet the prince. I’m just keeping myself safe from future sisterly assault.”
“Could be. Could be you think it will take you up in the world.”
I stare at him. “Up? The farthest up I want to get
is riding my horse. And maybe having a good view of the wedding.”
Filadon’s eyes flicker with amusement, but his expression remains serious. “Some attendants are made rich through the rewards they’re given for pleasing the royal family.”
“And some country girls are perfectly happy with their horses and goats as is. I’m not interested in, well, having your life. No offense meant.”
He laughs, but I catch the flash of surprise in his eyes. “I’m heartbroken.”
“It’ll mend.”
“So why would you do this? Seriously, now, Rae.”
I consider the snatchers, and the truth of a princess who has no one to lean on, and the stories Filadon has told me. “I suppose I like that she wanted the impostor hanged rather than tortured.”
Filadon raises his eyebrows, but I can’t tell his thoughts past that affectation. “Interesting.”
I cross my arms, watching him. “You’ve changed. Or maybe you were always this way, I just didn’t see it when you visited.” Filadon was always cheerful and genuine and—open in a way that he isn’t here. He’s still deeply himself, but there are more layers to him now, and I can’t quite parse his motivations.
He sighs. “A horse ranch is a little different from a court.”
“Wouldn’t have guessed,” I say, waving a hand at the richness of the room. “Must be the lack of manure.”
“Oh, there’s plenty of that here.”
I let out a bark of laughter. His eyes laugh back at me, and I find myself saying, “I don’t like that sometimes I can’t tell what you’re about.”
“I wouldn’t be much of a politician if you could.”
“Maybe, but whose gain were you thinking of when you suggested me for this post?”
He doesn’t even blink. “The only trouble with you, Rae, is you’re a little too straightforward.”
“It’s the country girl in me. You didn’t answer my question.”
“I’d rather not play word games with you.”
“So you try to distract me?”
He chuckles. “Not much likelihood of that, is there? Once you get your teeth in something, you don’t let go.”
“Why thank you,” I say with mock coldness. “I don’t know when I was last complimented so nicely.”
The Theft of Sunlight Page 5