4
The next day found him back in the gardens. They seemed a popular choice, rightfully so, for much of the palace, at least until the day simply grew too warm. He was sitting on a bench, reading a book of poetry he'd bought for his journey here but hadn't finished, when a shadow fell across him.
He looked up, and nearly dropped the poetry, to see Lord Berkant standing over him, flanked by guards. Standing, Jankin bowed. "Lord Berkant, how can I serve you?"
"Walk with me?" he asked.
"Of course." Jankin tucked the small book into his sash and walked with Berkant out of the garden. "Is this about the jewels? I completely forgot to return to the practice hall last night, but went there first thing this morning."
Berkant made a dismissive noise. "Not at all, though it is a matter of jewels. This way." He led the way down into what could only be a vault, where a clerk escorted them to a small room. "Master Arash, good morning."
"Good Morning, Lord Berkant. This is the dancer I have heard so much about?"
"It is, indeed. Master Arash, I present to you Master Jankin. Master Jankin, this is the Master of the Treasury, Arash."
"A pleasure to meet you," Arash said. "Come, I have your options waiting."
"My options?" Jankin asked, increasingly bewildered. Options for jewels, obviously, but that didn't make the situation less baffling.
"For your performance tomorrow night," Berkant said, finally relenting, an amused glint in his eye. "This will be twice you have agreed to very last minute performances, which is quite rude to expect of any performer, let alone someone of your fame and acumen. So a gift: whichever of the three you like best is yours to keep."
"I am honored."
"The other two will be entered into the vault, to be used as you please for as long as you're here," Berkant added.
In the small room they were led to, clearly a sort of fitting room, three glossy wooden boxes were arranged on a table. Once he was in front of the table, Arash unlocked each box and then flipped the lids open one by one.
The jewelry revealed was extravagant enough to make someone wealthy if sold.
All three were collar necklaces, or modeled on that as a starting point. The first one was large, likely heavy, of a beautiful peacock with its feathers spreading up in front of the shoulders, a heavy gold band holding everything in place. If he was going to dance with it, there'd need to be further modifications, so it remained firmly in place.
The second one was a thick gold and silver band dripping with peacock feathers made of various precious jewels, everything held together with fine gold links, so it would move around, flow with his dancing.
It was the last that was his favorite, however: made of white gold and precious jewels, it was a single large feather that would wrap around his throat with the end of the feather resting in the middle of his chest, showing off an impressive emerald surrounded by sapphires for the 'eye'.
"These are stunning," he said quietly. He should probably be tired of the peacock motif, but he had never exactly minded being thought of as beautiful and showy. "This one," he said, touching the rim of the box on the third necklace.
That seemed to please Berkant and Arash, though Jankin could not begin to imagine why it mattered to them which one he picked. "Let's try it on, shall we?" Arash asked.
Jankin removed the wrap he'd worn to protect himself from the sun, and stood still as the necklace was placed. Because of the fitted nature, there was a small hinge on the back that allowed the necklace to be settled properly in place before being locked.
"Beautiful," Berkant said, and even the guards standing off to the side seemed to agree, though their stoic expressions never changed.
"Thank you," Jankin said, bowing his head in a probably-futile attempt to hide that the praise left him flustered, something he had not really felt for years. Decades, even.
Arash removed the necklace and restored it to the box. "We can keep it here in the vault for you for safety's sake, if you like."
"I would be grateful," Jankin said. "The thought of leaving that just lying around my room unguarded gives me hives."
Berkant laughed. "I wouldn't be able to relax. Back in my fighting days, I always had at least two guards in my warm-up room and more stationed at my house."
Jankin had a million questions about how a man went from being a famous fighter to a royal concubine, but he doubted the story was entirely happy, and it wasn't his business either way.
"Thank you for your time, Master Arash. A good day to you." Berkant led the way from the room and up the stairs, back to the main portions of the palace. "My king is hosting a casual lunch in the gardens shortly. You are invited, should you care to attend."
Jankin stared a moment. This whole day had taken quite the turn. "I would be honored. What kind of per—"
"Just lunch," Berkant cut in. "A guest at his table, not a performer. Only if it pleases you. There is no obligation."
"I would love to," Jankin said, more bold than he'd typically be because this whole visit to Tavamara was so outside his expectations in all the best ways.
"Then I'll send a guard with you to escort you there once you've changed," Berkant said. "See you soon."
Jankin barely remembered the walk back, mind sorting through his minimal collection of clothing for something suitable to wear to an unexpected lunch with the king. Well, the king and many other people, but still. A personal invitation extended by one of his concubines must be an uncommon experience.
Once dressed, with mental plans made to go into the city for more clothing, he walked with the guard through the palace. Servants had always escorted him before, surely that would have been sufficient? He could have simply asked for directions as well. An armed escort seemed excessive. There must be some practice or whatnot he wasn't aware of.
They were passing through a large hallway that seemed to be more like a gallery when a woman strode up to him, redolent in costly purple silk and an excess of jewels. "You!" she spat, and lifted a hand—likely to slap his face—only for her arm to be grabbed by the guard. "Unhand me!"
"Keep your hands to yourself," the guard said coldly.
The woman jerked her arm away as the guard released. "You're the slut that got us kicked out of court."
"I beg your pardon?" Jankin asked.
"That's enough," the guard said, voice somehow even colder. "Your family was told to depart the premises by midday, and that is ten minutes from now. I gave you a chance to be civil, and you wasted it." He looked at the guards lining the walls between paintings, and one of them stepped forward to grab the woman by her upper arms from behind and haul her away.
Jankin looked around like something in the gallery might provide an explanation. "What in the world just happened?" He'd been called a slut many times, even slapped a few, usually by a jealous spouse or lover who either didn't approve of how much their partner enjoy his dancing, or because Jankin didn't know until that moment the person he'd slept with was already attached. It wasn't his fault people lied to him. He'd gotten a lot more careful in the past five-ten years, because it wasn't a pleasant experience.
He hadn't done anything this time, though. There hadn't been time. The only person…
Ah. Something must have happened, and now the woman, whoever she was, was blaming him for being forced to leave. Whatever. Hopefully that was the beginning and the end of the problem.
Out in a part of the garden he'd not yet seen, a large table was arranged on a dais at the back, near the wall that surrounded the whole palace. The royal table in the banquet hall had been square. This one was much more narrow and curved, with only one side occupied by attendants, which made sense given all the tables were framing the central, round courtyard, where performances would clearly be taking place. The only empty space at the main table was just a couple of seats down from His Majesty. Which obviously would be reserved for a noble or something. So he'd be at a different table entirely. Understandable, and it was stupid to be so disappointed, but here he was all the same.
Shafiq smiled as he saw him.
"Your Majesty, thank you for the invitation," Jankin said, bowing as he reached the table. "I am honored."
"I am honored you would join me again," Shafiq replied, and motioned him to the empty space, which put only Berkant between them, with Ender on Shafiq's other side. Should a mere dancer, and a foreigner at that, be sitting so close? Surely there were actually important people who merited the space?
But far be it for him to complain.
"This is a wine called Morning Pink," Berkant said. "It's used as refreshment before a meal begins."
"I see," Jankin said. It had never occurred to him all the colorful wines would have names. "There certainly seems to be a wide variety of them." He had heard about the famed wines of Tavamara, of course, hard not to when he traveled so much and other countries prized them greatly, difficult and expensive as they were to import. Experiencing them firsthand was something else entirely though.
The guard who'd escorted him went up to Shafiq and knelt to speak low in his ear. Shafiq's smile faded, but he only thanked the guard with a quiet murmur before turning his attention back to Jankin. "I am told Lady Nousha gave you some trouble."
"None at all, really, thanks to your guards. I assume she is related to the man from last night?"
"His wife," Shafiq said. "You should suffer no further problems, and I apologize for that one. She will be held to account for harming you."
"It's nothing I haven't put up with before—one of the risks of being a popular dancer. Slapped, backhanded, punched, and on two occasions, I was beaten badly enough I could not dance for a few weeks." People did not always take well to hearing 'no,' especially from people they considered beneath them. Thankfully, nothing worse than a beating had ever happened. Horror stories abounded about what happened to pretty dancers who said no, but so far he'd escaped that fate.
"No one should be accustomed to such repulsive behavior. Nevermind them, they are not worth the time. Berkant tells me you chose the feather necklace."
"They were all beautiful, but I admit that one called to me especially. You're far too kind, Your Majesty."
Shafiq scoffed. He raised a hand, and a gong sounded to begin the meal. The food served was less extravagant than what he'd seen at dinner, but that made sense for the time and place. Each table was filled to maximum, and there was a low hum of persistent conversation throughout the garden. "Are these luncheons a regular thing?"
"Somewhat regular," Shafiq replied. "I host one every few weeks, save when I'm especially busy or it's simply too hot, since it's exorbitantly expensive for anyone but me to host these larger gatherings within the palace, with the rare exception that's partly funded by the crown, anyway. It's a good chance for lesser known poets, singers, and such to be seen."
"That's kind of you."
Shafiq laughed. "Not really. It all benefits the throne at the end of the day. Drink, drink. The poetry readings will start soon, and they can be…"
"Interesting," Ender drawled.
Jankin smiled after taking the sip of wine Berkant offered up. "I once had to sit through a ballad a man wrote about how terrible his life was since his wife left him and how it was all her fault. I would have liked to hear her version of events. Horrendous poem, everybody in the room was uncomfortable. When it threatened to go into a third part, the prince hosting the dinner finally rang the bell. I'm pretty sure that was turned into a fourth part later."
Ender and Nadir laughed in unison, perfect mirrors of each other, framing their king beautifully. He wanted to hear the tale of how they came to be concubines, for surely such a thing must be extraordinarily rare, and no small scandal.
"They would make for a good ballad," Berkant said, motioning to the twins. "Didn't even know the other existed until last year. Kidnapping, attempted murder…"
"Oh, be quiet," Ender said without heat. "Don't think I was the one who started off under arrest for beating a man nearly to death."
"He deserved it."
Jankin had roughly a thousand questions, but he refused to be a nosy ass. Instead, he said, "When I was in Pelenna, there was a huge scandal about the death of a lord. Everyone thought he'd been killed by making the stupid decision to drink heavily before going frost bear hunting, which is a stupid thing to do when you're sober and in great health. But it turned out he wasn't drunk—he'd been poisoned. I arrived right as they were going around arresting everyone even slightly related to the matter to pin down who the killer or killers were. By the time I left nine months later, they were still sorting the mess out. That was… two or so years ago."
"It was his brother and wife," said a new voice.
Turning slightly to his left, Jankin took in the new person. Pretty, pouty, with a tumble of curls that probably helped him get his way quite a lot, if he was inclined to that sort of brattiness. Which Jankin would not judge him for, unless he was also a selfish brat who made a hobby of hurting people. He'd seen that kind more often than he liked.
"What do you know that we do not, Lord Mazin?" Shafiq asked congenially.
"I have a friend from school, back when I went to Petch to study for a few years, who is from Pelenna and also close friends with someone from the branch family. Lord Igor was the victim, and it was his wife and brother who conspired to poison him because he'd discovered their affair."
"How torrid," Ender said.
Nadir added, "And depressing."
"The way of the nobility," Lord Mazin said. "I see much of it with my family's ties."
"What ties are those, if I may ask."
"Wine," Berkant said, and Mazin nodded in agreement. "Lord Mazin's family is one of the wealthiest and most powerful in the kingdom because they own several wineries and trade companies. A large percentage of the wine going in and out of the country is produced or traded by them."
"Makes sense why you'd see so much," Jankin replied. Where there was alcohol and entitlement, there was always drama.
"Never a dull moment, to be sure," Mazin said. "Your dancing last night was lovely, Master Jankin. I'm sure you hear that often."
"Doesn't mean I get tired of hearing it." Jankin winked. "Thank you, my lord."
The first poetry reading started then, as servants cleared away the first course and brought out fresh wine to bridge the first and second courses. And the second course would come with a whole new set of wines. It must take years and years to master what wines went with which meals, courses, and so forth. Was there staff devoted exclusively to that, or was it something kitchen staff as a whole simply picked up along the way?
Maybe he'd be here long enough to learn the answer to that and all the other questions slowly piling up. Wasn't like he was on a schedule, and so far, Tavamara was proving to be a pleasant place to stay. Even before he'd been invited to the palace he'd enjoyed it.
The poet had a strong, clear, pretty voice, reciting a poem that was a bit difficult for Jankin to follow but seemed to be about a clever smuggler and a noblewoman he accidentally kidnapped. Thankfully, the poem wasn't overly long and ended happily.
After that was a quartet who sang another ballad, each singer taking different parts signaled by various masks they swapped in and out.
The wines in the second course were stronger than the prelude and first course. With every wine he appreciated the use of cups—more dishes really—that only held a sip or two at time. If they drank entire, actual cups all the time, nobody in the palace would ever be sober.
As the singers finished, they were replaced by another reading, a woman this time, with a beautiful voice, and her performance was so well done, she must be a professional of some sort. But Shafiq had said this was for smaller performers who would not have the opportunity to be widely seen otherwise.
"No one has actually given me any information about my dance tomorrow," Jankin said as they watched a pair of women dance, something that was a Lavarre barrel dance at its base but with components of Tavamaran fire dancing. Though sadly there was no fire. If he recalled, fire dancing wasn't really much of a thing anymore. He'd tried to find someone to teach him but had failed utterly. "I've been so busy today, I only just realized."
Shafiq gave away nothing on his face, but on his other side, Nadir rose smoothly and slipped away, behind a hedge that surely led nowhere? But must lead somewhere, in fact, because he did not reappear, and Jankin highly doubted he was just standing around behind a shrub for no reason.
He didn't ask, though, only went back to his wine and a discussion with Mazin about Petchian food, which leaned hard on being supremely spicy. No matter the meal or time of day, the food was guaranteed to bite back. It had taken him a few months to get used to that.
As the dancers finished and what seemed to be the final performance, given they were on the last course—a closing round of fruit, cheese, and sweets, with lighter wines again—Shafiq said, "All the information you require will be waiting in your room."
"Thank you," Jankin said. "I'm becoming rather spoiled by all this attention."
Shafiq smiled ever so briefly, something flickering in his eyes, but he only turned back to the performance and accepted the wine that Ender offered.
"Here," Berkant said softly, offering up wine, and then in such low tones that none but the two of them would be able to hear said, "You deserve spoiling, I think, and he'll do so as long as he may."
"He's known me two days. Not even that long."
"Time is fleeting for kings, as is your time here, by your own words. We enjoy what we can while we can, before time takes it away."
Jankin nodded and accepted the wine offered, not really trusting himself to speak.
He had traveled the world, been lauded, praised, showered with attention and gifts, warmed beds that people would happily murder to even glimpse. His life was an enviable one, impossible for most of the world, a wild dream they'd never fulfill.
Having the lowkey attention of a king for a few days, until the shine invariably wore off and the palace moved on to newer things, shouldn't affect him so much. But sitting there with Shafiq and his harem, he couldn't deny he hadn't been this happy or peaceful in a long time.
He wasn't certain what to do with that realization.