19. Drowning in Silk and Self Loathing
Drowning in Silk and Self Loathing
Over the point of his aggressively large letter opener, the soldiers’s eyes narrowed.
Taim scanned my veiled face, my silk kaftan, gold bangles stacked on my wrists, and then snagged to a stop on my eyes.
His gaze sparked with recognition and a little fascination.
Then the look collapsed into puzzlement.
“You’re the king’s unlit—” He stopped as he processed the situation. “You shouldn’t be here.”
I scrambled for the words that might untangle this mess, only to find that my brain had curled up in the corner of the alcove and refused to participate.
The second soldier appeared, drawn by the commotion. Heavy brows lowered as he assessed the situation. “The blue-eyed foreigner.”
“Found her hiding in the alcove,” Taim reported. “She was—”
“Taking in the night air,” I interrupted. Mustering confidence, I straightened to my full height despite my heart doing its best impression of a stampede. “That’s not a crime.”
Not buying any of this, the second soldier’s expression hardened. “The harem returned to their quarters. You know this.”
I did know this. And of course, they knew I knew this.
He cocked his head to the side. “And why are you wearing a servant’s sahre?”
I had no answer for that one. Instead, I just dragged the veil off my face. My sorry attempt at improvisation was sinking like a stone.
Taim sheathed his sword. “Come,” he said, not unkindly. “I’ll have the Seraglio guards notified.”
Yep, no way of talking myself out of this one.
I followed them out of the garden and down the stairwell to the Seraglio gates, where two black-robed guards waited in silence. With every step, I marched toward Mali and a conversation that I suspected would be wildly unpleasant.
Reclining on cushions with several other women, her expression remained terrifyingly still as the guards explained the situation.
She dismissed the men with a flick of her fingers.
Without having to be told, the women in the room scattered like startled birds, disappearing from sight.
Even Salma, who’d been sitting nearby, made herself scarce.
Once only Mali and I remained, she rose with the fluid grace of a panther stalking its prey. She leveled her eyes at me. “I’m waiting.”
Oh, an explanation. I opened my mouth. Nothing came out, so I closed it again. Tried again. Still nothing.
She cocked a brow.
It was a long shot, but I threw the words out anyway. “I got lost?”
Her eyes flashed dangerously. “Do not insult my intelligence.” She began to pace, her burgundy silk robes swirling behind her. “I am no fool, Wren. You were attempting to find the Volanti prisoner.”
I lifted my chin, knowing there was no point in denying it. “Yes, I was. He saved my life more than once. Was I supposed to just let him burn?”
She propped her fists on her hips. “He is an assassin.”
“He is also a person,” I shot back. “A man who only carried out the orders he was given.”
“Orders to kill our king,” she growled. “He is fortunate burning is all he will endure.”
“But he—”
“Enough!” Her hands sliced through the air. “I should throw you into the cell next to him so you can burn together.”
Air froze in my lungs.
She stepped closer, her dark, stormy eyes pinning me in place. “I chose you. Saved you from slavery. Brought you into the palace and offered you luxury. Comfort. Safety. And this is how you repay my kindness? By sneaking around like a common criminal and attempting to free a murderer?”
A flush of shame crept through me. She wasn’t wrong.
I had been saved from a fate that would have been worse than anything I could have imagined.
I had been ungrateful for her kindness and terribly reckless.
But Griffon could have left me behind a dozen times.
He protected me when he had no reason to.
I couldn’t just abandon him to his fate.
“Please,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to—”
“To what? Sneak to the cells, take down a dozen soldiers, break through bars?” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Escape together and flee across a desert where you would die of thirst before reaching the border? Did you think at all before acting on this foolish impulse?”
No, I hadn't. And that was becoming painfully clear.
"I just... I couldn't stand doing nothing,” I admitted.
She studied me for a long, uncomfortable moment. Finally, she dropped her fists from her waist and sighed. “Fortunately for you, I am not without mercy.” She returned to sit back down on the cushion. “I will not be throwing you into a cell.”
Relief swept through me so fiercely that I had to steady myself.
“However,” she continued, “you have proven yourself untrustworthy.”
My eyes widened as the relief suddenly curdled in my gut.
“From this moment forward, you will not leave the Seraglio without an escort.” She reclined back onto the silk cushion as if dismissing me. “Laith will take you to your quarters.”
As if on cue, one of the large men in black robes appeared out of nowhere.
With a face that looked like it had been carved from stone, the man stood an entire head taller than me and twice as wide.
He wore a black turban wrapped close to his scalp and a braided leather belt.
A staff carved from a single piece of solid olive wood made a soft, hollow thud on the tiled floor as he stopped before us.
I stared at his imposing figure, and my stomach dropped into my little beaded slippers. This was it, then. My chances of trying to find Griffon and somehow rescuing him were crushed by my own impulsiveness and a vindictive cat.
“Wren.” Mali’s voice stopped me as I moved to follow the guard. “Do not disappoint me again.”
I nodded without looking at her. Numb with defeat, I followed the guard to my sleeping quarters.
It was a long room lined with low beds right off the common area.
Several women were already there, preparing for sleep.
Laith wordlessly gestured to a bed toward the rear of the room made with turquoise silk sheets and surrounded with no personal effects.
Curious eyes followed me as I passed, but I ignored them. I sank onto the edge of the bed and stared at the wall. The gold bangles on my wrists felt like shackles.
Griffon burned in four days. And I’d just ruined my only chance.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
I should have been patient. I should have learned the layout of the palace, identified the guard rotations, and made allies. Should have planned instead of acting on desperate impulse, revealing my hand like an amateur the moment an opportunity presented itself.
But four days just wasn’t enough time.
I slipped off my shoes and lay back on the luxuriously soft bed.
Not bothering to get changed, I stared at the intricate tile-work on the ceiling.
Somewhere in this palace, Griffon slept in a prison cell.
And here I was, drowning in silk and self-loathing, more useless to him than when I’d been held at knifepoint.
I’d been foolish. And I had no idea how to fix it.
I awoke in a haze, lying on top of a still-made bed, and finally accepting that every morning would be a guessing game about where in the world I might be.
Salma approached my bed, backlit by the sconces in the hall.
“Radiant day to you, little bird,” she cooed and lit another oil lamp.
“Praise at Dawn starts in 30 minutes.” She had a new robe on, this one in dark ochre.
She dropped cerulean blue silk onto the bed.
“Change into that and go wash your face,” she instructed.
“I’ll redo your makeup.” And with that, she glided out of the room.
At least she’d been gracious enough not to mention last night.
After Salma had transformed me into something presentable, Laith appeared in the doorway. With only a slight inclination of his head toward the corridor, I fell into step behind him. With frustration curling in my gut, I ignored the curious glances from the other women in the common room.
Following the crowd through the dimly lit hallways I vaguely remembered from yesterday, we passed the hall with its empty thrones and strange sideways tapestry and out into the cool predawn air.
Palace residents, servants, and soldiers had already gathered in clusters around the massive sundial in the courtyard.
Even in the low glow of the torches placed around the area’s perimeter, the magnificent apparatus took my breath away.
The gnomon arrow stretched through the center of the sundial, perfectly aligned with the celestial poles. The mathematics of it alone were staggering. Whoever designed this understood spherical geometry, astronomical coordinates, and the precise angle of Earth's axis.
Laith positioned us at the edge of the gathering, close enough to take part but far enough from the exits to prevent any foolish escape attempts. I might have appreciated his tactical thinking if I weren't the subject of it.
In the Soli’s language of heavy consonants and guttural edges, the crowd chanted a melodic tune that was quite a contrast from last night's mournful dirge.
This one was bright and joyful, their voices rising and falling in complex harmonies, welcoming the sun's return as if they'd genuinely feared it might not come back.
I edged closer to examine the sundial’s calibrations, to see how they accounted for the equation of time.
Laith moved with me like a shadow.
While pretending to be absorbed in the morning prayers, I noticed something as I studied the instrument. Flowing in sinuous script, words were engraved along the surface of the dial plate. I leaned closer, squinting to make out the letters in the first rays of sunlight.
Mali, my queen under the sun, you are my true north towards which the gnomon inclines and the fixed point around which my entire world turns. As it finds truth between the light and shadow, may this sundial mark the hours of my devotion and every moment of joy we share under Helios’ blessed rays.