CHAPTER SEVEN
S he felt like a child . Propped up on her knees, her elbows on the windowsill, it was a position most unflattering for a courier. All was dark around her while in front and below unimagined scenes played out.
The main road was lit with torches and lanterns. Acrobats flipped and tumbled around the glowing illuminations like sprites, untouchable by the flames. Dancers with sleeves touching the ground spun like swans in flight, dressed in white gowns tipped with red. In-between them, men twirled batons. Up in the air they flung them, spinning countless times, catching them behind their back or between their legs. More women on stilts shook tambourines and pretended to lure the bodies dressed as mythical beasts.
All the music and motion only ceased when Emperor Cyprian spoke. His voice somehow echoed off gates and palace walls. All could hear him. He read poems of his own writing, sublime with insight into the loneliness of a man responsible for so many. He sang songs of his own creation, and his voice, though thin, was melodic and pleasing.
Patterns of lions and phoenixes decorated the length of his black robes, embroidered in gold thread only two women in the entire Palace of Embroidery were permitted to handle. The precious strands glimmered so, they might materialize into eagles and foxes with nine tails.
Her mother never would have believed it, even if she had seen it. She would have said it was a mirage of the Cloistered City, a lavish dream for hearts that might never touch such riches.
And this was only the first night. Favors of food and coins would be generously distributed throughout the city during the day. Musicians would process up and down the road. There were rumors the emperor’s beloved cats and doves might make an appearance, amazing all with their tricks.
It was hard to believe Aldney had not written a book describing the festival. Then again, he had always been level-headed, in control of his emotions.
But I don’t believe you weren’t thrilled. I don’t believe you witnessed all this and did not sigh in wonder. I remember your smile. I always will. You gave it rarely, but I know it betrayed you during these exciting days. And to think you experienced this more than once! Oh, if you were here, Aldney, I’d scold you for not making me understand how phenomenal this all is even if you told me I’m too easily pleased.
I miss you. Next year I’ll have a lantern to burn in your honor.
Bartholomew had brought food and drink. She did not realize the calming proprieties of the tea and warm dumplings. Petra only knew she had fallen asleep because she awoke to the dusty shades of early morning flooding the walls of the room.
“Wake, young lady. Wake. The emperor has retired.”
The manservant stood at the doorway.
With an instantly straight back, she sat up. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Fret not. The festival troubadours have only just announced the closing of the palace doors behind his majesty. Your mended livery is at the end of the bed, and I am prepared to escort you as soon as you are ready.”
“Thank you.” She bowed her head. “I am indebted.”
“Nonsense. I act on the command of my lord Rand. He is merciless in battle, but he won’t stand for the suffering of an innocent.”
With those eyes the color of war. Alone on the battlefield, alive amid spent bodies. Those eyes were the color of heavy consequences.
“I think I believe that,” she mumbled. “I mean! I mean, it’s clear his majesty would only select the finest men to serve in Shivalry.”
Solemnly, Bartholomew inclined his head in agreement before stating he would wait for her below.
On the first floor, he opened the doors for her, and they walked into the sparce courtyard. Not half blinded by pain, she took it in again. Captains of Shivalry were well-paid men. They had sacrificed all to the emperor. Petra wondered where Rand’s money went. For, aside from keeping his dwelling spotless, and one servant dressed in worthy fabrics, he might as well have been a deposed baron of the hinterlands.
In the morning air hung the palette of the previous night. Singed powders from fireworks. Twists of lemon and orange rind mixed with incense and snuffed candles. Overhead, the sky was a watercolor expanse of yellow and tangerine pooling into one another, highlighted only by wisps of feathered clouds.
Bartholomew walked beside her as they crossed the courtyard, but when they got to the gate, he indicated she pause. In addition to the servant bearing all loyalty to his master, he must also boast the hearing of a cat. He promptly opened the gate and Rand strode through.
Decorated armor over his body shone in the early light. Floral etchings and calligraphy text she could not read glinted. He looked twice as big as before. His hair was pulled back from his face and had there not been dark circles making shadows under his eyes, Petra would have sworn he stepped off the pages of an ancient legend.
Immediately, she bowed.
“You are safe upon your own legs again?”
A rosy flush steeped her ears. She had rested in his arms and though unconscious, her body had been held close to that broad chest as he laid her in the bed. On his part, proper decorum would have allowed her to fall. Yet not only had he lifted her he had also rushed to her side.
Embarrassment thickened her speech. “Please allow me to...to thank and be in your debt, my...my lord.”
She did not dare raise her eyes as he replied.
“There is no debt to be paid, Little One.”
Heat from her ears reached down the back of her neck at hearing this moniker again, spoken in a voice at the heart of midnight.
“I thank you,” she managed.
“My lord,” Bartholomew said. “I am escorting her back to the hall. Is there anything you wish me to return with?”
Rand’s reply was dry. “The words to make Cyprian hear.”
The manservant smirked. “I am no miracle worker, my lord.”
Striding forward, he squeezed Bartholomew’s shoulder. “You are as close as any.”
***
A UGUSTINE GREETED HER without looking, saying she was lucky to have returned with a Shivalry captain’s servant by her side. Busy mixing a new color of wax for the Mother-of-State, he suggested if anything untoward had happened at the Third Captain’s palace, she ought to bury it in her soul.
“I am glad to be back.”
Augustine continued stirring, slow and deliberate. “Much happens behind all the flurry of the festival. And though tomorrow is the third day of rest for the entire city, it is not for us. Letters will still arrive, none of which can be delivered once the emperor emerges at night. Every courier needs to be prepared. Do not be caught with your hands by your side.”
“Yes, Sir.”
***
B ETWEEN THE DELIVERY room and the dormitory, there was a great deal of talk and Petra indulged in listening. Rumors of which lady-in-waiting would be the new empress. One sordid rumor whispered that the emperor would select his mother and live with her as married couples do.
In all the wonder of the celebrations last night, there had been drama, too. Although the Benign Mother had not made an appearance, it was said she sent gifts to every one of the ladies-in-waiting, except Lady Ejona. Not only was this a bold undercut, but it was also an upset towards all the signs people thought indicated her favor.
Last night the other ladies-in-waiting emerged bearing their gifts. Personal servants of Lady Ejona said she could not be persuaded to leave her residence and threatened to end her life.
Oh, there was talk.
Seasoned couriers clustered around newer servants, explaining how much could be gained during the Festival of the Late Harvest Moon. Stiff hands were more likely to offer compensation after hours of consuming ginger beer and peppered wine. Tight lips also loosened. Often this was a greater reward than any sweet bread or money. Knowledge can be levered in favor of personal gain.
Petra listened to it all, weighing it against what her brother had shared. How often had he used gossip to his advantage? Even without a festival, his beauty drew people to confide in him.
Had that been the reason for his death? They concealed his murder because he concealed a truth about one of the councilmen or one of the ladies-in-waiting. Then when it was learned he confiscated the intelligence, he was dispatched like an inconvenience—not a man.
This contemplation dulled the shine of gossip.
It was later in the day she assisted a fellow courier sorting and cleaning wax melting bowls. There had been a call from the palace that his majesty wanted decrees and other official documents sealed in a new shade of red. This meant endless color tests. Petra and an older woman with a birthmark encompassing her right cheek ensured the amounts of needed bowls were without cracks or chips.
They had been working quietly and complacently for hours. Petra enjoyed working with her. Her movements were assured, and she hummed tunes that Petra felt might have been lullabies for children now grown.
Petra was examining a bowl for chips around the outside when another deliverer sat beside her. He had been one of the few to let her babble that first day.
“Miriam, a letter came from Councilman Percival.”
Miriam stopped humming and unfolded her legs. With few words, she told Ki to work slowly in her absence. Then she stood and collected the letter from her dead sister’s husband, who ensured it was only Miriam delivering to his mansion.
Eagerly, Ki took up the bowl. Petra continued to work, wondering if she would have to re-examine the bowls he cleaned. His hands moved much too fast.
From the corner of her periphery, she saw him glance at her several times, twisting his lips. He must have heard something wild. Or, perhaps, knew of the gossip her walk with Bartholomew had initiated. It was something ; he winked. People do not wink by happenstance.
At length and at last, he set the bowl down and faced her.
“I know you.”
“You should,” she answered, without raising her eyes from her task. “I work here.”
“No.” He scooted closer. “I know who you are.”
“I’m no one.”
“Not so. I wasn’t sure at first. You don’t look very much like him.”
A spasm jolted her hands, and she nearly dropped the bowl. Ki grinned.
“Who do you think I look like?” she asked, trying to feign nonchalance.
“Aldney Ondise.”
The bowl dropped in her lap. It felt like an accusation, but she had nothing to be ashamed of. There was honor in following the footsteps of an older sibling. And anyway, this was not something she intended to keep clandestine. Yet he looked like he had uncovered a bloated secret.
He moved so their knees touched. Petra scooted away.
“I am and I’m honored to work where he did, to do the same as him, providing for our mother.”
“Many wept when news of his death reached us. I know I did.”
Grief rang within her ribs, a heavy bronzed bell. To hear someone speak of his passing aloud, it was almost as if her brother was made more dead, even though that was not possible.
She could not find a response. Ki kept talking.
He said he used to see Aldney writing letters in his free time and always wondered to whom he had so much to say. Ki was convinced Aldney had a lover beyond the city and was disappointed when Aldney revealed he wrote to his sister.
The young man tipped his head to one side and looked unblinkingly at her. “In all my life, I have never had one with which I could share so much. How does it feel to be the recipient of such devotion?”
She did not reply. Ki continued.
“Aldney was close to no one. We used to whisper about who received all the letters he wrote. There were bets taken on whether it was a scorned lover or a wife he left in desperation. Several believed he preferred men.” He tipped his head to the other side. “But it was you.”
“I lived for his letters.”
Ki’s expression was difficult to identify. “And he seemed to live and work for you, until he didn’t.”
Visions of bowed heads and tear-stained cheeks flooded her mind. Did the people here love him enough to weep publicly when the news came? Did Augustine make a speech?
He picked up the bowl from her lap, but she stayed his arm. “Tell me. Tell me what happened.”
“No official letter was sent to you?”
“There was a letter.”
“Then why ask me?”
“Why do you seek me out?”
He shrugged. “I wanted to see who such a man might love to suffer all he did.”
She had not released his arm. “Taunt me and I’ll break the bowl and blame you. What happened to my brother? You say he suffered?”
“Suffered and then was buried by a Shiv.”