Chapter Nine
It is simple enough to trace the Imperial concept of the Dream as a source of power to Emperor Sorin’s roots in the Sheltered Lands.
There are strong threads in common, including the idea of power as a defined duality.
Creation and Destruction. The Dream and the Void.
It is fascinating to compare this to ancient Akeisa, whose traditions evolved entirely independent of such influence.
Their goddess embodied both creation and destruction.
Untitled manuscript in progress
by Guildmaster Klement
To welcome the High Court to her palace, Gwynira had decided to host a ball in their collective honor.
The announcements had gone out early that morning, before their visit to the village, though a revised version appeared in the afternoon, clarifying that the ball was also meant to thank them for their generous help with the restoration efforts in Jamyskar.
Naia had anticipated the clarification. What she had not anticipated was being added to the list of honorees. But there it was, in sloping script, on thick, bleached cotton paper.
The Goddess Naia, Mother of Rahvekya.
She also had not expected the revised announcement to arrive with an endless string of servants, though she probably should have. They filed into the room, led by a stern-looking older woman wearing an apron. Naia was fairly certain the woman worked in the kitchens—the head cook, perhaps?
Naia greeted them as they watched her with fervent anticipation. “Hello.”
The head cook squared her already broad shoulders and spoke with a formality that made Naia’s chest ache. “My lady goddess. We have come to help you prepare for the ball.” She gestured sharply, and a younger girl stepped forward with a large flat box cradled in her arms.
The head cook opened the lid, and Naia drew in a startled gasp.
Inside, nestled on a bed of fur, was a bundle of gauzy teal fabric.
A mere dress in name only, the featherlight confection had been embroidered with flowers in a multitude of colors.
Instead of lying flat against the fabric, the edges of each flower curled up like actual petals. “This is exquisite.”
The pride that filled the older woman’s eyes was too personal to attribute to delivery or even acquisition. “Thank you.”
“You made this?”
“I did. My grandmother taught me.”
“Your work honors her memory.” Naia reached for the box, only to have it drawn just out of reach. She sighed. “Hilja—that is your name, yes?”
The pride bloomed. “It is, my lady.”
“Very good.” Naia waved a hand to the room. Though large, it was now rather full. “I thought that Lord Aleksi and Crown-Prince Einar might appreciate having the space to themselves, so I planned on getting ready with a couple of friends. Princess Sachielle and Lady Zanya?”
“At once.” Another sharp gesture, and the entire contingent of servants filed back into the corridor. Hilja bowed her head to Naia. “Shall we?”
The servants followed as Naia headed toward the room that had been assigned to the Dragon and his consorts. She imagined she looked like a mother duck with an unending line of ducklings, and had to bite her tongue to quell a giggle.
The urge to laugh faded a bit when they reached the door. Hilja intercepted Naia’s outstretched hand and hurried to knock. The woman seemed determined to spare Naia even the slightest effort, and she couldn’t help but wonder if Hilja would insist on doing everything for her.
The door swung open. Zanya’s lips twitched when she spotted Naia’s entourage, but she did not comment, merely stepped back. “Naia. Come in and join us.”
“Thank you,” Naia murmured gratefully. “I thought it might be fun to get ready for the ball together, like old times.”
Sachi leaned around the edge of a screen at the corner of the room, her wet hair swinging heavily. “Naia!”
Naia walked into the room, still somehow expecting the group of servants to hand over her dress and take their leave.
Instead, they also entered the chamber, one by one.
Since they had crowded Aleksi’s much larger suite, the sight of them trying to squeeze into a far smaller space was almost laughable.
Naia had to do something. She pulled Hilja aside and lowered her voice. “Sachi and Zanya are particular friends of mine,” she explained. “There are things I would like very much to discuss with them. Private things.”
The older woman’s stern expression softened. “Yes, of course you would, my lady.” Then she frowned. “But who will see to your hair?”
“I’ll manage, and Zanya will help me. She’s quite adept.”
Hilja nodded, then bit her lip. It was a surprising bit of vulnerability that suddenly made Naia see her the way she had once been—a young woman, skilled with a needle and eager to practice the beloved art she’d learned at her grandmother’s knee.
But the harried Imperial clerk who had been in charge of assigning her a job had only asked if she knew her way around a kitchen. When she’d replied that she did, of course she did, her future had been determined. The Grand Duchess had need of a kitchen maid, and that was that.
So Hilja had worked, boiling kettles and scrubbing pots and chopping vegetables until her fingers had been raw and sore.
She had worked so hard and learned so much that they’d had no choice but to advance her position until she was in charge of it all—the kitchens, the food shipments, the greenhouses.
And the first thing she did when the new maids arrived was always, always, to ask if they wanted to be there.
The vision, the knowledge, receded just as suddenly as it had washed over Naia, leaving her eyes stinging and a lump lodged in her throat.
Hilja stepped back, her stern mien falling back into place as she gestured silently to the other servants. They bustled out, leaving behind the box containing the dress. Then she turned to Naia. “If you’ve need of anything, ring the kitchens,” she instructed. “I’ll come at once.”
The door had swung shut behind her before Naia managed to speak, but it was just as well. The woman did not need to hear her words so much as the island did. “Bless and protect you, Hilja.”
“You handled that well,” Zanya observed.
It didn’t feel that way to Naia. “How do the two of you do it?”
“Firmly.” Zanya smiled. “It’s easier for me than for Sachi. I still make most people too nervous to hover.”
Sachi emerged from behind the screen, wrapped in a soft white robe and rubbing a cloth over her dripping hair. “Surely this isn’t new for you, Naia?”
“Yes and no.” In the past, when she had belonged to this island and its people, they had been accustomed to her presence. She had been revered, but in a much more familiar way, devoid of loss and fear. In the minds of the Rahvekyan people, she had always been, and would always be.
These people knew better. They had grown up with only tales of her, tales that had been defined much more by her death than by her life. It left them strangely conflicted—overjoyed by her return, but reluctant to let her out of their sight.
And how could she blame them?
She finally confessed, “They’re so happy to see me that begrudging their presence feels wrong.”
Sachi made a soft noise of protest. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting some time to yourself.”
“You need that time,” Zanya agreed as she pulled out a chair near the fire for Naia. “Sit and have a drink.”
A tray of hammered-metal mugs was warming by the hearth. Naia lifted one, its dimpled surface hot under her fingers, and the scent of the drink inside tickled her nose as she took a sip of the familiar concoction. “Tealberry wine. It seems to be the only truly local drink they still serve.”
Zanya tilted her head. “Still?”
“Oh, yes. Always hot, because it’s bitter if you drink it any other way, and that can be somewhat of an acquired taste.”
“So that’s why they serve it warm.” Sachi laughed. “I thought it was due to the climate.”
“No.” It had been served that way even when the island had been hot and muggy, with green everywhere and lazy insects bobbing all around.
For a heartbeat, sense memory threatened to overwhelm Naia, and she dragged herself back to the present. Sachi’s hair still dripped onto her thin robe, and Naia set her mug aside. “Here. Let me dry your hair.”
Sachi dropped onto a footstool in front of Naia’s chair and draped the wet cloth across her lap. “Thank you. It’s such a delicate task. One I can’t quite seem to master.”
Naia wasn’t sure how that could be. Sachi was the essence of Creation itself. Whatever she wished could simply become. Reality bent to her will, not out of obedience or duty, but out of love.
Then again, perhaps she could not afford to waste precious energy on trifles like drying her hair. The firelight cast flickering shadows across Sachi’s face, deepening the dark hollows under her eyes. Those were new, as was the hint of sadness that hung about her like fog over the water.
If possible, Zanya looked even worse. She nursed a mug of wine and stared into the heart of the fire, as if searching the dancing flames for answers—or respite. She did not seem sad, not exactly. Just exhausted.
“So.” Working slowly and methodically, Naia began to coax heavy droplets of water from sections of Sachi’s hair. The droplets gathered, hovering in the warm air beside them to await further instruction. “Tell me everything. What have you two been doing in the Empire?”
Sachi drew in a deep breath. “We’ve all been working very hard.”
She was so careful to include the entirety of the High Court in the statement.
But even before she’d regained her thousands of years of memories, Naia would have known better.
The rest of the gods had been toiling day and night—of that, Naia had absolutely no doubt—but their efforts had to pale next to the burdens that Sachi and Zanya carried.
Only the Dream and the Void had a hope of wrangling all the newly awakened magic that currently suffused Sorin’s former empire.