3
“If Your Highness will look to the sky,” Tertulyn coaxed, breaking into my dark thoughts and affixing the crystal-tipped black silk lashes to my lower lids. The glue itched already. Small pains. Requiring nothing more of me than this simple compliance, Tertulyn returned to her muted conversation with the other ladies and the Glory. I let their soft words tinkle in the background, relaxing as the fall of water—a peace I was unlikely to have again until the end of the day.
For the moment I wore a simple silk shift, to protect me from the bite of the corset I’d soon be encased in from hip to collarbone. A queen mustn’t slouch or sag, no matter how long the day, and this one promised to be endless. Until then, for a short time longer, I could enjoy the freedom of movement and cooling breezes before the sweltering commenced in earnest.
Ibolya, one of my junior ladies, filed my toenails, hiding their true nature with glued-on bits of abalone shell, while Nahua did the same to my fingers, though those would be covered with fitted, jeweled tips with long, wicked points. I’d had to give up the simple expedience of gloves when I took the orchid ring. I liked the curved metallic thorns, however. They suited me and gave a message: I guard my blossoms of all kinds with wicked barbs.
Tertulyn painted on my makeup personally, covering my skin to smooth perfection. She’s done it since we were girls together and is an artist beyond compare in creating the mask I wear for the world. Once she finished, my ladies would dress me in the costume I’d chosen the night before. The day called for virginal white, if one ever did, with Syr Leuthar returned from his extended consultation with the emperor.
His absence had been like a holiday and I now faced a return to the onus of dealing with him. His ship’s sails had been spotted out beyond the barrier reef at sunset—though the seas around Calanthe had murmured to me of the foreign ships’ arrival for some time before that—along with several more. If I could sink those ships and guarantee the emperor’s men never again set their foul feet on Calanthe’s soil, I would.
As it was, all I could do was continue my father’s desperate game. When I’d been only twelve years old, King Gul had betrothed me to Emperor Anure—a clever plan, if one of last resort. He’d made Calanthe and myself into the emperor’s concubines—but at a protected and cherished remove. Coy and virginal, allowing ourselves to be viewed from a distance. As princess of Calanthe and sole heir, I’d known from childhood that I’d have to marry for duty.
Barely a woman, I’d been terrified of the loathsome Anure and the way his gaze crawled over me. Even then I’d worn the elaborate gowns and makeup, but he’d made me feel naked and helpless. Only my father’s repeated explanations and reassurances helped cool my panic, and I locked my fears away with my girlish heart. If I stayed smart, Anure might own me and my island paradise in name, but he’d never fully possess either. Not while I lived.
Could the manacled wolf in my dreams represent the emperor and the danger he posed? The blood could symbolize the loss of my carefully guarded virtue, the breaking of my fingers on its chains my attempts to resist the captivity I could never escape.
Somehow I didn’t think so. Anure had cast a chilling shadow over my fate and Calanthe’s for most of my life. The nightmare of the chained wolf was much more … acute. Violent. Disastrous. Full of terrible omens. Especially coinciding with Leuthar’s return.
I had to consider that the portents might be connected to the rumors of the rebellions. They thickened in the air like a hatch of flower flies—equally irritating and without substance, easily batted away until they returned to buzz in one’s ears. I was keen to discover how much truth the rumors contained, which was one positive of Leuthar’s return. His ships brought information more detailed than dream images, small compensation for his insidious presence.
Usually Tertulyn would have mentioned gossip to me by now, cloaked in niceties to spare the Glory dangerous or upsetting information. Tertulyn’s reports helped me calculate what the day ahead would hold, as she heard what I could not at the late-night parties I couldn’t attend, not and maintain the reputation of virginity that protected me. I still allowed the more licentious customs of the Flower Court to flourish. Another of the concubine’s costumes, Calanthe’s abandoned revelry. We appeared carefree. Surely we kept no thoughts of resistance in such frivolous hearts, no secrets in such empty heads.
We had our rules for daylight, and other rules for night. Once I, the eternal virgin ever faithful to her betrothal, retired to my apparently innocent bed, the court cut the bonds of propriety. The wine flowed, sensual games commenced, and tongues loosened. As I possessed my network of Calanthe’s denizens who reported to me on the doings of the realm and the lands beyond, Tertulyn had formed her own web of informants among the courtiers. At her own waking rituals, the ladies who dressed her reported on the nocturnal events of my palace, which she faithfully related to me.
That she’d said nothing so far that morning could mean there was nothing to say … or something else. If the dreams were true portents, I needed more insight into what news Leuthar would bring to his audience with me. He liked to catch me by surprise. I liked to make sure he didn’t.
Surely Anure hadn’t decided to send for me and make me his bride in fact. The thought sent a shiver up my spine, and Tertulyn noticed.
“Your Highness?” she inquired.
“I hope the entertainments were enjoyable last night,” I remarked, as if in idle conversation.
“Not so, Your Highness,” she replied immediately. “Many hostesses were quite deflated to have their parties poorly attended without their guest of honor.”
Aha. No wonder she hadn’t yet shared the gossip with me. Leuthar hadn’t made it in last night. They must have arrived too late for the tide and anchored beyond the barrier reef. My dreams had been too dominated by the cries from far away for Calanthe’s waters to speak to me of that. Also, a ship at the reef or in our harbor seemed much the same to the vast and shifting seas.
“Has the emissary’s ship yet docked this morning then?” I pretended I didn’t know he’d brought more ships with him. What Calanthe confided in me I kept to myself.
“It hadn’t when I woke You, though it might have by now.” Tertulyn briefly met my gaze as she drew the rose-pink lines for my lips and cheekbones. Reading my intent, she flicked a glance at Calla, who curtsied and glided out of the dressing chamber. Tertulyn switched to a brush to black my eyebrows. Wielding her palette of precise tools, she painted in all the definition the alabaster paste concealed.
Calla returned with several folded letters and the news that not only had the emissary’s ship docked, but three others with it. Surprise, surprise. The former meant court would begin on time. Not that they could start without me, but I’d rather tweak the emperor’s nose with something more important than keeping his emissary waiting while I dallied with primping. The latter … I didn’t know what it meant except that more ships meant more of the emperor’s men, and another indication that the tides of events had shifted. I couldn’t have gone on forever at my precarious stalemate, but I snarled internally like that nightmare wolf at feeling the bite of my chains.
Sorting through the intricately folded letters, Tertulyn set most aside, for her or my royal secretary to deal with, but one she gave to me. That was something. One of my spies in the emissary’s party had sent news in the guise of a letter from a friend.