CHAPTER 4
It took me another fifteen minutes to crawl out of the bath.
I had tensed up when Galiene entered the room, and once she left and the tension drained out, fatigue mugged me.
I was so tired. Getting out of the bath became a matter of life or death because if I stayed in any longer, I would’ve fallen asleep and probably drowned.
I would likely come back to life, but I didn’t want to tempt fate.
Despite my earlier pledge to empty chamber pots, Kair Toren enjoyed advanced indoor plumbing, complete with ceramic toilets, sinks, terra-cotta pipes, and classic labyrinth-like sewers under the city.
I discovered a toilet with a wooden seat behind the small door.
And toilet paper. I had never been so grateful to find a little basket of toilet paper sheets folded like napkins in my whole life.
Butt napkins. The essence of luxury.
I got out of the bathroom, washed my hands at a sink in a small alcove, and looked through the stack of clothes Klemena had left. When a thin pair of panties slipped through my fingers, I almost cried in happiness.
In Rellas, like in many feudal societies, forms of address communicated how dangerous you were.
Lord and lady meant landed nobility, many trained and well-armed fighters, and a solid chance of getting killed if things went badly.
Sir and dame meant a knight, a highly skilled, professional soldier, also a high probability of injury and death.
Terr and tress, on the other hand, were reserved for ordinary people, merchants, tradesmen, artisans, anyone without formal military rank or a noble title.
The clothes Klemena had brought me placed me firmly into the tress category.
The outfit started with a dark green chemise, a thin, loosely fitted underdress.
The sleeves looked like something that had popped right out of a medieval movie: trumpet shaped, with a drawstring casing running along the forearms. Pulling the string shortened the sleeves to above the elbow, leaving the arms bare, which was probably handy for cooking and cleaning. I left the sleeves down.
Over the chemise, I wore a simple sage-green gown, which I had promptly put on backward on my first try.
The dress had a deeper neckline, so about an inch of the chemise showed above it.
Its bodice laced on the sides to adjust fit, and its loose ungathered skirt came down to my ankles.
The fabric felt like a sturdy version of linen.
The dress came with a built-in bra, which seemed to have an underwire of some sort. Its short sleeves ended right about where a T-shirt sleeve would hit. The left sleeve had a small inner pocket on the inside of the arm, just big enough to hide a few coins. I slid Everard’s den into it.
The simple cloth shoes with thin soles were a little loose on my feet, but I would make do. A gray cloak completed the outfit. It featured a deep hood and a large inside pocket with a grommet in it to which you could chain your purse. I hid the rest of my money there.
I had asked for an outfit that wouldn’t make me stand out, and neither the clothes nor the shoes looked new.
The color of the dress had faded, the hem of the cloak had frayed, and the shoes had grime stains, the kind that form on fabric after frequent use.
I didn’t care. Shoes were amazing. Clothes were pretty up there, too.
And the boost of confidence I got from no longer running around literally butt naked was truly priceless.
I braided my hair into a simple plait—I hadn’t seen a single woman with a ponytail or a plain bun—tied it with a bit of string I pulled from the cloak’s fraying hem, and looked in the mirror.
Good enough.
“Klemena?”
No answer.
Hmm. I opened the door. The short hallway was empty. My attendant had vanished.
I eyed the door at the other end of the hallway. Behind it lay the main floor of the Garden and all the wonders and dangers it held.
Hiding in the room and waiting for Klemena would be safer, but there was magic beyond that door.
I had no idea how long I would be in Rellas.
For all I knew, whatever force had brought me here could yank me out of this world and hurl me back into my own bed at any moment.
Even if I was stuck in Rellas, once I walked out of the Garden tomorrow I would probably never return.
I simply didn’t have the money. This was my only chance to take it all in.
If I missed it, I would kick myself for the rest of my life.
I walked down the hallway, edged the door open, and slipped out.
In front of me, the main floor gleamed, like a swirl of bright paint with an occasional burst of glitter.
The mage who had conjured the butterflies was gone.
The dancers were back, wearing golden dresses that would’ve been skimpy back home and were scandalous here.
They danced more slowly this time, framing a man in the middle of the stage like flowers.
The man was shockingly beautiful, tall, lean, dressed in black, his skin the color of deep ochre, his black hair worn in a long braid over his shoulder.
He sat in a chair, leaning a strange stringed instrument against himself like a cello player and drawing a bow across the strings, seemingly lost to the music.
The melody that spilled out sounded almost like a person singing, beautiful and haunting.
The main floor was about half full. Most of the patrons were men in expensive clothes, although I counted four women in beautiful gowns. Three of them watched the musician, while the fourth flirted with a handsome man at her table. The man wore red and white—one of the Garden’s attendants.
Three men emerged from the entrance tunnel. The first, dark haired, tan, and muscular, had to be a bodyguard of some kind. He wore dark pants, mid-calf boots, and a black doublet with silver embroidery. He walked in, scanned the floor as if he were looking for threats, and stepped to the side.
Another man followed, with a second bodyguard close behind.
He was about six foot two or six foot three and solid, with broad shoulders and a wide pale face, made wider by a chin strap beard.
His light brown hair, probably naturally wavy, fell on the left side of his face in a fringe cut.
He wore black as well, but his outfit must’ve cost about ten times more than his bodyguard’s.
His boots were made of some leather-like material I had never seen before, with large scales forming gold and burgundy patterns.
It looked like he’d skinned a couple of small fantasy dragons and wrapped their hides over his feet.
His black trousers flared above his boots, and a small decorative belt crossed each of his thighs, with large buckles that were probably gold.
He wore a red undertunic with golden embroidery and an elaborate black doublet with more gold embroidery.
His black belt was wide and studded with gold.
A scarlet cloak edged with black dripped from his shoulders but left his chest exposed, presumably so everyone would note the gold chain around his neck.
His clothes were too loud. I’d read that phrase before, but I’d never seen it so clearly illustrated.
Nothing he wore was garish or gaudy, quite the opposite.
Everything was exquisitely made and tasteful, but every individual part of his outfit, from boots to cloak, was a statement piece with its own voice. Put together, they screamed in unison.
The woman in the fairy queen dress who had waylaid me earlier approached him, giving him a deep bow probably reserved for Big Spenders.
Lord Fancypants ignored her.
She murmured something and waited. A moment passed.
Another. He turned toward her, giving me a view of his back and his family crest embroidered on his cloak—a golden shield edged by a black chain with the black head of a monster in the center.
The head was depicted in profile: a huge reptilian mouth gaping to display a forest of sharp teeth, a long thick neck, and needle spikes protruding from the back of the neck.
Bright red blood dripped from the monster’s mouth . . .
A kroast.
Ice drenched me.
A black kroast on a field of gold and scarlet. Ulmar Hreban.
I gripped the wooden rail so tight, my fingers hurt.
Before the end of the year, this man would claw his way to unchecked power.
He would set Kair Toren on fire. The capital would burn for three days, while the soldiers under his command rampaged through the streets, maiming, raping, and killing as they wanted with nobody to stop them.
People would call it the Night of a Thousand Fires.
After he was done with the capital, Hreban would lead the King’s Army to suppress a rebellion and settle personal scores.
He would demolish villages and murder thousands with inhuman cruelty.
But before he did all that, he would kill Galiene of Sosna.
Very few people knew that Galiene had a daughter. She had given birth to her quietly five years ago. Her father wasn’t in the picture. Galiene chose to raise her child away from the Garden.
Hreban wanted Galiene. Not because he loved her, he wasn’t capable of that, but because other men wanted her and couldn’t have her.
He had more money than anyone else in the kingdom except for the royal family, and he liked the symmetry of the richest man and the most desirable woman.
I was in the first chapter, which meant he hadn’t approached Galiene yet, but I knew what happened in the books.
When Galiene refused to become a trophy, he bribed her daughter’s caretakers and stole the child.