Zoe did not see Darien Serlast during those intervening days, but he did send a small package to her hotel room on the morning of the viceroy’s reception. Annova and Calvin watched with great interest as she unwrapped it to reveal a small wooden box, gorgeously inlaid with strips of cherry, mahogany, oak, and teak. Inside was a pin fashioned of some wood so dark it was almost black, and polished to an onyx shine. It featured a kneeling woman bent over a flowing river; she apparently had just lifted her hands from the water, for droplets fell from her fingers in tiny sapphire chips.
“Well, that’s about as pretty a piece as I’ve ever seen,” Annova said in an approving voice. “A most thoughtful gift for a hunti man to give to a coru woman.”
Zoe had gone to the nearest mirror to try the pin against the shoulder of her plain green tunic. Naturally, she would change into a much more elegant ensemble for the reception. “Do you think I should wear it tonight?” she asked.
Annova snorted. “Of course you should wear it tonight! That’s why the man sent it today!”
“Unless you want to tell him to stop wasting his money buying gifts for you,” Calvin said. He was grinning hugely; for some reason, he liked Darien Serlast. “Then leave it at home.”
“But if I do wear it, am I sending some other kind of message?” Zoe asked. She had planned to wear something pink and floaty, but this piece would look wrong with such an outfit. She had a new overrobe, a heavily textured weave of copper, cobalt, verdigris, and sky. The pin would look stunning against that backdrop.
“Well, forgive me if I’m wrong,” Annova said, “but I assume that’s the message you want to send to Darien Serlast.”
Zoe turned to make a face at Annova, then laughed and returned her attention to the mirror. “How long do you think it would take to make such a thing?” she asked. “When would he have had to commission it to have it ready by today?”
“I don’t know,” Annova said. “When was the first time he touched your hand? As long ago as that, I imagine. But he waited to give it to you until after he’d kissed you.”
Zoe whirled around, ready to pretend indignation, but it was impossible to keep from blushing, which did not make a denial credible. “You see too much,” she said.
Calvin was smirking. “Some things are easy to see.”
THIRTY-ONE
The reception was scheduled to begin in midafternoon; Zoe was dressed an hour early and spent the rest of the time sitting quietly so she didn’t muss her hair or clothes or makeup. She was waiting in the hotel kierten when Nelson’s smoker car pulled up, and she climbed in beside him and his sons.
“I suppose if I’m going to live in the city, I’ll need to buy my own vehicle. And hire someone to drive it. It seems like a lot of trouble,” she remarked as they began the ascent to the palace. The way was clogged with dozens of other elaymotives as well as horse-drawn vehicles, making progress slow.
“It is a lot of trouble,” Nelson said.
Kurtis demurred. “It’s fun! I take the car to the country estates and drive it myself. Come visit this summer and I’ll teach you.”
She remembered that rambling journey with Jaker and Barlow, so long ago it seemed like a different life. “I’ve driven a smoker car,” she said. “It was a lot of fun. But I don’t think I’d enjoy trying it in the city with all the traffic.”
Rhan was eyeing her with narrowed attention. “I sometimes think I don’t know half of the stories you could tell about your life,” he said.
She laughed. “None of them as interesting as you might hope.”
“I would like to hear them and judge for myself.”
They finally made it to the mountain plateau that held the palace and its attendant lake. For a day in deep winter, the weather was unexpectedly fine, and the king had taken advantage of this fact to set up tables and refreshment booths in the courtyard. Already, dozens of guests were milling about, holding drinks and visiting with friends. The slanting afternoon sunlight glinted off the moving surface of the water and gilded the planed surfaces of the palace. Braziers ringed the courtyard to provide extra warmth; torches and tall stands of candelabra were strategically placed to offer illumination later in the evening. Zoe wondered if they could expect another light-and-color extravaganza as part of the night’s festivities.
She vividly remembered that last exhibition—parts of it, at least. She put her hand up to the pin on her left shoulder and briefly stroked the smooth wood.
“Let’s find something to drink and someone to talk to,” Rhan said, and they all climbed out of the car.
Zoe didn’t make much effort to stay with the Ardelays, but instead allowed the eddies of the crowd to separate them. She drifted through the throng, restless, unwilling to talk for long with one group or individual. Soon enough, she found herself in the great echoing kierten of the palace, even more crowded with revelers than the courtyard and more heavily stocked with refreshments. A low stage had been erected near the entrance to the men’s wing, decorated with banners depicting the colors of Soeche-Tas as well as the king’s multicolored rosette motif. Vernon was planning some announcement, then. Probably news about a commercial alliance or even a military pact. Zoe didn’t really think the king would take another wife, from Soeche-Tas or elsewhere. He had too much other business to attend to during his few remaining quintiles.
She sampled the foods offered at the various stations in the kierten, finding them all tasty though some were so unfamiliar they must be Soechin delicacies. None of the liquid refreshments was as good as the sweet fizzing drink she had had in Barlow and Jaker’s apartment. She didn’t want to get tipsy on alcohol, so she was grateful when she found servants handing out glasses of fruited water. Accepting a large goblet, she continued to roam the hall.
She knew why she couldn’t settle. She knew she was hoping to encounter Darien Serlast. Even though she realized that was unlikely. He was no doubt with Vernon in the royal quarters, going over final schedules for the evening and, perhaps, if he hadn’t yet learned it, trying to discover what grand idea the king planned to announce tonight. Darien would have no time to give Zoe more than a nod, a brief smile, assuming she could even catch his eye amid all of the color and noise. But still she searched for him; she found herself longing for a glimpse of his face.
Sounds from the courtyard—laughter and applause—made her drift back outside to see what entertainments were on hand. Jugglers were tossing bright balls in the air and magicians were causing small items to vanish and reappear. Music threaded through the crowd, though at first she couldn’t place its source. Eventually she realized that an energetic quartet had been set up on the third floor of the men’s wing, in an open window embrasure; the individual notes seemed to spatter down like rain from overhead.
Darien Serlast was nowhere in sight.
Zoe braved the chilly air outside the heated courtyard and wandered down to the edge of the river. She stood for a moment contemplating the assortment of boats tied up at the bank. None of them looked as if they had been cleaned up and organized for an excursion tonight, so perhaps there would not be an after-dark lights festival after all. There would certainly be no reason to step into one of these little dinghies and glide into the middle of the lake, wrapped in Darien Serlast’s arms . . .
She shook her head and turned back for the palace.
When she entered the kierten again, the royal family had finally made an appearance. They were mingling with the rest of the revelers, moving through the crowd in one loosely formed knot. The king was surrounded by his four wives and three daughters, while various attendants hovered nearby to do their bidding. Darien followed the king so closely he almost appeared to be mimicking Vernon’s movements. If, upon entering the scene, he had spent a few moments searching the throng for Zoe, he did not do so now. All his attention appeared to be on his liege.
A second constellation of prominence moved in tandem with the first, the Soechin delegation following the gravitational pull of the royal family.
Zoe saw that the ambassadors and their wives had been augmented by three people—the viceroy, whom she remembered from his previous visit; a very beautiful, very bored woman who looked young enough to be his daughter; and a thin, hawk-faced man with an unpleasant expression. Zoe guessed he was a personal guard of some sort, and further guessed that more Soechin soldiers were stationed nearby, within call if their viceroy needed them.
The thought made her glance up and search the kierten for figures she was sure she would find. Yes—unobtrusively backed against the walls and lurking in the shadowed archways were twenty or more of the king’s own militia. Zoe looked until she located Foley, his expression neutral as always, all his attention on Josetta.
She returned her gaze to the viceroy, her instinctive dislike even stronger now that she had anecdotal evidence of his depravity. As before, he was opulently dressed in many layers of purple and red and cloth of gold; even from a distance she could see diamonds glittering at his ears and weighing down his hands. Small braids gave texture to his flowing white hair; his lips and cheeks were so rosy she would not be surprised to learn he wore cosmetics. Qeesia and the other ambassador’s wife hung on either arm, fawning over him. His smile was somewhere between triumphant and exhilarated, as if he had just ingested a potent exuberant drug or won a hotly contested game. She shuddered and looked away.
A flutter on the corner of her vision caught her attention, and she turned to see Josetta waving from the inviolable circle of her family. Zoe smiled and waved back, nodding enthusiastically when Josetta gestured at her own ensemble. It was a delicate confection of blue lace, blue tulle, blue embroidery, and blue ribbons. Corene’s outfit was similar, except constructed from shades of ivory accented at carefully casual points with tiny carnelian roses. Even her red hair had been laced with off-white ribbons dotted with budding flowers. She looked as if she had just stepped out of a milk bath that had been strewn with blossoms that now clung randomly to her skin.
Beautiful, Zoe mouthed at Josetta. Corene intercepted the exchange, so Zoe added silently, “You, too.” Corene smiled and tossed her red hair.
Darien Serlast never bothered to look Zoe’s way.
Zoe was tempted to go back outside, except the motion of the crowd was against her. News seemed to have traveled quickly through the courtyard that the king and his exalted visitors had joined the celebration, because all the other guests were pouring inside, eager to catch a glimpse of royalty. She couldn’t even retreat toward the women’s wing because the press of the crowd was too great. Instead, she was caught in the middle of a sea of people, helplessly shifting in whatever direction they tended and hoping she didn’t suddenly suffer a suffocating sense of panic.
Unexpectedly, she found her cousin Rhan beside her. His presence was reassuring; she clutched his arm as if he represented an anchor. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said somewhat breathlessly. “I find myself—overwhelmed—by the crowd.”
“I need someone to hold on to myself,” he replied, putting an arm around her shoulders, which seemed to isolate her from the mob, if only a little. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many people shoved into this space before.”
“Why didn’t some of them stay outside?” she said in a petulant voice.
“Someone said there was going to be an announcement. Everyone wants to hear.”
Indeed, now it became clear that the king’s cluster of family and the viceroy’s knot of advisors were both moving toward the dais in as straight a line as possible, given the constraints of the crowd. It seemed to take forever for them to arrive at their destination and then ascend the makeshift stairs in a carefully calibrated order of precedence. First the king, then the viceroy, then Elidon, then the beautiful Soechin girl.
She must be his daughter after all, Zoe thought. A slight uneasiness threaded through her stomach, making her wish some of the wine un-drunk. Possibly Vernon was going to announce his fifth betrothal. The renaissance had left his body feeling stronger and his mind more susceptible to fantasy. She watched as the remaining three queens climbed the stairs, one right after the other, Romelle carrying a squirming Natalie in her arms. One ambassador and his wife flanked Josetta as she mounted the steps. Corene was escorted up the steps by Qeesia and her husband, who remained very close to the princess once they stood on the stage, rather unnervingly near the front edge. Darien slipped up last, after everyone else was in place.
“Look at how they paw at poor Corene,” Rhan murmured in her ear. “She’s putting a brave face on it, but I can’t imagine she much likes having them touch her like that.”
Indeed, Corene’s expression seemed fixed in an unnatural smile and her skin was oddly flushed. Zoe didn’t know her well enough to judge if she was excited and trying to hide the emotion, or terrified and trying even harder.
“I keep wondering about that Soechin girl,” Zoe whispered back. “Do you think she’s one of the viceroy’s daughters? Do you suppose they’re going to announce that she’s marrying the king?”
“It crossed my mind,” Rhan admitted. “But I’ve heard no gossip to that effect.”
Have you heard gossip to the effect that the king is dying? she wanted to ask. “I suppose we’ll find out very soon,” she replied.
Indeed, Vernon was stepping forward, raising his arms to call for quiet. Instantly, the murmur of the crowd died down. Zoe felt the whole assembly press forward, carrying her another five inches closer to the stage.
“My subjects—my friends,” Vernon called out, his voice barely strong enough to carry through the whole kierten. He was smiling; he looked pleased with himself, Zoe thought. Her sense of foreboding intensified. “As you know, we have long been interested in creating deeper bonds between our kingdom and our friends to the north in Soeche-Tas.”
“Speak louder!” someone shouted from the back of the hall.
The king took a big breath, obviously hoping to comply. “And what better way to unite our two nations than through a marriage?”
Zoe glanced up at Rhan, who gave her an expressive look and shook his head. “Madness,” he leaned down to say in her ear.
Zoe turned her attention to Darien Serlast, who stood stony-faced beside Elidon, but his expression she could read. He was worried and displeased and braced for worse to come. She kept her eyes on Darien as Vernon continued talking.
“That is why today I am pleased to announce that you have all been invited here to witness a wedding that will be held this very evening!”
“Tonight?” Rhan whispered. “That’s eager!”
The king turned slightly to the left, then slightly to the right, as if with his open arms he would embrace everyone on the stage with him. “A wedding between Harmon Koel of Soeche-Tas and my daughter Corene!”
“What?”
Zoe thought she screamed the word, but perhaps she only breathed it. At any rate, her single shocked syllable was wholly devoured by the noisy reaction of the crowd. Some people were applauding; a few were cheering; even more turned to their closest neighbors to express surprise, uncertainty, speculation.
“I don’t think I like that,” Rhan was saying in an undervoice. “She’s what? Eleven? Twelve? Considering what my father was telling us the other night—”
Zoe scarcely heard him. She scarcely heard anyone. She was staring at Darien Serlast, who had staggered as if from a fatal blow. He instantly pushed his way past the queens to the king’s side and began arguing furiously. Vernon tried to turn his head, waving away Darien’s protests, but Darien leaned closer, talked more loudly, gesticulated more wildly. He looked as if he was having to restrain himself from pushing the king off of the dais.
As for herself, Zoe was shaking so badly that for a moment she thought the floor was rocking beneath her feet. Her lips were moving, but even she could not have said what words she was trying to form. Her eyes were still on the stage, where Qeesia had laced her hands with Corene’s and lifted their arms up in a gesture of victory. Corene was still offering that strange smi
le, waving at the crowd, bowing once toward her affianced husband. Zoe couldn’t tell if the princess was feeling smug or terrified.
Rhan nudged her. “Zoe? Are you all right? Zoe?”
She shook her head. “No,” she said, her lips finally finding the word they had been searching for. “No.”
Rhan grabbed both of her shoulders and forced her to look at him. “Zoe? Zoe! Is something wrong? Can I do anything for you?”
For a moment she stared up at him, seeing his smiling face creased into concern for her. Oh, but Zoe wasn’t the one he needed to worry about. That the sick, mad king would sacrifice his daughter in such a way. That a child should be bartered to a lecherous old man for the sake of a political advantage. She could feel horror building up in her veins, or perhaps it was rage, or perhaps it was power. “No,” she said.
“No, what? Are you all right?”
“No,” she said, breaking free of his hold and starting to push blindly through the crowd. “No—no—no!”
Maybe she clawed at them, drawing blood; maybe the tone of her voice was so odd that she frightened them, but people moved back from her, gave her room. Scarcely even conscious of her motions, she spread her hands as wide as the fingers would go, palms down, as if she was bracing herself against the floor. She felt the thrumming of the pipes in the levels below the kierten, carrying water to the palace from the nearby river. She felt the splashing of every fountain set up in the public spaces, the private rooms. She felt the rushing force of the Marisi roaring through those spectacular falls and briefly calming itself to a lake before dropping down the rest of the mountain on its way past the city to the sea.
She collected every drop of that water and began drawing it in her direction.
If anyone spoke to her, she didn’t hear it. If anyone touched her, she didn’t feel it. All she could hear, all she could feel, was water. Crystalline, bountiful, and beyond restraint.