Tertulyn proceeded apace with the rest of my cosmetics while I read, and the other ladies distracted Glory with trimming flowers for my gown and wig. The letter rambled on about the romantic intrigues of the emperor’s court, before settling on a long description of the fashions imported from Keiost. An involuntary murmur of unhappy surprise escaped me. The portents positively rained down.
Tertulyn’s gaze snagged mine in mute question. Now was not the time for outside ears.
“Thank you, Glory, for your service to Me.” I raised my voice, keeping my tone as kind as I could, even as my heart beat wildly, assimilating the impossible. Never had the long-distance wails of foreign lands proved to be so accurate. Time to send the girl away. “Will you stay awhile in the capital?”
“Your Highness, yes.” She curtsied again, deeply, speaking barely above a whisper. “My family is with me. We hope to visit the map room and see other sights.”
“Enjoy some on Me.” I nodded to Calla, who gave the girl a gold coin stamped with my likeness. Anure had “gifted” me with a treasury of the things. I would’ve commanded her to spend it—the price it would fetch could likely feed her family for a full year—but many of the girls kept them, along with their souvenir scarf folded in the queen’s style, on my specially dyed paper, with a personal note of thanks from me. My ladies penned those for me, but each evening I affixed my signature for the next morning. Another of my little rituals, planning for the sun to indeed rise once more.
And that Calanthe would still be whispering harmoniously when sunrise came.
Calla led the Glory out of the chamber to hand over to the guards to be escorted away. As soon as she was out of earshot, I relieved their suspense. “It seems that the latest styles from Keiost are all in shades of red.”
Tertulyn’s hand trembled, pausing in her task of gluing the tiny jewels to their proper places at the corners of my eyes and mouth. She closed her eyes, lips moving in a prayer for the family she had in Keiost, the other ladies falling into furious whispering, relaying the information to Calla when she returned. They were intimate enough with me to understand the codes. Red for blood. The rumors of uprising were true. And as always, it was the common people who died.
My father had taught me this. The emperor didn’t suffer when war ravaged his empire. He stayed lazy and overfed on his throne while we tore one another’s throats out fighting to get to him. Why trouble himself if we killed one another? Another of the many reasons that rebelling against him harmed only ourselves. My father’s untimely death only proved that point.
I touched Tertulyn’s hand to steady it, for a moment seeing an overlay from the dream, of my own fingers, broken and bloody from the chains. An escaped wolf leading an uprising. It couldn’t be coincidence. But who could this mongrel leader be? For he had to be common. None of the old royalty were left outside their genteel captivity in the emperor’s citadel at Yekpehr. Besides me.
“We’ll find out more,” I told Tertulyn. She nodded, her face, clear and lovely as a doll’s, showing no concern. All of my ladies were exemplary, and Tertulyn the best of them.
Her hands steady again, Tertulyn finished, then invited me to stand. Even with the Glory gone, we observed our ritualistic formalities. The ladies all gathered round, fastening the structures to support my gown onto the rigid corset. Six ladies assist my toilet, and not because I love having a crowd around me. It takes four of them to support the jewel-encrusted material while two sew it into place—one on each side, to ensure symmetry.
A courtier attempting to rise in prominence through his wit once jested that my court gear weighed more than a soldier in full armor headed into battle. I hadn’t found it at all funny. Let him wear my gown for even an hour. There’s a reason my parade steed is the same stalwart breed as those the armored warriors ride.
And though my armor consists of jewels and flowers, I am no less resolved than those dandies in metal shells. It protects something precious to more than myself. What happened to Keiost would never happen to Calanthe.
As the final step, the ladies lowered the day’s wig, white to match my gown, onto my bare scalp. Tertulyn added spots of glue to hold it in place, although most of that would be up to me—and to the years of posture training ingrained in me. The other ladies circled me with baskets of fresh flowers, studding the elaborate ivory tresses with blossoms of all kinds.
Then they affixed the crown of Calanthe. Fortunately for my neck it was remarkably light for all its jeweled glory. With sapphires, aquamarines, and diamonds set in a frame of shining loops and arcs of purest platinum, the crown evokes the sea that surrounds Calanthe. It is the waves and the light upon the water, and all who live within.
My ladies presented me with the looking glass and I surveyed their work, though I hardly needed to. I looked as I always had, preserved like a blossom under glass, perfectly groomed to present the perfect image. The Flower Queen of Calanthe. This set of five ladies had been with me for nearly three years and knew their business well. Tertulyn had been with me for over twenty years—ever since she came from the court at Keiost to foster with us at the beginning of Anure’s rampages—and we knew each other like the insides of our own hearts. I’d have been lost without her. To show it, I plucked a flower from my hair and tucked it into her canary-bright wig.
She produced a smile for me, perfect in every way. Good girl.
Suitably clad in my flower-strewn and jeweled armor, I descended from my chambers to battle to keep at least my small, unspoiled paradise in the light.
4
“Good morning, Your Highness,” the young squire blurted. “I’m pleased to report that Keiost is yours. General Kara asks me to inform you that our wounded are being tended, their wounded dispatched, and the survivors assembled, awaiting your arrival. Victory is ours,” he added unnecessarily. Clean and wearing a fresh set of clothes, General Kara’s squire grinned with the cheeky triumph of one too young to understand the cost of war.
I nodded at him, not yet ready to test my voice, scanning the camp and the battlefield beyond. What did I hope to see? Confirmation that the bloodshed had been worth it, perhaps. Now that I’d come down from the battle rage—and up from the sleep of exhaustion—seeing what we’d wrought only sickened me. I’d rather feel the glee, the savage satisfaction. Vengeance tasted best hot. In the unflinching light of what should be a beautiful morning, I had no stomach for such a cold dish, or for celebration.
But Keiost was mine, at long last. Hopefully it would hold the information the wizard promised.
“Your Highness?” The squire made the question a reminder. The boy’s name escaped me at the moment. Brad? Bard? Names mattered, but I’d passed the point of being able to keep track of everyone in my growing armies. And today I’d more than double that by adding the people of Keiost.
Depending on how many chose not to be added.
Enough of dark thoughts. Kara and the others waited on me. Stripping off my shirt, I dunked my head in the waiting bucket. The cold water helped wake me, too. Dragging a hand through my hair, I tried to dislodge the worst of the blood and grime. Not easy. This was the price of not bathing before exhaustion claimed me.
Of course, it was also the price of refusing to cut my hair ever again. Call it pride. Call it superstition. When I’d been Prince Conrí, I’d worn my hair as I pleased until the day Anure’s soldiers clapped me in chains, shaved my head, and dragged me off to the mines. I’d promised myself—the vow of the boy I’d been, with all the certainty and passion of childhood—that one day I’d break the chains and never again cut my hair.