“Spoken like a hunti man,” she said.
He shrugged. “There is no winning an argument with a coru woman,” he said. “She redirects the conversation every time she finds herself in a channel she cannot control.”
Zoe lifted her hands, as if in surrender. “And there is no ending an argument with a hunti man,” she replied. “He takes a stand and will not yield it, even when the battle no longer rages. I am done quarreling, at least for the day. You said Vernon wanted to see me. Was that the truth, or merely an excuse to allow us to escape from the king’s wives?”
The quick change of subject caught him off guard only momentarily. “I do sometimes speak the truth,” he said coolly. “Yes, the king wants to meet with you. I know he is free at this time. Would you like to see him now, or have you found your last audience too harrowing?”
“Not at all,” she said. “Lead me to him.”
He offered her his arm again and she took it. She didn’t need his support. She didn’t need to feel, again, the precise chemical mixture of the blood racing through his veins, as distinct to her as the shape of his face and the particular weight of his body. She took his arm because he was the favorite of the king and anyone who encountered them in the hallways would see it as a mark of high esteem for Darien Serlast to allow the touch of Zoe Ardelay Lalindar. There was no other reason.
Zoe had not expected to like the king, but she did.
He was awaiting them in a small study, though they must have passed a dozen rooms of mammoth size and smothering opulence. It was situated on the second floor, at the very westernmost tip of the men’s wing, and it had a stunning view of the waterfall lashing its way down the mountain. When they entered, he was standing in front of the window, motionless, apparently absorbed in that magnificent sight. Zoe had the impression he had been standing there a very long time.
“Majesty,” Darien said, and the king turned around. Zoe and Darien both bowed very low. “I have brought Navarr Ardelay’s daughter to meet you.”
“Oh, I am so glad,” King Vernon said, immediately crossing the room. Unlike his wives, he took her hands in his and smiled at her, clearly trying to read her heritage in her face. Against her skin she felt the prickle of analysis as her body read the composition of his blood. She would know him again if she was blinded and he reached out for her. It was a peculiar thing to realize.
“You look very much like your father,” he said.
She smiled. “So people have been telling me. What I’m unable to determine is if they mean that as a compliment.”
He smiled and dropped her hands. He looked much as she remembered him from her clandestine spying in the cobbler’s shop, although close up his face showed deeper lines and his skin was softer. His eyes were a lost blue. “I suppose that depends on how they felt about your father,” he replied. “Since at times I admired him and at times I was furious with him, I suppose you might consider my opinion mixed. But of late I have been wishing I could meet with him one last time, and so I am pleased to see that you resemble him so nearly.”
“Then I shall thank you for the words.”
He ushered her and Darien toward an arrangement of chairs and indicated that she should take the one that faced the window. “I imagine that is a vista a Lalindar woman would never tire of seeing,” he said as they all took their places.
“No, indeed. I just came back from the Lalindar estate up north, and I spent part of every day merely watching the river run. But no prospect from that house can compare to this view.”
“There are other rooms that show the waterfall, of course, but none of them are as conducive to merely sitting and contemplating the scene. Whenever I need to think or rest, this is the room I choose.”
“And yet your majesty is a hunti man,” she said, her voice gently teasing. “Shouldn’t you find your renewal by walking through a forest?”
He laughed heartily. “Or strolling through a mausoleum!” he added. “For the hunti are creatures of wood and bone, don’t forget. Indeed, my father occasionally visited graves and cemeteries. He said he found the wisdom of the dead to be powerful and soothing. But I must confess I have never been at ease with skeletons.” He glanced at his other guest, who had sat silent this whole time. “What about you, Darien? Do you find comfort in forests and gravesites?”
Darien smiled. “I rarely need comfort.”
“Inspiration, then,” Zoe said.
“There is a stretch of land on my aunt’s estate,” Darien said. “A grove of plum trees. I can walk through them in any season and feel my scattered thoughts cohere. The trees are most beautiful when they are in flower and most useful when their branches are hung with ripe fruit, but it does not matter to me. They offer wisdom when their limbs are bare except for snow and when every sense would tell you they are sleeping or dead. From this I have extrapolated the general principle that nothing can be discounted, even when it seems to have little value to offer.”
“That is much more philosophical talk than I am used to hearing from Darien Serlast,” Zoe said.
“I am merely providing conversation for my king.”
“I am still surprised—but pleased—to learn that my king draws strength from watching water,” Zoe said.
“Oh, but I was blessed with two coru traits,” the king replied, “and so I am susceptible to water.” At Zoe’s questioning look, he readily supplied, “Flexibility and surprise. I must say, in general neither of them seems to have described my life, but I have always had an affinity for coru passions.”
“The king particularly enjoys travel by water, though he has had few opportunities to indulge that pleasure,” Darien said.
“But we are holding another regatta on Quinnelay changeday,” the king said, showing real animation. “Will you join us?”
“If it is an event upon the water, I certainly will,” Zoe said, “but what exactly are you planning?”
Darien answered. “In the mountains nearby, right before the Marisi rushes into its fall, there is a long stretch of water that is placid enough to navigate but rapid enough to present a challenge. Usually once a year, we organize races that cover about twenty miles. Dozens of people enter in a variety of watercraft. There are a few prizes for the winners, but the real draw is the competition itself, which is very spirited. Coru men have won for the past two years,” he added, “but hunti and elay champions are determined to wrest the trophy away.”
“It sounds delightful—but it also sounds as if it would be more delightful at a different time of year,” Zoe said. “It must be chilly on the river right now.”
“That’s part of what makes it fun,” Darien said with a laugh. “Knowing how sorry you will be if you go into the water.”
“So you are one of the challengers?” she asked him.
“I am. I have a craft that carries four, all of whom are expected to paddle or steer. Would you like to be one of my crew?”
“Oh, that is something I would have to consider long and carefully!” she replied. “For my first time at the royal regatta, I might simply want to observe. Or take my place in a Lalindar boat, if any of my relatives are contenders.”
“Your uncle Broy won the last race,” the king said.
“Yes, he might be the one to back,” Zoe said. She wasn’t so sure he would welcome her aboard, but she did not voice the thought.
“Or you could take a place in my boat,” the king added.
“You’re one of the racers?”
“Yes, and sometimes the queens and the princesses take part as well.”
“Alys and Seterre,” Darien said with a grin. “Romelle’s afraid of water and Elidon generally avoids competitions of any sort. Though they both come to cheer on his majesty, of course.”
“Well, I will certainly watch, even if I don’t participate,” Zoe said. “But do you ever have events on the lake in front of the palace? It looks like it would be much less adventurous.”
“The women sometimes go boating there during the su
mmer,” Darien said. “But the water is too serene to make those outings exciting.”
She gave him a slanting smile. “Don’t dismiss a lake so lightly,” she said. “No body of water is truly serene.”
He gave a soundless laugh. “I ask your pardon, Zoe Lalindar,” he answered. “I did not mean to accuse you of tranquility.”
“Your father won the very first race we staged,” the king said, unexpectedly bringing Navarr back into the conversation. “Your grandmother was annoyed because she had been convinced she would take home the prize. Maybe that was the start of the long animosity between them.”
Zoe laughed. “I can believe it of both of them—to let something so small become so important.”
Vernon’s face clouded over. “I was sorry to hear of Navarr’s death,” he said. “I hope he—that is—sometimes a final illness can be very painful and sometimes it can be nothing more than a slipping away. I would hope his was the second kind.”
She found herself in the odd position of wanting to comfort the man who had sent her father into exile. “It was not precisely an easy death, because my father never made anything easy,” she said. “And he was not pleased to be leaving this world behind, so many arguments still to be won, so many books still to be discussed. But he did not suffer greatly, in the physical sense. His final days were more peaceful than painful. And he slept through his last day.”
“I am glad to hear it,” the king replied. He started to say something, hesitated, and then spoke in a strangely wistful voice. “I always wished I’d been able to tell him that I forgave him,” he said. “I always wanted to know if he’d forgiven me.”
Darien escorted Zoe all the way back to the kierten in the wives’ wing before he dropped her hand. They had traversed the entire length of the palace in almost complete silence, if Zoe discounted the people who called out to Darien and whom he mostly ignored. At any rate, they didn’t speak a word to each other until they were back at the base of the stairwell and Zoe once again prepared to ascend. She stood on the bottom step, the white marble one with its shadows of purple, and stared down at him.
He shook his head. He was trying not to laugh. “Don’t even ask,” he said.
“Do you know what he meant? I accept that you will not tell me, but is it a secret from you as well?”
“I can only guess.”
“Then will you?”
“No.”
“I thought, if I came to the palace with you, I might begin to find some answers about my father,” she said. “Instead, all I am finding are more questions.”
“I hope that is not the only reason you came,” he said.
“What other reason might I have had?”
“To find out answers about you,” he said. “I imagine those might be even more interesting.”
She could not think of a response. Shaking her head, she laid her hand on the banister and slowly climbed all sixty-three multicolored steps. When she reached the third-floor landing, she peered over the coiled stairway to see if Darien Serlast was still standing there, watching her.
He was.
EIGHTEEN
It was quickly clear that Annova and Calvin were adapting to life in the palace more easily than Zoe. Calvin, in fact, was thriving. The food was so good, and so plentiful, that in two ninedays he had put at least ten pounds onto his scrawny frame, and his normally cheerful face now had an almost beatific glow. He had made friends with servants in every quarter of the palace, so he returned to Zoe’s suite daily with gossip about visitors, members of the Five Families, and the king’s wives. Alys had been seen buying a scarf from a street vendor in the Plaza; Elidon had gone to the blind sisters, either to share or ask for information. Kayle Dochenza was working on a new kind of motor that would power a watercraft, though it wouldn’t be ready in time for the regatta. Mirti Serlast had gotten bad news about one of her overseas investments, though her personal fortune was still respectable.
“Anything you need to know, I can find it out,” he boasted.
Zoe was not sure she had actually needed to know any of the bits of information he had uncovered so far, but she was convinced that someday his connections might come in handy.
Annova, by contrast, seemed to spend her time either inside Zoe’s suites or outside of the palace altogether, but she, too, appeared utterly content. She was always returning with some new treasure picked up at the Plaza of Women—a ribbon for Zoe’s hair, a bracelet made musical with dozens of hanging charms, a pot of rouge in a crisp new color.
“You should be buying things for yourself,” Zoe told her as she tried a slinky silver scarf over a dark blue tunic. Yes, the contrast was perfect.
Annova waved a hand. “I have everything I need. I like finding special things for you. It’s like having a daughter again.” She came over to tie the new scarf in a complicated knot. “Anyway, as far as I can tell, you never had anyone who spoiled you. I like to do it.”
“Well, I do appreciate it.”
The other thing that had become clear almost immediately was that, despite the new wardrobe Keeli had helped her assemble, Zoe was woefully undersupplied with clothing. The second time she wore a particular set of trousers and overrobe to an audience with the wives, Seterre had giggled and said, “Oh, that must be your favorite outfit. It is awfully nice.” That was when she realized that none of the wives ever wore the same thing twice—at least not within a couple of ninedays.
So she had to commission dozens of new robes and tunics and trousers to wear to an endless array of events.
Worst were the formal dinners, which occurred two or three times every nineday and often boasted more than a hundred attendees. The king, his wives, and eight honored guests always sat at the circular central table, which rested on an elevated platform in the middle of a very large room. Set up in spokes fanning out from that central location were tables of eight and sixteen and twenty-four, depending on how many were present for the night.
Zoe was almost never seated with anyone she knew. Her Lalindar relatives were only rarely in attendance, and, of course, Darien always took his place with the royal family. At one dinner, she was one of the exalted guests at the high table, right beside the king, and that was worse. She spent the whole meal aware that strangers were staring at her and the wives were resenting her and Darien Serlast was laughing at her. She hoped never to be granted such an honor again.
When she wasn’t trying on new clothes or enduring interminable meals, Zoe often found herself engaged in small, private duels with the king’s wives.
Seterre was the first one to invite Zoe to her suites on the second floor, “just for a little conversation to break up the monotony of the afternoon.” Following Annova’s instincts, Zoe dressed in a new overrobe and brought a handful of the decadently delicious candy drops that Calvin had picked up the day before. Sure enough, Seterre was wearing a long tunic and overrobe of heavily beaded silk, and she had ordered an impressive spread of fruit and nuts and baked delicacies.
“Oh! You look quite lovely!” Seterre greeted her with what Zoe thought might be a trace of disappointment. “Most people don’t attempt to wear just that shade of coral, but it looks very good on you.”
“Thank you. And thank you for the invitation to your rooms.”
As she might have expected, Seterre’s suite was sumptuously appointed. They dined in a room that was all warm wood, from the floors to the walls to the highly polished tables and chairs. Bright rugs and plush cushions softened both the look and the hardness of the furniture, but it was clearly a room designed to please a hunti woman.
“We’ve had so little time to sit and talk, just the two of us, and I feel certain we would enjoy each other’s company,” Seterre said in that honeyed voice that seemed so jarringly false to Zoe. “But it is difficult to be friendly and natural when Alys and Elidon are in the room.”
“Sometimes you can’t talk plainly unless you’re speaking with just one other person,” Zoe agreed.
?
??Exactly! Here—sit down—don’t you love this table? Mirti Serlast had it made for me from wood grown on her property.”
“I was admiring it from the minute I walked in.”
As soon as they took their places, Zoe said, “I brought you a treat,” and offered up the chocolates. Annova had further informed her that she couldn’t just hand them over in a crumpled bag; she had to find a small box, perhaps of carved wood, and make a presentation to her hostess. “These are my favorites, so I thought you might like them, too.”
“Oh, I do! How very thoughtful of you. And here, you must have some of these spiced orange slices—such a delicacy, particularly at this time of year, but I always say if it’s something you love so much you can’t stop thinking about it, then it is almost a sin to deprive yourself.”
An interesting definition of sin, Zoe thought. “Oh, yes, those are very good.”
They had a few moments of the most desultory conversation, trying the other foods and commenting on their deliciousness. Zoe watched Seterre closely, taking the same portions that Seterre did, toying with her food in the same way. She did not want to make mistakes.
“So, how do you find life at the palace?” Seterre asked finally, her voice artless. “I know it must be very different from what you’re used to.”
“Oh, when I was quite young, my father spent a great deal of time here, and I accompanied him now and then,” Zoe said coolly. Implying, I am not the bumpkin you think I am, even if my recent life has been very strange. “I admit the woman finds the life more complicated than the child ever realized, but it is never less than fascinating.”
“I could give you advice anytime you needed it,” Seterre said. “Anytime things become too—complicated. Sometimes all it takes is a simple explanation from someone who understands how things work.”
You are almost the last person I would turn to with questions. “Yes, I have often thought I needed a source of reliable information,” Zoe replied.