‘They are not really for me. They are much too grand.’
‘Nonsense, you are a pretty girl; you would look lovely in them.’
‘But I have never worn such things before. I would feel self-conscious, as though everyone would be looking at me.’
‘Which is exactly what they would be doing...’
‘But I really don’t want men looking, not after ... what happened.’
Mathilde nodded gravely. ‘Of course. I can understand that, but surely by keeping your hair short, hiding in your room and looking as pale and drawn as possible, you are giving in, not
fighting back.’
Mathilde was in Cheris’s room, holding up one of the dresses she had given to her. It was only a loan really – no such garments would be allowed back on the island – but even
so she was not used to such generosity. She could not get over how friendly and helpful Mathilde had been to her. She had noticed most people avoided her; she inspired a nervousness, even fear
among most folk, especially now they realised she was the selfsame Storm Queen of Grest about whom bards were already singing. Mathilde had no such reservations about her and she was beginning to
be of the opinion that it was because Morgan, like most soldiers, treated her as a human being and not the fierce harpy of the songs. Maybe she thought that, by being friendly to her, her standing
with Morgan would be enhanced in some way.
And it was a beautiful dress – of patterned silk in a pale crystalline blue grey offset by smaller panels and sleeves of understated vermillion. It was a thin, figure-hugging creation of a
kind that had apparently been fashionable in Tanaren some three or four years ago. Only the most diaphanous shift could be worn under it without ruining its shape.
‘Did you wear this?’ she asked, realising too late she had left out the ‘my Lady’. Mathilde did not notice.
‘A couple of times. Despite the war, I managed to go to Tanaren City for the winter Feast ball four years ago and wore it then. Go on, try it; I am a little taller than you but you are
slenderer than I. I think it will suit you.’
With not a little misgiving, Cheris took the dress off her. She recalled her excitement of trying on the maid’s dress that Sir Dylan had procured for her, but that was before ... well,
that was just before.
Less than five minutes later a nervous and fidgeting Cheris stood before the full-length mirror, the one she had covered with a sheet and which Mathilde had contemptuously removed upon her
entrance to the room.
‘As I told you,’ Mathilde said, ‘you look beautiful.’
It was like looking at a different person. Gone was the confident girl in her pathetically tailored robes, altered to give at least a semblance of femininity. In her place was an
insecure-looking woman, all curves and sensuality, wearing a dazzling, sheer, elegantly tapered dress which, though maybe an inch too long, seemed designed to fit her personally, so exact was its
match to her own body. Although she avoided looking directly at her own face, Cheris had to admit that Mathilde had something of a point.
‘It is very nice, certainly...’ She struggled for the right words.
‘I will never wear it again,’ said Mathilde. ‘It is yours; you do it far more justice than I ever could. I will just get the maid to alter the length a little.’
‘Thank you, my Lady, but such beautiful things are not allowed on the island. I could not take it with me.’
‘Then I will keep it here, for when you return. It is the finest silk, traded from the elves by the Menthur Company in Tanaren City no less.’
She started in shock. ‘D...did you say?’
‘See. Even you have heard of them.’
‘No, my Lady, you do not understand. That is my name. My family name.’
Mathilde gasped and raised her eyebrows. ‘We do business with them a lot here, as do many noble Tanaren families. They are probably wealthier than the Felmeres.’
‘I knew they were traders, but had no idea they were doing so well. It is Danald, Danald Menthur you are talking about, yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you ever met him?’
‘Of course, I saw him last time I was in Tanaren City three years back. Is he...?’
‘My father, yes. I have not seen him for fifteen years.’
‘I had no idea he had a mage daughter.’
Cheris replied, a bitter tone in her voice. ‘It is not something one would own up to in polite conversation.’
Mathilde nodded slowly. ‘I suppose not. If it is any consolation, both he and his wife were in good health when I last saw them.’
‘That is good.’ Cheris straightened out a minor kink in the dress, over her hip. ‘I write occasionally, as do they, but the Knights of the Thorn read the letters so we can
never say too much. And here I am wearing one of their dresses. I wonder if I can get permission to take it back with me, not to wear, just to keep.’
‘If you need my family’s backing for that, I will give it gladly.’
‘Thank you. One other thing, my Lady, if I may ask.’
‘Of course.’
‘When you see them next, tell them of me. Tell them I love them and still miss them after all this time. Give them your opinion of me, however unflattering; I just want them to know what I
am like, what I have grown into. I will probably never see them again, after all, so you can speak the truth to them.’
Mathilde took her by the hand. ‘I swear, if I survive this war, I will go to Tanaren as soon as I can. I will tell them about you and I will be nowhere near unflattering, just
honest.’
Cheris smiled at her and replied in a tiny voice. ‘Thank you.’
Suddenly they both turned, for the door had opened unannounced. Standing there, holding a wriggling Rosamund, was Syalin.
Instantly the atmosphere in the room dropped several degrees. If Cheris’s feelings towards the tall blonde girl, now clad once more in her xhikon armour, were of antipathy then
Mathilde’s were little more than unalloyed hatred.
‘Your cat was running around in the throne room,’ Syalin said coldly. ‘I thought you might want her back.’
Without saying a word, Cheris walked up to her and snatched the cat from her grasp.
‘I am glad you like the dress, my dear.’ Mathilde made it obvious that she was ignoring the new arrival. ‘Please wear it whenever and wherever you wish. I need to see Morgan on
some matters now he is free. I will speak again with you soon.’ With that, she brushed passed Syalin and left the room.
Cheris expected Morgan’s new bodyguard to follow suit but she remained standing in the doorway.
‘Do you wish to say something?’ Cheris asked curtly. ‘If so, come on in and close the door behind you.’
‘As you wish. I do have a matter to discuss.’ She closed the door as requested. ‘That is a very nice dress by the way.’
‘And is completely wasted on me. I know, I know.’
Syalin smiled slightly. ‘I did not say that, nor do I believe it.’
As she came into the room, the light from the window fell squarely on her face. With some shock Cheris saw a livid-red scar, obviously fresh, on her right cheek; small fragments of congealed
blood still clung to it.
‘Your face?’ she asked dumbly.
‘Oh that,’ Syalin said dismissively. ‘Just a tattoo I needed to remove.’
‘But you will always have a scar.’
‘A slight one, yes. My current employer is unconcerned by slight blemishes; my former one less so but I can never return to him anyway.’
‘But didn’t it hurt?’
‘A little, nothing that could not be ignored; you may not know but pain control is part of our training. I have experienced far worse, believe me.’
There was a brief, awkward silence before Cheris spoke again.
‘How are you finding it here? Is it what you expected?’
‘I expected to die, so I am finding it a lot better than that. People here hate, fear and dislike me, so, in that respect, it is just like being in the Lilac Palace. In every other way,
though, it is different.’
‘Different?’
‘Colder, bleaker, more austere. It is a world away from the Lilac Palace.’
Despite herself, Cheris was curious. ‘How much more different could it be?’
‘Oh very.’ Syalin said with a smile. ‘The weather in winter is balmy with a constant breeze coming in from the sea bringing with it the smell of salt and the trees that cluster
around the coast near by. Indoors, braziers burn sandalwood, rosewood and incense; the smoke hangs so heavily in the air your armour smells of it. Wherever the Emperor walks he is accompanied by
handmaidens casting petals before his feet and minstrels playing and singing of his great deeds. Every table is laden with fruit and dates; every doorway is covered by thin muslin drizzled with
perfume; even the clothing of the courtiers is studded with gems... Yes, it is very different to here.’
‘And you? You wear that armour all the time? Do you ever get time off from your duties?’
She seemed surprised at being questioned, as though it was strange anyone being interested in her. ‘We get some time off, yes. There are over a hundred of us so we are not all needed at
once. Adjoining one of the palace buildings on the island furthest out to sea is a beach reserved just for us. When we get the chance many of us go there to swim or lie on the sand. Most of the
girls have darker skin than I, so they can tolerate the sun a little better. Generally, I go there to swim; it is good for the muscles. You are from an island – do you swim, too?’
‘No!’ said Cheris, horrified. ‘Just the thought of being under all that water terrifies me. There are a couple of small beaches on the island but they are quite windswept,
places to walk not swim.’
‘I can see that. You are quite an elegant, delicate creature not built for exercise. Your strength lies in your mind, does it not?’
Cheris seemed quite amused at this description of her. ‘I think perhaps “lazy” and “slovenly” are more apt words to choose. There is not a chore I do not try get
out of, if I can. I would rather sleep than swim, or even walk, I fear. And, as for my mind, well, it is for others to judge, not I.’
Syalin seemed satisfied with the response. ‘We are opposites in so many ways, that much is apparent.’
Cheris stroked Rosamund impatiently. Why was this girl still here? ‘Fortunately, yes.’ she said tetchily.
‘But not in all.’
‘How so?’
Syalin folded her arms. ‘In that we have had no choice in our destinies. Both were torn from our parents’ side when we were young. How old were you?’
‘Seven. It was over fifteen years ago.’
‘It has been fifteen years for me, too. Since then we have had to live a life determined by others. Despite our reluctance, we became good at what we had to do and ironically enough we
have both ended up employed to kill people. And that is not all...’
Cheris grunted. The other woman had a point, however tenuous. ‘And?’ she pouted.
Syalin continued, speaking a little more deliberately than before, as if considering each word before saying it. ‘I have not been prying into your personal affairs but I have gleaned from
listening to others that you were ... attacked recently.’
Cheris was about to object but Syalin raised her hand to stop her. ‘Please, hear me out; I do not wish to upset you. No one has spoken out of turn or said anything to belittle you. I have
just heard separate conversations and pieced things together for myself.’
Cheris sat on the bed and let her continue.
‘Such a thing has not happened to me directly but I think I have a little understanding of how you might feel. As a recruit we were kept in an enclosed building for years, never seeing the
light of day. In my cell one night I was awoken by an overseer and told to follow her and not talk. I was taken with some others to a place I had not been to before. We were told to undress and
wash in a bath scented by oils and perfumes. Once dry we were dressed in a sheer, gauzy silk and led to an opulent room with an enormous bed. It was strewn with cushions and sheets stitched in gold
and silver. And on it was the Emperor. I had never seen him before and was a little underwhelmed, to be honest. He was overweight, soft skinned and naked. It was then I understood that we were to
entertain him for the evening. I was not forced as you were; he was the Emperor and it was an honour to just be in the same room as he, but I was reluctant. I would rather not have been there,
rather not have had to do what I did, what he wanted. This happened on several occasions. It got easier the more times it happened, but if I am being truly honest with myself it was never what I
wanted. Never.’
As Cheris listened, it started to dawn on her that Syalin was trying to connect with her in some way; maybe she saw some sort of kindred spirit. She was a long way from home, she was alone and,
as she had said earlier, disliked. Perhaps she saw Cheris as some sort of friend; she was certainly baring her soul like she was one.
‘That is horrible,’ she admitted to her. ‘It was not like what happened to me but then I suppose in the important respects it was. I was attacked more brutally, but then I
could escape; you could not.’
‘I did consent, though,’ Syalin said. ‘He was the Emperor, after all.’
‘And if you had refused?’
Syalin nodded her head. ‘I would have been killed. Such a thing did not occur to me before.’
‘Then maybe you are right about our similarities.’
‘Maybe. I know now is not the time, but if you need to confide in someone...’
‘Thank you, Syalin. I will bear it in mind.’
‘Good. I will leave you with your feline bodyguard.’ She headed for the door.
‘Syalin.’
She turned back ‘Yes.’
‘When it happened to you, the first time, how old were you?’
She thought for a second. ‘I don’t know. Twelve, maybe eleven.’
Cheris looked at the floor. ‘Thank you again. I will see you later.’
Syalin closed the door as she left. Cheris sat in silence for a moment then resumed her stroking of Rosamund who was nuzzling her persistently. Outside, through the window, the first light snow
flurries of winter were beginning to fall.
And the snow persisted. Soon the stones of the keep were coated in a cold white blanket of virgin snow that swiftly became marked with the delicate footprints of crows and
sparrows as they criss-crossed the courtyard in their search for food. Then daylight came and the white blanket soon became a churned mass of sodden black slush as carts, horses and people took
turns to destroy the formerly pristine scene.