Chapter 1 #2
As Nes handed over the parchment, Rihan knocked, and a shiver ran down her spine; the letter addressed to her father hadn’t left her person since she’d taken it from Mama’s hand four days earlier.
This was it; she’d made it. Now it was time to put her best foot forward and hope the court would hire her in Papa’s stead.
When a voice boomed for him to enter, Rihan whispered, “One moment,” before ducking inside.
Gods, she hoped she got this position. Probably stupidly, she’d abandoned her low-paying but consistent tutoring post back in Napivol to come to the capital. Hopefully the king would hear her out, and maybe invite her to stay. They did have the same strange magic, after all.
As her patience waned, she studied the spiraling staircase.
Windowless and narrow, it climbed from landing to landing with one room on each level, giving no hint of what lay two feet beyond.
Like the thick walls around the city, the fortified tower spoke of war, a time long-past in Selwas’s history.
Once a stronghold, now a pleasure palace, hints of Kirce’s old life remained.
Foot tapping, Nes was tracing mortar lines in the wall when Rihan finally opened the door and beckoned for her, his previous friendly demeanor replaced with a soldier’s stoicism.
“The king will see you now.” He gave her a small nod, and his mouth quivered at the corner, his kind smile nearly breaking through his professional mask.
Cheeks warm as the reality of her situation settled in, she inhaled one last steadying breath and stepped into the room.
An echo of Papa’s resonant voice told her to hold her head high, read the room, and project quiet confidence. She attempted to do just that.
King Hethtar rose from his seat at a massive desk that had to be larger than her bed back at home.
He was huge, too, at least as tall as her father, with rich brown hair, a shade darker than hers and far more luxurious.
Maybe fifteen or twenty years her senior, he was older, but not as haggard as she’d expected for someone whose role was to lead the kingdom.
In contrast to the solidly built king, the room around them was sort of .
. . puffy: well-decorated, but soft, in the literal sense of the word.
The walls were covered in rich red and gold damask.
The expansive, tiled floor, softened by a plush woven rug.
Flowing draperies flanked the massive windows.
And . . . was that a painting of a cat above the fire?
What do I say?
Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to answer the king’s summons in her father’s stead. But the alternative, writing back, could have led to a lost opportunity. This was better. Whatever this was.
Behind her, Rihan coughed softly before closing the door, jolting Nesrina from her reverie.
Curtsy!
She dipped low, startled into respectful action. “Your Majesty.”
“Sit.”
The command drew her back to her full height, and she crossed the room, feeling a bit like a child intruding in her father’s private study. His desk was so tall it nearly reached her shoulders when she was seated, which didn’t help her feel any less infantilized by the situation.
“Where’s Hothan?” King Hethtar’s voice was deep and resonant, attempting to echo off the walls.
Guess this is why things are so padded. Gripping the arms of her chair, she steeled herself for the conversation ahead. “My father’s no longer with us, Your Majesty.”
The king blinked, his mossy green eyes distant as he processed her words. “Hothan Tarisden has passed?”
“Yes. Almost two years ago, he was mugged, alone on the road from Midlake to Napivol.” She matched the king’s clipped speech. Keeping it short also kept emotions at bay. Time helped, but she missed her papa.
King Hethtar turned his gaze to the fireplace, losing himself in the flickering flames for a minute, two minutes, three. As she waited, Nesrina traced the spiral filigree on her chair arm and had a staredown with the engraved front panel of his desk.
When the king turned back to her, his eyes glistened with unshed tears. “This news changes things.”
She watched his hands, uncertain of proper etiquette.
Did one make eye contact with the king? From her father’s stories, she gathered Ehmet Hethtar wasn’t a formal sort of person, in spite of his title and position over the land.
But Papa’s stories were old, possibly embellished, and the prince was now a king.
“Let me extend my sincere condolences to you and your mother. Hothan was a great man.”
She gave him a small smile.
“He taught me everything I know about being a naughtbirin.” After a long pause, he went on, “Eight years. Every day from when I was eight until I went off to the Institute. He never did care much for formal educations, did he? Never missed a damned symposium though. For all his talk of boats and books, he sure did love a good research paper. I’ve never met anyone else like him. ”
Frowning, despite her attempts not to, she nodded as he spoke. Hearing about Papa from someone who’d esteemed him too had her imagining his portly belly, his graying hair, and wondering if he’d ever sat in the chair she currently occupied.
Lost in his own thoughts, the king’s face drooped until he looked positively morose, the shine was back in his eyes as he blinked at Nesrina. “I should have reached out when he wasn’t at the symposium last summer. I never corresponded enough, and I let our friendship fade. I’m sorry.”
She nodded, not sure what else to do. It wasn’t as though his apology was for her. The distance between King Hethtar and her father was likely less of the king’s fault than he thought. According to Papa, it was fine to take their money, but fraternizing with the aristocracy was impermissible.
“You know why I summoned your father.”
She nodded, again, and the king stared back. Oh, that was a question. “To return to his former post as magic tutor, to instruct your children.”
He dipped his chin. “Are you a naughtbirin, then?”
“I am, yes.”
“Are you as skilled as he is—was?”
“Yes.” It felt strange to compare her own abilities to Papa’s. But the fact was, she’d grown to be as talented, if not more than him, by the time she’d come of age, years back.
“What of teaching?”
“What of it?” Oh, shit. Why’d I say that?
He chuckled, and in that moment his demeanor shifted.
It was like he’d been carrying a sack of bricks on his back, and the weight dropped away.
Leaning forward lightly, King Hethtar intertwined his fingers and tapped his thumbs together.
“Have you any experience? Would you consider yourself as skilled of an instructor as Hothan?”
“He taught me well. Boats and books.”
The king returned her smile.
Bolstered, Nesrina continued, “What I lack in experience, I make up for by being a quick study. And as we both know, practical skills come quickly when one has a solid foundational knowledge. I’ve been instructing the watercourser and firebearer children of Kedran Rashooli, a—”
“Honey merchant from Napivol. Yes. All right.” He leaned back casually. “Fantastic. Thank you, Miss . . .?” the king trailed off, unsure of her surname.
In Selwas, men and women kept their last name and passed it to their sons and daughters, respectively. Her middle name was Tarisden, her father’s surname, but it wasn’t hers. King Hethtar clearly didn’t remember who Hothan had married, no matter how close they may have been in decades past.
“Kiappa. Nesrina Kiappa,” she offered.
“Miss Kiappa, you’re dismissed.” He gave her the smallest of smiles. “I must speak with my queen. We’ll summon you shortly.”
Rihan deposited her in a private sitting room where she waited impatiently for what felt like hours until a servant, an older man with livery that marked him as an earthshaper, retrieved her and escorted her to meet with the king and queen.
Head high. Read the room. Quiet confidence. Her father’s old advice helped a bit, but Nes still found her thumb brushing circles over the smooth nail of her index finger as she stepped over the threshold into an enormous salon.
“Miss Kiappa.” The king’s welcome carried over from where he stood beside a small round table set with four chairs.
The queen was at his side, one slender hand resting on her chair back.
“Please, join us.” He gestured to the table, and the queen stepped aside, revealing a delightful array of little biscuits and sandwiches beside a colorful pot of tea.
Nesrina’s stomach grumbled, and she shushed the damn thing as she walked over to the royals.
The portraits she’d seen of Queen Hevva didn’t do her justice.
Her pale, almost silvery blue eyes appraised Nesrina kindly, and Nes found herself entranced by the woman’s welcoming nature—and her hair. She wished hers could look that good.
Standing before them, she dropped into a low curtsy.
“Please rise.” The queen’s voice rang out crisp and clear.
Nesrina smiled at the couple who held her fate in their hands, and, in spite of the kindness on Queen Hevva’s face, and the king’s benevolence thus far, she couldn’t help the tightening of her chest and the pulsing in her fingertips. She needed this job. Mama and she were desperate for the income.
“Sit.” King Hethar’s command felt friendlier than it had in his study.
Nesrina selected the empty chair nearest the queen and glanced around quickly, wondering if there might be a servant nearby to pour their tea.
Seeing no one, the panicked thought that she should be doing it raced through her mind; some sort of test of her abilities to read their needs.
But before she could jump into action, the queen grasped the teapot and served them all.
Nes’s eyes widened.
“Do you take honey?”
Of course, who doesn’t? “Please.” Nes pinched her leg beneath the table, double-checking she wasn’t dreaming as Queen Hevva drizzled a healthy helping of honey from a drip stick into the cup and passed it across the table.
“We keep a casual household whenever possible. Help yourself,” King Hethtar voiced, explaining away her confusion while reaching forward to pluck a small sandwich from the tray between them. Downing the snack in two bites, he went on, “We’d like to ask you some questions.”
With that, the meeting turned into an interview.
The king and queen peppered her with a variety of inquiries pertaining to her upbringing, her character and morals, learning, teaching, management styles, and more.
They didn’t ask how she performed under pressure, but then again, the situation made that question unnecessary.
The hard edge of the interrogation was softened, somewhat, by the delicious mug of spiced tea she sipped on and the array of sandwiches she sampled. Her favorite was a light one with sliced cucumber, some sort of soft white cheese, and spices.
The rulers seemed receptive to her presence and happy with her answers, but she wasn’t sure she was reading them right, especially not when they kept glancing at one another, sharing the sort of silent conversation only possible from spending years in another person’s company.
Eventually, when she thought her rising anxiety would force out the tasty sandwiches she’d ingested, the king slapped a broad palm on the table and exclaimed, “Well!”
“Well!” the queen echoed with a smile directed at Nes.
King Hethtar grinned. “I think it goes without saying, we’re quite interested in bringing you on for a trial period to work with the children.”
It did not go without saying. But his words served as a tonic that settled her nausea.
“Given, of course,” he continued, “you’re still interested in the position after meeting them at dinner tonight.”
Nes gulped. An interview she could handle, but a meal?
“Yes,” the queen took over. “We’ll have you set up in a chamber and look forward to dining with you this evening.”
“Thank you.” Nesrina managed graciousness in spite of her nerves as her fingernails tapped a little rhythm against her teacup.
It did not go unnoticed by the queen. “Miss Kiappa, I assure you we don’t bite—”
“Us adults at least,” the king boomed, laughing heartily at his own joke.
“Neither do the twins . . . anymore.” Queen Hevva shrugged.
Nesrina’s lips threatened to smile as she sipped her tea and tried to convince herself she had a handle on the situation.
Her education was a point of pride. Her ability to learn and retain knowledge?
Exquisite. Her skill in working with children?
Passable. Her confidence in mingling with nobility?
Miniscule. But still, she could do this.
She could get through a dinner and secure her role.