Authors: Deborah Chester
“You!”
Anas said in complete astonishment before she tried to master herself. “But—”
The
Magria lifted her brows coolly. “You have objections?”
“No,
of course not, but—it’s just that you have taken no personal interest in the
training of any of the imperial brides.”
“Only
the first,” the Magria said softly. Her mind folded back to the memory of a
tall, clear-eyed woman with a fiery temper and a will of iron. Fauvina came
from a warrior family, a mob of squabbling warmongers who were finally defeated
and tamed by Kostimon. Fauvina had been the object of truce, the bride, the
settlement. She had gone to Kostimon’s bed like a tigress, unwilling and
furious. But genuine love had been born of their initial passion and hostility.
With love came liking, and with liking came an alliance of both hearts and
minds. As empress Fauvina had used her intellect well, fashioning many of the
laws under which the empire still operated. She had been tough but fair. She
often fought, but she could also listen. She had heeded the Magria’s training,
and under her sponsorship the Pen- estrican orders had spread and flourished.
Women had known equality in the first century of the empire. They had owned
property and could speak up for themselves.
“Kostimon
loved her,” the Magria said softly. “She believed in him, in what he could do.
She took his dreams and made them hers. She gave him all the hope in her soul,
and it strengthened his arm when he forged the provinces into an empire and
changed the world forevermore. For that, he loved her.”
“Fauvina
refused his cup of immortality,” Anas said flatly, appearing unimpressed by the
sentiment of this recollection. “She lies as dust in her tomb, and we have an
emperor who still seeks to cheat death.”
Not
until after her death had things changed. The purges under the Vindicants had
been a horrible time. The Magria remembered sisters who had been burned alive,
those who had been hunted and used by dreadots, moags, and worse for the
entertainment of the new noble class. Some sisters had been tortured in ways
far beyond physical torment by the inquisitors of the Vindicants.
This
dark time of persecution and injustice had driven the Penestricans apart. A
schism formed between those who wanted to cling to the true precepts of the
goddess mother and those who wanted to forsake the gentle power of the earth
for the vicious power of the goddess Mael. Finally they had broken apart, to be
forever enemies, but the harm remained. Although through time the Penestricans
had achieved some measure of trust again, they had never forgotten what
Kostimon had allowed. And of late there had been a scattering of disturbances
and incidents that warned that open persecution might return.
Now,
however, after centuries of waiting, the Magria almost had the tool of her
revenge in her hands. She thought again of her vision, aware that death awaited
her. But, like Kostimon, she had lived a long time. It would be worth
everything to see a woman of her training on the throne again. It would be
worth everything to have some hand in the destiny of the new emperor who would
follow Kostimon’s reign.
“I
shall train the bride,” the Magria said firmly, lifting her head high. “No one
else, not even you, will have the governing of her lessons until I am finished.”
Anas
still looked troubled. “Do we dare stir up old animosities?”
“If
we don’t act now, we shall never act! Don’t be a fool, Anas. I chose you as
much for your courage as your intellect.”
Color
stained Anas’s cheeks. She bowed her head. “Yes, Magria. As you say, so it
shall be.”
“Our
banner shall once again fly with respect everywhere,” the Magria said. “All the
old wrongs shall be righted. And what Sien and his followers plan for us shall
be thwarted.” She smiled, and in her heart she drew a sword. “The revenge
begins.”
Upstairs,
in the
east wing of Lord Albain’s stone palace, the tall windows stood wide open to
catch the cool breezes. Early morning sunlight spilled in, bringing with it a
warning of the intense heat to come. Soon the muxa bugs would dry their
dew-paralyzed wings and come alive. The screens would have to be rolled down
over the windows for protection. Already, the jungle beyond the stalwart walls
emitted screams and bird calls as its day denizens awoke.
Within
the suite of apartments belonging to Lady Bixia, daughter of the house, all
remained peaceful. The sunshine glowed upon fine Ulinian carpets and walnut
chairs gracing the sitting room. Yesterday the room had been complete chaos,
piled high with scattered possessions, half- packed trunks, and muslin packing
cloths. Now it had a stripped, empty feeling. The trunks had been carried away
last night by the porters. The room stood bare of Lady Bixia’s favorite
trinkets, music, sewing boxes, and foot cushions. Only a trace of her scent
lingered on the air. Otherwise, it was as though she had not lived here for
eighteen years. Even the cages containing her parrot and pet monkey had been
swathed in traveling covers and removed.
The
double doors to Lady Bixia’s bedchamber remained firmly closed, for although
this was the grand day of her departure, she never arose before noon.
Her
servants had been up since before dawn, driven to a frenzy of last-minute
packing and preparations for the comfort of their mistress.
Some
servants had been up all night.
Crouching
on the cool stone steps leading up to the empty hearth, Elandra forced her sore
and aching fingers to keep stitching. She had to finish hemming this new
dressing robe so it could be packed. Only last night had Bixia discovered the
robe was too long. In a screaming fit, she had ripped at the garment and flung
it on the floor. Elandra tried to clean it, and she’d been up all night sewing.
The
stitches were not ordinary ones, but instead some kind of intricate embroidery
indicative of the finest handwork. It had taken hours to puzzle out the trick
of the tiny stitches.
Now
Elandra was so tired her eyes would barely focus, and she could not stop
shivering from exhaustion. Glancing up for a moment and grimacing at the
stiffness in her neck, she realized the sunlight was finally brighter than her
little lamp. Leaning over, she blew out the flame and sighed with her eyes
closed.
If
only she could rest for a moment.
But
she dared not. Dragging her eyes open again, she forced herself to regain her
concentration. If she didn’t complete her task, it would be the switch for
sure.
The
needle jabbed into her finger, and she flinched.
Swiftly
she stuck her bleeding finger into her mouth and sucked at the wound. She
couldn’t afford to spill even a tiny drop on the gorgeous white brocade fabric.
It was the finest cloth she’d ever touched, incredibly soft, and beautifully
cut by an expert seamstress. It was the only garment of Bixia’s trousseau that
Elandra had been allowed to see, much less handle, and its exquisiteness took
her breath away. It did not deserve to be treated like a rag and flung about,
even if it didn’t fit the way Bixia wanted it to.
Quick
footsteps approached the door to the sitting room, and it was shoved open
without a knock.
Startled,
Elandra looked up in dread, but it was only one of the maids hurrying in with
her arms full of clothing freshly finished from the laundry downstairs.
Elandra
sighed and relaxed. “Hello, Magan.”
The
woman looked surprised to see Elandra. “What are you doing in here?”
Elandra
shrugged, although the taut muscles in her shoulders screamed from the
movement. “I haven’t finished with this yet.”
Magan
looked at the garment flowing from Elandra’s lap, and her eyes widened. “Gods’
mercy, what arc you doing with
that?”
“Mending
it,” Elandra said.
Magan’s
mouth opened, and she seemed about to say something before she changed her
mind. “Give me that,” she said with an apprehensive glance over her shoulder. “If
the hag finds this, it’ll be the end of you.”
Elandra
also looked at the doorway in apprehension. The threat was real enough. Hecati
was a vicious taskmaster. Not the tiniest detail or omission ever escaped her
vigilant eye.
“Come
on, I say! There’s no time to be lost.”
“But
I’m not finished,” Elandra said. “I’ve got to or—”
“Don’t
be stupid. You can’t be caught with this.”
Elandra
didn’t argue further. The servants had protected her more than once. Folding
the robe hastily to hide the unfinished hem, she gave it to Magan, who stuffed
it quickly in between some of the other gowns.
“And
the box it was in,” the maid said. “Where’s that?”
“I
don’t know. Bixia came out wearing it last night. That’s when she found out it
was too long and threw such a fit.” Elandra frowned in growing consternation. “It’s
part of the trousseau, isn’t it?”
“Never
mind that. If we don’t find the box, it’s my back as well as yours.”
“It
might be in her bedchamber,” Elandra suggested.
Magan
made a face. “I’m not going in
there.
Let her get in trouble for once, playing with things
such as this without a care for their importance.” She clicked her tongue in
disapproval.
The
sound of voices in the corridor made both of them look. Elandra didn’t hear
Hecati’s unmistakable tones, and relaxed again.
Magan
shook her head. “The men are in the courtyard loading the elephants. I’ll get
these put in the last trunk to be carried downstairs, and we’ll pray no one
figures out what happened.”
“Thank
you, Magan,” Elandra said. The maid had always treated her with kindness, and
she was grateful.
Rolling
her eyes, Magan sent Elandra a quick wink and hurried into the dressing room at
the far side of the suite just as more maids hurried in with armloads of
slippers and undergarments, looking excited in the general commotion.
Elandra
watched them go by, and felt her own spirits rise. Bixia was being packed for
her bridal journey, and good riddance as far as Elandra was concerned. In an
hour her half-sister would be gone at last, and perhaps there would finally be
peace in this house. If nothing else, Elandra was looking forward to having a
life of her own without spoiled Bixia to fetch and carry for.
Elandra
put away her needle case and tucked it in her pocket. She rose stiffly on legs
that would barely support her. After sitting on the steps all night, she was so
cramped and knotted she felt a hundred years old instead of seventeen. Yawning,
she pushed her heavy tangle of hair back from her face and stretched with her
hands on the small of her back. She wanted to fall into bed and sleep forever.
A
whistling sound through the air was the only warning she had before pain stung
her leg through her gown.
Elandra
turned around in a fury, barely managing to hold her tongue. There stood
Hecati, a thin, tiny woman who had a supple willow switch in her hands. Her
plain face was pursed in its customary vinegary scowl, circled by a snowy white
wimple that never looked creased or soiled no matter how hot and steamy the
days got. Her eyes glared at Elandra with contempt.
Elandra
glared back, resentful of this woman who had made her life a misery.
Be careful,
a small inner voice warned
her.
Soon she’ll be gone. You can hold yourself until then.
But it was hard to be
prudent, especially now when freedom was so close.
“Idle
good-for-nothing,” Hecati scolded. “Everyone is working as fast as they can and
you stand here like some great lady with no task to do.”
“I
just—”
“Silence!
You haven’t my leave to speak.” Hecati’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I’ve not
seen you for hours. Where have you been? Hiding? Sleeping? Shirking?”
Alarm
replaced Elandra’s anger. Hecati still had plenty of time to punish her before
the departure. Elandra moved back a half step. “No,” she said in a low neutral
voice. “I haven’t been hiding. I’ve been hemming the—I mean, I’ve been doing
some mending.”
Hecati
focused on her even more intently. “You’re lying,” she said. “What have you
been doing?”
Elandra
could have cursed her own hapless tongue. She was too tired to lie effectively.
With Hecati she needed all her wits about her. “Nothing,” she said resentfully.