Chapter 5
Liana
The deep, clear sound of the bell pierced the darkness. The Fat Odo above Abia’s Northern gate was striking the hour of dawn. Liana opened her eyes.
She lay in a ditch beside the road. A dry ditch, and reasonably clean, no refuse piling around her.
She took a deep breath, and a splitting headache bloomed between her temples.
Her mouth was dry and filled with the residue of something awful; her stomach churned, brimming with angry acid.
A massive hangover surged through her body like a swarm of angry eels.
She sat up and promptly retched a thin stream of sickeningly sweet slime. The stench of alcohol mixed with the odor of vomit.
Mead, she’d drunk mead to seal the deal in the smoke-filled hall of the Father-God. He’d promised to send her back.
Liana jumped to her feet and swayed. Her head spun, filled with the shards of memory. She took another deep breath, wincing. The world came into focus and with it, her memory. She’d made a deal with Perun to try and win Amron back.
Above her, a deep indigo sky faded towards the east, where the first light of dawn gilded the mountain peaks. It was so warm she was sweating in her hunting leathers and her woolen cloak. The last thing she remembered was Perun on the snowy mountaintop, shaking hands with her.
She scrambled out of the ditch. The road led to Abia, hunkering like a torchlit beast in the distance, still wrapped in the cloak of the night. She knew where she was, she just didn’t know when.
In the past, the god had said.
Liana unclasped her cloak and shook it, scrunching her nose at the unpleasant smell.
She removed the twigs and dried leaves from her plait and smoothed it down, trying to look less like a vagrant even though she reeked like one.
That was a problem she would have to solve later, after she’d answered the more pressing questions.
She shuffled towards the town, unsteady on her feet.
Dozens of torches flickered on the city walls, illuminating the colorful standards.
The northern wall had no moat, but it was thirty feet high, built of massive stone blocks, with a double gate made of wood and iron that led into the dark tunnel that passed under the wall.
Despite the early hour, it was already open.
The royal banner of the House of Amris—the golden sun on the blue field—hung above the gates, signaling that the king was in town.
A crowd of people with donkeys and carts blocked the entrance: farmers rushing to sell fresh fruit and vegetables at the market.
Liana pulled her hood up, lowering her head as she snuck up to them, trying to look insignificant enough that no one would question her presence.
Her hunting garb blended with their leather and linen, and the smell of donkeys and live chickens masked her odor.
No one paid any attention to her, she was just a scruffy girl in a group of peasants.
She stepped through the dark tunnel, followed by a rooster’s crow greeting the new dawn.
In the early hour, the streets of Abia were quiet, but the street vendors were already stacking their wares and the taverns had opened their doors to sweep out the previous night’s dirt.
The mood, subdued by the lingering darkness, was nevertheless festive.
Banners crisscrossed the streets above her head, garlands of flowers poured from the balconies, and every square and street corner was lit.
The irresistible scent of fresh bread wafting on the morning breeze made her mouth water.
But Liana had no time to waste, no curiosity to spare. Ignoring the early birds, she took the shortest route through the streets to the palace. She had one goal and one goal only: to see if Amron was there.
By the time she reached the palace, the first rays had already touched its red roofs, rendering them aflame with the sunlight.
The elegant arches and ornate facade caused a sharp pang between her ribs.
She’d left the palace only yesterday—or whenever it was from this point in time—like a heartbroken beggar.
Yesterday, she’d had nothing. But today, somewhere inside these walls, Amron was alive.
The main gate, the one facing the square, was open, but Liana didn’t intend to negotiate with the guards.
There were other ways in for someone who knew the palace like the back of her hand.
She climbed over the garden wall in a back alley, where the stones weren’t as smooth and a fig tree grew on the other side.
She slid among the trees and bushes, their flowers opening to greet the light, and then ran through the corridors, registering the changes in the familiar layout.
It was the same palace, and yet, nothing was the same.
It felt more crowded, filled to the brim, not just with the regular palace staff, but with royal servants, clearly signaling the king was there.
More eyes to see her, more suspicious people to stop her.
She found a dark alcove near the stairs that led down to the kitchens and hid there, breathing hard. She needed to think.
Her impatient heart urged her to run to Amron immediately. She didn’t know which rooms were his, but they had to be somewhere on the second floor. How hard could it be to find a prince?
He doesn’t know you.
She clawed at her mud-splattered clothes, at her tangled hair. Amron had always been a kind man, willing to listen to anyone who threw themself at his feet. Still, how likely was he to pay attention to a dirty waif spewing nonsense?
She bit her lip. The day had barely begun, the sun had not fully risen yet; she had a little time to spare. Amron was an early riser, but he was probably still asleep. Pouncing on him in bed wouldn’t make him warm up to her.
No, she needed to look decent enough. The future could wait until she’d washed herself.
With a sigh, she descended into the basement of the palace.
The laundry rooms and the baths were in the same place, no amount of shuffling around could move those.
She first slunk to the room where the clean laundry was folded and stored to be taken upstairs by the maids.
Time was a luxury, and so was choice; she didn’t want to be caught borrowing clothes and interrogated by the head laundress who would surely see through her excuses better than any guard.
The simple, pale-yellow linen dress folded on a shelf near the door would suffice—no fancy embroidery or lace someone would make fuss about.
And a light chemise, a little worn and mended a few times.
She didn’t have to look highborn, just decent.
Liana folded the clothes into a tight bundle and rushed to the servants’ communal bath.
In the changing room, she slipped out of her riding gear, leaving it in a messy heap on the shelf, too unappealing for anyone to pilfer, and grabbed a clean towel and a sponge.
The silver medallion lay between her breasts, and she touched it with the tips of her fingers for luck before entering the steaming pool room, where two girls soaked in the warm water, chatting.
The stones were pleasantly warm under her feet as she walked to the cubicles in the back, where buckets of hot and cold water and bars of lavender-scented soap waited for those who needed a more vigorous wash.
She scrubbed her skin until it turned pink and rinsed every last speck of dust out of her hair.
She wrapped it in a towel, trying to squeeze out as much water as possible, and combed it with a wooden comb.
She didn’t have enough time to let it dry—that took hours—but she braided it and wrapped the braid around her head to prevent it from dripping on her clothes.
The linen dress fit her loosely and barely reached to her ankles, but at least it was clean and pretty. With much regret, Liana left her sturdy riding boots in the changing room and borrowed a pair of leather sandals which were about her size.
A small circle of polished metal serving as a mirror told her she was as beautiful as always, her divine blood making her look not a day over twenty—the curse and blessing of the children of gods, who did not age, but faded away at the end of their long lives.
For a lonely girl raised among the hunters of Till, it had been a liability.
It meant she had learned to fight men off when she was twelve and still pretend to be grateful and humble, careful not to provoke them into rage.
Liana sighed and grabbed a basket of clean towels—if she kept her head down and looked busy, she might be mistaken for some lady’s companion and left alone.
Using the hidden servants’ staircase, she climbed to the second floor.
A large arched corridor opened on the one side, overlooking the main yard.
From there, doors led to a labyrinth of interconnected chambers.
The colorful terrazzo floor echoed the gentle tap of her sandals.
It was quiet here and the few sleepy guards paid no attention to the lonely girl.
She walked to a guard in the blue royal livery and, eyes cast down, she said, “Could you please help me? I think I’m lost.”
“What are you looking for?”
“I have to deliver something to Prince Amron’s chambers.”
“Through this door, turn left, and you’ll get to the next guard. Wait.” He stopped her when she tried to slip beside him. “Let me see that basket.” He stuck his hand in, and when he found only soft fabric, he nodded. “Alright, go.”
In the palace she knew, the rooms she now entered were reserved for high guests, and usually closed off.
Their large windows overlooked the city and colorful floral tapestries covered their walls.
They always made her think of summer meadows and disappointed her with their odor of wool and dust instead of the sweet scent of flowers.