Chapter 16 #2
“You may thank her yourself. I am to escort you and your healer to court.” He nodded to Arno. “Arno will take your men to the market to translate and assist in purchasing supplies.”
Court. I might have been a retired criminal, but the prospect of attending any event where laws and punishments were meted out sent a shiver down my spine.
Dalila and I had run a lot of cons, pretended to be nobles and enslaved folk, pilgrims and foreign dignitaries in a dizzying number of locales, but attend genuine power?
Enmesh ourselves in respectable halls of government longer than an evening of theft? Never.
Tinbu was already out of earshot, chatting with Arno, but I leaned in close to whisper in Majed’s ear. “Take advantage of the queen’s largesse while she is feeling generous. And keep your ears and eyes open, yes? The truth of this place eludes me.”
He bowed. “Understood, nakhudha.”
That left Dalila and me to follow the sullen Mitanni.
In the morning’s crisp light and blue-washed skies, the palace was transformed.
Last night’s misty black corridors were now filled with flowering vines trailing from the roof with painted frescos of cavorting sea nymphs and palm gardens decorating the plaster walls.
The air smelled of blossoms and fresh bread, and though there were still fewer servants and passersby than I would have expected, we were, at least, not the only souls traversing the ancient halls.
“You will each have daily lessons with a language tutor,” the steward announced as we approached the doors to the royal court. “I will translate when necessary today, but we find a full immersion in our tongue allows new arrivals to pick it up more swiftly.”
I hoped to be far gone from Khatti Ugal before I established any level of proficiency with their language but responded politely.
“We look forward to learning.” I nudged Dalila.
My companion had not said a word since we left our apartments, instead taking in our surroundings with a practiced eye. “Right, Dalila?”
“I consider it an honor,” she replied, more warmly than I would have expected. “Khatti Ugalan will be my tenth tongue, and I find each new language offers its own unique and rich perspective on the world. Particularly in the healing arts.”
Approval bloomed in the steward’s face. “That is just the sort of attitude we prize. It will be a pleasure to introduce you to the court physicians—they are always lamenting that very little from shipwrecks benefits the healing sciences. That is, if the queen lets you out of her sight. Her Resplendency dabbles in potions work and though she is far too modest to brag, she has quite the skill.”
Lab dabbled in potions? My, if that wasn’t a statement that could be interpreted in a number of alarming ways.
But Dalila only smiled. “I look forward to our time together.”
Mitanni turned to me. “The queen told me of your pact,” he said, audible dissatisfaction in his voice. “Those interested in the maritime sciences are fewer and . . . less advanced. But no doubt we shall find some use for you.”
I ground my teeth into a smile. If being polite to this obnoxious courtier earned me the trust necessary to roam the palace and begin searching for the spindle, so be it. “No doubt.”
The throne room was even more enchanting than it had been yesterday, the sun shining through the glass ceiling to illuminate the vibrant greenery climbing over painted walls, flowers and ferns unfurling in every hue of the rainbow, the reflecting pools glittering.
Mosaics I hadn’t noticed earlier lay underfoot, illustrating unfamiliar constellations and celestial beings.
The air was thick with incense, and bare-chested servants in short pleated skirts carried brass trays, handing out small cups of steaming liquid.
One of the women approached, her gaze carefully lowered, and handed each of us a cup.
I gave the drink a dubious glimpse while Dalila took a careful sniff. Then, without another moment of hesitation, she tasted it.
My mouth fell open in surprise. “Have you been possessed by a djinn?” I hissed under my breath. Mitanni had stopped several paces away to exchange greetings with another steward.
“You were the one who lectured me about fitting in last night. If this is what it takes . . .” She took another sip, seeming to savor it. “Oddly refreshing. It tastes like mastic and cherry.”
Odd, indeed. The steward ushered us toward the rows of stone seats. A stir seemed to sweep the room, several Khatti Ugalans turning to give us curious looks.
New blood for the kingdom that thrives on it.
The majority of the locals sported the brilliantly dyed cloaks but their adornments were clearly scavenged from foreign traders: ivory bangles and sapphire pins, gold ornaments with Amharic characters and Egyptian-style silver earrings.
The stares left me uneasy, their inquisitiveness edging into a discomforting hunger.
But then the haunting notes of a lyre silenced the murmuring chatter and Queen Lab entered the chamber.
Many of the same councilors we’d met yesterday followed behind and settled themselves on chairs below her driftwood throne.
Save the lyre and a few bows, her arrival seemed largely unceremonious.
But the steward clearly meant what he said about immersion because what followed was an entire morning of incomprehensible proceedings with only the occasional curt and rarely helpful translation from Mitanni.
Queen Lab appeared at ease in listening to her petitioners and conferring with her advisors, but without knowing the context of their discussions, there was little to learn.
For all we knew they were calmly discussing child sacrifice or how to best murder us in our sleep.
Drowsiness crept over me, relentless and unavoidable as a cloud drifting across the sun.
My head dropped more than once, Dalila nudging me hard in the ribs before I could doze off.
Finally—mercifully—Lab raised a hand and seemed to call the proceedings to a halt.
Her son had come in at some point and climbed into her lap, and she kissed the top of his head—a familiar gesture that made me ache for Marjana—before shooing him down and rising from her throne.
Then she beckoned for Mitanni, who in turn escorted Dalila and me to the throne.
“Good morrow, Captain al-Sirafi,” she greeted, her mirthful gaze lingering on my makeshift attire. “And what would be the appropriate title for your physician?”
Dalila responded politely. “Dalila is fine, Resplendency. I have no need of titles.”
“Nonsense! Your work is among the most sacred, and I cannot imagine the training was an easy feat; none of the healers I have ever met, from different traditions, have mastered their art without years of study. It deserves a proper title, and so I shall refer to you as ‘Doctor’ in your language unless you protest.”
“If that is your wish, my Queen.”
The way Lab was eying Dalila made me nervous. She continued. “And do you come from a family of healers? Is it an art your mother perhaps practiced?”
Dalila flinched. Just barely—she was too talented at concealing her reactions, but I knew her well and noticed.
“My mother was very skilled at fixing things,” she said quietly.
It was a peculiar reply that didn’t quite answer the question, but Lab let it slide, taking Dalila’s thin arm in hers. Now Dalila did stiffen and more obviously. Compared to the queen’s healthy flush and motherly curves, my friend looked like an underfed bird, pale and fragile.
But Lab was not to be deterred. Ignoring Dalila’s reaction, she commanded, “Come, Doctor. I would show you our herb garden. My great-grandmother fancied herself a healer and filled it with restoring plants. Then I shall introduce you to my scholars.” She glanced back at me.
“Captain, I hope to have the pleasure of dining with your crew this evening and have sent word with your first mate. I know there is a great deal of work ahead, but no doubt your people will feel better on a full stomach, with a good night’s sleep in proper beds. ”
If Queen Lab set my crew up in quarters as luxurious as the ones we had enjoyed, I would probably lose a dozen men to the Khatti Ugal before dawn.
But I put the ungracious thought out of my head; my men deserved their pleasures.
They were not slaves, and I would have to trust that the families many had back home and the way I treated them were enough to keep most of my crew together.
“I would be very grateful,” I replied.
Her eyes crinkled in pleasure, not quite a smile.
“Excellent. Then I shall leave you to my steward.” The queen patted Dalila’s arm with affection, and they were gone without a backward glance, leaving me anxious.
My companion was the most skilled con artist I had ever met, one who could conceal items like magic and convince men she was a kidnapped princess, a grieving mother, a lost pilgrim.
But I had not seen that version of Dalila since rescuing her from the Banu Sasan.
She has done just fine for herself thus far today, have faith.
She had done more than fine—even in Khatti Ugal, Dalila had likely just connived a way to work on her experiments rather than aid our mission.
I had no doubt that if she was introduced to a well-stocked apothecary, it would be hard to drag her from it.
Shaking my head, I plastered the complacent mask of perfectly law-abiding sea captain upon my face. Then I turned to Mitanni. “I am in your hands.”
“So let us begin.”