Power & Majesty (2 page)

V
elody was the last one to rouse. She was exhausted, as if she had been running races in her sleep, though she remembered none of her dreams. When she got out of her cot, her body felt strange, slower than usual, and the world a little less bright.

A blonde demoiselle, Delphine, who had a cut-glass accent and had brought a family servant along as her chaperone, was holding court in the midst of the other demmes. ‘Of course, Madame Mauris is the best dressmaker in Aufleur,’ she was saying loudly. ‘She only takes one apprentice every seven years. My mother expects me to catch her eye with my fine stitching.’

‘Not to mention her fine vowels,’ whispered a tall demme near Velody, whose dark red hair was pulled back in a tight braid.

Velody covered her laugh with a cough.

‘My father still thinks sending me here is some sort of punishment,’ Delphine went on, shaking her long golden curls. ‘Learning about the value of hard work, and all that. As if it’s going to stop me flirting with the gardener! My mother is in on the conspiracy, of course.’

‘Conspiracy?’ asked one of the demoiselles who had gathered around Delphine like beetles on a rose.

Delphine rolled her eyes dramatically. ‘To make me a world-famous dressmaker, of course. Weren’t you listening?’

The tall demme snorted at that.

Delphine glanced up, her eyes hardening. ‘Rhian, isn’t it? You’re the one who brought a boy as your chaperone.’ Her laughter had a cruel edge, and the demmes around her giggled dutifully.

Velody remembered Rhian’s brother—a gangly boy with spectacles and auburn hair like his sister. Their landlady had been flummoxed by his presence—chaperones were usually female and middle-aged—and had eventually sent him to sleep in the attic with her sons and nephews for the duration of the Fair. The chaperones would all be returning home after that, leaving their successful charges in the hands of the Apprentice House for the next seven years.

Rhian set her chin squarely. ‘My brother was the only one who could be spared to come all this way. We don’t all have family retainers. I can’t imagine someone like you lasting ten minutes as an apprentice. You won’t be allowed servants to bring you rose oil and sweetmeats, you know.’

‘And what are you going to be?’ Delphine sneered. ‘With shoulders like yours—a carpenter, perhaps?’

‘I would if they let women practise the hard crafts,’ Rhian said, which set the beetles giggling again. ‘I’m going to be a florister.’

‘How sweet, to care nothing of wealth and status,’ said Delphine, dismissing her. ‘I wish you well of it.’

The Aufleur Forum was a hive of activity. It was a huge area, more than six times the size of the piazza at the centre of Tierce. The council had set out trestle tables upon which the prospective apprentices could display samples of their work. The boys’ fair had been two weeks
earlier; today the Forum was awash with demoiselles and their handicrafts.

Rhian was chosen early, her floral arrangements catching the eye of several respectable floristers. She gave Velody a grin as she packed up her stall, and even her brother offered a smile as they left for the apprentice registry to announce which offer she had decided to accept.

There was far more competition for the needlecrafts, and Velody waited for most of the day. Her Aunt Agnet was supposed to stay at her side, but she kept darting off to peer at the other stalls, or to gape at the huge public buildings that surrounded the impressive Forum.

Delphine had the stall beside Velody. The two of them eyed each other discreetly for the first few hours, but finally cracked and examined each other’s wares with every appearance of amity.

‘This stitching is very fine,’ said Delphine, fingering a soft noxgown. ‘Did you knit the lace yourself?’

‘Never again,’ said Velody. ‘Work like that would turn me blind in a year.’

‘Lacemakers make great sacrifices for their craft,’ Delphine agreed with a wicked smile.

Velody relaxed a little at this evidence that her ladyship had a sense of humour. ‘The ribbons on that festival gown are marvellous,’ she said.

Delphine shrugged. ‘Ribbons are easy.’

Velody was dreadful at the finework required for ribbons, but did not say so. ‘I’ve heard that Mistress Sincy the ribboner is looking for apprentices this year,’ she said, then bit her lip. ‘I didn’t mean—’

‘Well, yes,’ said Delphine. ‘Ribboning is hardly the most prestigious profession, is it? But I suppose it’s better to be a first-class ribboner than a second-class
anything
.’ She eyed Velody. ‘You never said what kind of apprenticeship you were hoping for.’

Velody opened her mouth to say something like ‘Anything with a needle, really,’ which was half-true. But
why should she cower at the feet of this demoiselle just because she had pretty hair and spoke like a lady? ‘Dressmaking,’ she said. ‘I want to be a dressmaker.’

Delphine gave her an amused look. ‘Luckily for you, I thrive on competition.’

Rhian returned some time later sporting a scarlet band on her wrist. ‘I’m to report to the Apprentice House tomorrow morning,’ she told Velody with glee. ‘My new mistress seems nice enough—though she has a mouth on her. I hope she’s not the type to reach for the birch rods the first time you drop a plate.’

‘If she is, you’re doomed,’ said her brother. He came forward to shake Velody’s hand. ‘I’m Cyniver.’

‘Nice to meet you,’ said Velody. He seemed nice enough, and her palm was warm where he had touched it. ‘Not too bored?’

‘Not now I’ve got our Rhian off my hands,’ said Cyniver. ‘I can visit the librarion in peace tomorrow, before I return home.’

‘You and your books,’ Rhian scoffed. ‘Velody, can we fetch you some lunch? You must be starved by now.’

‘Anything, please,’ said Velody, not trusting her aunt to remember her.

Rhian hesitated, then glanced over at Delphine. ‘Shall I fetch you something while I’m at it?’

Velody waited for Delphine to say something cutting, but the other demoiselle surprised her. ‘That would be kind,’ she said.

After bringing pasties and cider to the others, Rhian insisted on dragging Cyniver the entire breadth of the Forum to look at all the stalls. Velody didn’t mind. All the apprentices would be living in the Apprentice House by the river for the next seven years, so, assuming she got a position, she would have time enough to get to know her new friend.

There were plenty of seamstresses and needleworkers
among the crowd during the afternoon, and Velody was delighted to receive three tokens. Delphine got four—one of them from the famed Mistress Sincy the ribboner.

‘Keep me in mind if nothing more prestigious comes your way,’ the dame said as Delphine hesitated over the indigo token.

The Forum took on something of a festival atmosphere as the afternoon lengthened, with more of the crowd there for sightseeing than official business. Velody sat with the remains of her pasty in her lap and her cider hidden beneath the trestle, watching the world go by.

She almost bit the neck off her bottle when she saw a tall young man with red-gold hair stroll through the Forum. He had one arm thrown carelessly around the shoulders of a muscular dark-haired youth, and he held hands with a demoiselle about Velody’s age whose face was painted—as Aunt Agnet would say—like a trollop. The three of them wore bright, dandy clothes like musette costumes. It was the redhead who had caught Velody’s eye though. He was strangely familiar.

How can that be?
she chided herself.
You’ve never been to this city before yesterday. You have met no one except the demmes and their chaperones
.

So why did this pretty young man make her head hurt and her chest ache, as if he reminded her of some colossal embarrassment?

The redhead leaned down and kissed his painted demme—messily, with lips and tongue and teeth. Before Velody could even blush at the impropriety of it—kissing in the streets!—he turned his head and bestowed a similar kiss upon his male friend.

As the three of them passed Velody’s little stall, the redhead winked saucily at her and she quite forgot how to breathe. She looked over at Delphine to see the other demoiselle fanning herself with a handful of ribbons.

‘Things are quite different in the big city,’ said Velody.

‘You’re telling me,’ said Delphine, pretending to swoon. ‘I plan to enjoy every minute that I get here.’ She sat up straight all of a sudden. ‘There! In the mauve shawl. That’s Madame Mauris!’

‘How can you tell?’ Velody asked.

‘I sent Letty to her boutique this morning, of course,’ Delphine said, referring to her maid. ‘She reported back with a very detailed description. There can’t be two noses like that. Hush! She’s coming this way!’

Velody leaned back on her stool in something like shock. Madame Mauris had examined the work of every young seamstress and needleworker at the fair, and her bronze token had very purposely been placed on Velody’s table.

Once Velody recovered herself, she tore her eyes away from Madame Mauris’s departing back to look apologetically at Delphine. She was not there.

When Delphine returned from the registration table with the indigo band of Mistress Sincy the ribboner around her wrist, Velody congratulated her. From that day forward, Delphine pretended that she had intended to take the ribboning apprenticeship all along, and neither Velody nor Rhian ever challenged her on it.

That was what friends did.

S
o what do you want to know? We have all the time in the world. Ask your questions. I imagine everything you’ve heard about me is bad.

Ashiol? Why am I not surprised? Of course your first question is about him. My friend. We were like brothers, you know. Long before we came to the Creature Court. Long before we fought the sky, side by side.

When his mother and stepfather sent Ashiol to the city, to play dutiful grandson and almost-heir to the old Duc, he begged them to let me join him. I was nothing to them, the son of two servants, with no purpose but to replace my father when he grew too infirm to tend the grounds of the estate.

I talk like a gentleman, don’t I? You wouldn’t be the first to be fooled about what I am.

They let me leave home, to walk a pace or two behind Ashiol, to pick up his clothes when he flung them on the floor, to (let me state this clearly) ensure he got into no trouble in the big city.

Are you laughing at that part? I can wait until you are finished.

It didn’t matter what role I was supposed to play in the Duc’s Palazzo. Ash and I found another world that wanted us. A secret war, being fought above the city in the nox sky. The Creature Court did not care whether we had been born on linen sheets or the kitchen table.

We were young, we were powerful, and we were equals.

I ran mad with it. For the first time in my life, I was somebody. Animor flowed hot in my veins. When the sky lit up with burning death, I was there to fight it back, to save the city, nox after nox. I took to drinking the fear away, and when the drink wasn’t enough, I turned to potions and powders. The Creature Court was all about decadence, and I embraced that. Every time I fell down, Ashiol was there to catch me.

One kiss changed it all. The little brown mouse looked meek and young, but her animor was sweet. With that inside me, mingling with my own, I didn’t need anyone’s help. I didn’t need my high-and-mighty beloved Ashiol picking me up out of the gutter, time and time again.

I was stronger than him. Better. He didn’t realise at first, but when he did…how could he not hate me for it?

We were Tasha’s cubs, within the Creature Court. Five of us: Ashiol, me, Lysandor, Livilla, the boy. An unbreakable family. Tasha taught each of us the prime survival traits: selfishness, decadence, viciousness. We loved each other, but she made us hate too. Everything was a competition. When Ashiol was her darling, I was wounded. When she kissed Livilla, the rest of us felt the lack of that kiss on our own mouths.

Tasha taught us ambition. As a woman, she could never aspire to being a King, but she breathed power. She wanted to rule the Court through us. Once we were Lords, she expected we would let her keep pulling our tails. The hideous thing was, she was probably right. We adored her so very much.

It’s for the best that I killed her.

When she fell, the animor rocked through me, transforming me. I glowed from within. It tasted better than that kiss I stole
from the little brown mouse—how could it not? I quenched her, drinking deep from the power she had wielded during her lifetime. I was not the only one. But I was the closest, and the best.

‘What have you done?’ Livilla screamed, when the others discovered us.

The boy stayed quiet, staring, like he always did then.

‘What do you think?’ Lysandor said in disgust, looking at our fallen Lord’s body. ‘He has done exactly as Tasha taught us all. Lived her lessons fully.’

I only had eyes for Ashiol. Part of me so desperately wanted him to be proud of me. The other part…I let my face settle into a satisfied smirk. ‘I win.’

‘Congratulations,’ he said, dark eyes sweeping over her once, and then locking on mine. ‘Lord.’

Our true glory came after Tasha was gone. Ashiol became a Lord in his own right, and Lysandor not long after. We were friends, companions, brothers, everything. We fought the sky, defended the city, laughed, loved, danced, killed, frigged. We were untouchable.

When I was twenty-one, I quenched a fallen warrior in battle and my animor burst into new shapes, new powers. I became a King.

I had thought Ortheus—our Power and Majesty—would resent me, but he rather took me under his wing. Taught me what I needed to know. Our Court was to be rich in Kings, as it happened. Ashiol and Lysandor were raised up less than a year after I. The sky had no chance against us.

Then…ah, Ortheus fell. It happens even to the greatest of us. Suddenly we had a Court in turmoil—three young, healthy Kings to choose from. Who would rule? Who would take care of us all?

I was the most powerful. They knew that. The most ruthless too. I proved that again and again. I won.

It should have made them love me more.

There had always been a coward’s streak in Lysandor. He left the city soon after my rule began, declaring that he could not bear seeing what I had turned into, the lengths I was willing to go to in order to be Power and Majesty. A coward and a traitor, Lysandor. Waste of flesh.

Ashiol stayed. I saw the look in his eyes—that same look Lysandor had given me from time to time—but he stayed true. He stayed for me, as I always knew he would. My right hand. Most trusted, most beloved.