Chapter Eleven
Ethyr played the game the following weeks.
He let Gionan wash and dress him whatever way the man wanted without a breath of protest, and the few times Ethyr left his room, he said nothing about the two guards who followed.
He studied dutifully, and when Yorith tested him on everything he’d learned he thought he did quite well, though the priest’s consistent dour expression gave no indication one way or another.
His written hand had become natural and pleasing, though it was nowhere close to the beautiful, elegant script of the priests.
He had refined his voice and could sing from music sheets with only an occasional falter.
He had memorized a dozen long poems, could hold a flawless conversation in which nothing of real importance was said, and could play some simple melodies on the harp and lute.
Yorith’s only comment on any of it was, “Adequate.” This did not appear to please Dessin, standing anxiously in the corner through every test. When Yorith was finished, he took the teacher into the hall and Ethyr couldn’t comprehend any of the mumbled conversation.
When Dessin returned, he only smiled at Ethyr and told him he was dismissed for the day.
He left the temple with Yorith and sat meekly in the carriage with him.
“Sir,” he broke the silence. It took him a few seconds to pick up the courage, but the ride to the palace was quite short so he knew he couldn’t wait. Yorith turned a bland expression to him. Ethyr swallowed. “I was wondering… could Poyut show me around the city?”
“Why?” he asked brusquely.
“I’ve seen every inch of the palace now…” Ethyr watched his face carefully for any change in expression. There was none. “It would be nice to see what the city is like…”
“You already have, you may recall,” Yorith sniffed. Ethyr bit his lips to stop a reflexive snarky response.
“Yes,” he conceded carefully. “I was in the city… briefly… but I did not get to truly see it or experience it. And since I was dismissed early today, I thought…”
“You thought?”
Ethyr closed his mouth and raised his shoulders.
Yorith eyed him. Ethyr tried to look as small and humble as possible, though he sat waiting to be refused.
“You may go,” Yorith said. Ethyr looked up in surprise. “But you will take a guard entourage. Six, including Poyut. Hm. No. Seven.”
Ethyr swallowed his disappointment and lowered his eyes, nodding. “Of course. Thank you.”
Gionan went into a near frenzy when he found out Ethyr was going into the city.
Apparently the clothes he wore to his lessons were too plebeian to be seen in outside the palace, but his other clothes were designed for the gods and too revealing for the general public.
Ethyr sat on his bed and watched Gionan dig through the chests with the panicked manner of someone who had lost a family heirloom.
In the end, he wore the same long tunic he had on his first night, purple-blue with split sides, and gold pants.
It was accompanied by slippers (much to Ethyr’s deep annoyance), a decorative belt, armbands, anklets, bracelets, necklaces, and of course the gold circlet to rest atop his head.
He clinked and jingled with every move; he wouldn’t be able to take a step without the guards hearing and knowing his exact location. It was hard not to believe a certain High Priest had ordered it. But Ethyr didn’t know for sure. Maybe kings always went out decorated like a feast pig.
His entourage was waiting for him in front of the palace, mounted on pristine horses. Only Poyut was on the ground, holding the reins of two more. Ethyr paused mid-step.
“No carriage?”
Poyut smiled. “I convinced the High Priest to let you ride in the open air. I thought it would be a better experience.”
“I’ve never ridden a horse before,” he said, eying the beast. The squat bay pony back in his village hardly reached his elbow, and was only used for pulling carts or plows.
This horse was tall and graceful, of the purest white he had ever seen, with a soft pink nose and elaborately braided mane and tail.
“Don’t worry, it’s not difficult. You just sit and she’ll follow mine.” Poyut patted the mare’s neck. “She’s as gentle as they come, and with nerves of steel. She won’t give you any problems, I promise.” Poyut gestured him over.
He hesitantly approached, reaching out to give the strong shoulder a pat, her coat silky and warm beneath his hand.
She didn’t move even an ear, unperturbed by his touch.
So he let Poyut hoist him onto the saddle, which was almost as gaudily ornamented as he was.
Poyut handed him the reins before swinging onto her own horse, and true to her word Ethyr's immediately fell into step behind hers.
The other six formed a barrier around Ethyr.
He thought it would be the same experience as his arrival at the city, enclosed within a crowd of people jostling for view, but when they reached the first street, no one ambushed them.
Instead, people stopped in place—or scrambled out of their way—and stared.
Ethyr might have been bothered by it if he wasn’t distracted by the unbelievable wares being sold off market stalls.
Precious gems and metals made into impossibly delicate jewelry, fabric woven tighter than flesh and made with flawlessly spun thread, birds and small animals Ethyr hadn’t seen in his life being sold as pets, embroidery of elaborate detail filling every inch of the fabrics they were woven on.
The light caught on one embroidered cloth and Ethyr gasped. Poyut looked over her shoulder at him.
“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. She pulled her horse to a stop and all the others halted.
“Do you see something you like?”
“Oh, I…” Ethyr raised his shoulders, feeling even more self-conscious. “No, it’s fine.”
Poyut dismounted and handed her reins to another guard. Four others dismounted. She held out her hand to Ethyr like she did when he exited the carriage.
“Swing your leg over and lower yourself with the stirrup,” she instructed.
Ethyr did so reluctantly, much more aware of the entire street’s eyes on him now.
“Why did we stop?”
Instead of answering, Poyut guided him over to the stall he’d been staring at, the dismounted guards following closely.
The merchant behind the counter gave a deep bow. “Your Divinity, you grace me with your presence.”
Ethyr stared uncomfortably at her.
“Which one did you like?” Poyut asked gently. Ethyr glanced at the fabrics laid on display over the counter. There weren’t many, but as each was filled with intricate embroidery, he couldn’t imagine a large stock would be available. It must have taken years to finish even one.
He knew which one had drawn his attention, though.
He pointed to the fabric that was on prominent display above the merchant’s head, hooked in such a way to show off its drape and a large section of its embroidery.
Most of the embroidered cloths were bold, contrasting colors to better show the design.
This one was subtle, sewn with creamy-gold thread against a sheer white fabric that looked lighter than air.
The design was almost invisible until the sun hit it.
“Oh yes, Your Divinity, what a good eye!” The merchant quickly, but carefully, took the fabric down and held it out for inspection. “Silk thread on cotton-and-silk muslin, a beauty of delicate, painstaking labor. You’ll never find another like it.”
“How much?” Poyut asked.
“Eight kith.”
Ethyr gaped, choking on his disbelief.
“Five,” Poyut said.
“Six,” the merchant countered.
Poyut nodded and untied the satchel from her belt.
Ethyr watched in horrified awe as she counted out six gold coins and handed them over.
The merchant tucked them away into her own bag and set to work folding and wrapping the fabric into a neat bundle, first with a fine linen, then a stronger, coarser one, and tied not with string but a blue silk ribbon.
Poyut accepted it but handed it off to another guard.
“Thank you, thank you, please do return, Your Divinity, you won’t find quality quite like mine.”
Poyut pulled him away from the stall before he could respond, not that he knew what to answer with.
“Six kith!” he whispered to her, agonized. “You shouldn’t have bought it. What will I even do with it?”
“Edora will make something for you,” she answered, not at all distressed that she’d handed over a small fortune. “If you see anything else you like, let me know.”
She laced her fingers together and lowered her hands for Ethyr. He glanced back at the stall, then sighed and let her push him back onto the saddle.
With the realization that he might buy their wares, silent staring turned into loud pandering for his attention.
Poyut and the guards continued forward as though deaf, so Ethyr tried to do the same.
He didn’t dare make any indication of interest, lest it prompt Poyut a second time to give away enough money to buy his entire commune.
They wound down the mountainside, but stopped before they crossed the bridge where less extravagant wares were being sold.
Poyut got down from her ride again, and this time only three guards followed.
They tied their horses to the others’ saddles and Poyut once more incited Ethyr to dismount as well.
“Is something wrong?” he asked Poyut uncertainly.
“No,” she chuckled. “I thought you might like to browse. It’s easier when you’re not looking from the back of a horse.”
He looked around. Here, instead of stalls interspersed between houses, the entire street was a market, the bottom levels of buildings open to the air and selling such a variety of goods that Ethyr didn’t know where to look first or what to concentrate on.
Between the buildings were even more stalls, or little set ups of entertainment, bards or actors or trained animal routines.
“I-I really don’t want anything,” Ethyr insisted. “There’s no need to buy anything else.”