Rai-Kirah - Transformation Part 10

Chapter 12.

At midday on the first day of the fourth month of the year, the month of Athos, Ivan zha Denischkar, Emperor of the Derzhi, arrived at Capharna.

Trumpet fanfares, parades of traditional Derzhi dancers and drummers, and showers of colored ribbons greeted the tall, powerfully built monarch as he entered the gates and progressed through the city. Eight Derzhi warriors held a red canopy over his head to keep off the heavy, wet snow. From the moment he dismounted his white warhorse at the palace gates, he trod on soft white carpet sprinkled with alyphia petals, the walkway unrolled in front of his feet and rolled up quickly behind him lest some unworthy foot touch his path.

Accompanying Ivan was the Empress Jenya, Aleksander's handsome, cold- eyed mother, and Kastavan, the Lord High Amba.s.sador of Khelidar.

Prince Aleksander met the Emperor under the towering portico of the Summer Palace, making complete obeisance to his sovereign father. Ivan raised him up and embraced him to the cheers of the onlookers. The two then proceeded to the Great Hall, where Ivan formally proclaimed the opening of the twelve days' celebration that would culminate in the anointing of his son as Emperor-in-waiting. Then, with two thousand close friends and allies, Ivan and Aleksander reclined at table and spent the rest of the afternoon and evening getting deliriously drunk.

I saw none of this. I had been up since well before dawn, carrying hot water to the guest rooms and carrying away slops jars, climbing up ladders to scrub soot from lamp gla.s.s and replace burned-down candles, hauling baskets of clean linen from the washhouse to the far-flung linen rooms, carrying in back- breaking loads of firewood, carrying out endless buckets of hot ashes, and was.h.i.+ng away thousands of muddy boot prints from the tile floors. Every slave and servant in the palace, and many of the women, girls, and boys from Capharna, had been pressed into service. None of us were going to get much sleep in the next twelve days. My only partic.i.p.ation in the opening night's feasting came well after midnight, when I was on my hands and knees wiping up pools of vomit from the floor of the Great Hall. I was too tired even to be disgusted.

Because I was attached to the Prince's household, I was not required to work in the slaughterhouses or the cesspits or any other outside labor, and my work, even my late night scribing for Fendular, had always been at Aleksander's discretion. But because the Prince was too busy to need my services and the staff was so pressed, I had been put at the disposal of the Lord High Chamberlain for the duration of the dakrah. As I suspected he might, Fendular saw to it that I had no such leisurely tasks as reading or writing, and certainly no business that would put me anywhere near the Prince or the festivities.

On the fourth night of the dakrah, in the midnight hours after the guests had reeled their way to bed, I was told to haul out the remains of the night's feasting from the Great Hall. I was staggering toward the door, bearing four large, heavy buckets on a pole across my shoulders, when I lost my footing on the wet tiles and fell. It was bad enough that I splattered the foul mess over one end of the hall and would have to cut short my few hours sleeping to clean it up, but I had the misfortune to splash the filth on Boresh, one of Fendular's a.s.sistants.

"Incompetent beast!" he shrilled, smas.h.i.+ng his boot into my face. He wasn't as fast or as strong as Aleksander, but he made his point. I groveled and apologized, then spent two hours cleaning up the nasty mess, scarcely able to see for the swelling in my face. On most nights I would haul a jar of water to the attic and clean myself before sleeping, knowing I would rest better for it. But on that night I fell onto my straw pallet filthy and exhausted, promising myself that I would jump right up when the guard yelled at us in the morning and be first in line at our single was.h.i.+ng bowl.

There was no jumping up the next morning. I was fortunate that one of the other slaves saw me sleeping through the morning call and gave me a shove on his way out. I had time only to hurry outside to relieve myself, then report to Boresh the under-chamberlain to begin it all over again. Of course it was on that particular morning that Aleksander sent for me. I was standing on the top rung of a somewhat rickety ladder in the Great Hall, reaching high to pry the candle wax out of a bra.s.s sconce. My right eye was swollen shut, making it impossible to judge distances properly, so the job was taking me far too long.

I had already earned a lash for dawdling, but that was a small matter. It was far more important that I not overbalance the ladder. I had no wish to end up an untidy smear on the distant, blurry floor.

"Is the slave named Seyonne in here?" called the under-chamberlain.

It always left me uncomfortable to hear my name echoing about so publicly.

"Up here."

"You are to report to His Highness in the gift room." I climbed down and caught Boresh before he left. "Have I leave to clean myself first?" I asked, when his face puckered in disgust at the sight and smell of me.

"You are commanded to the Prince immediately. What do you care if he sees you as you truly are? I've heard you barbarians paint yourselves with muck."

It was not that I had any sensibility left. I had been in far worse shape, and Aleksander was welcome to see what he had made of me. It was the prospect of unpleasantness that I despised. The Prince would be offended at my appearance and yell at me about disrespect and barbarian filth, and he would demand to know what insolence I had displayed to deserve the beating. And to prepare for it, I had to walk through the crowded halls and galleries of the residential wing and feel everyone shrink away in disgust. To be no- ticed by so many felt like having a thousand spiders crawling over me.

The gift room was a large reception hall that had been converted to a repository for the statuary and silver, plate, jewelry, pottery, rugs, perfumes, and artworks people thought would buy their future Emperor's favor. Fifty long tables had been arranged to display the smaller gifts, and the larger offerings were set about the perimeter of the room. The room was guarded by heavily armed Derzhi warriors, and I spent twenty minutes waiting before they received word from inside that I was indeed supposed to be there. To my distress, Aleksander was not alone. With him were three finely dressed young Derzhi warriors, a dusky Suzaini woman in red satin ... and the Lady Lydia.

I knelt as close to the door as possible and put my head to the tiles, wis.h.i.+ng fruitlessly that the Prince needed nothing that would take me closer to him.

"Ah, Seyonne, come here." No luck at all on this day.

I stood up and stepped closer, keeping my eyes to the floor. "My lord," I said.

"Aldicar told me that these gifts have not..." There was an ominous pause.

"Look at me, Seyonne."

I did as he told me, resigned to a hand about my throat as on the first time I had come to him with a damaged face. Instead, I saw a furrowed brow and heard a soft question. "What have they done to you?"

I spoke softly also, returning my gaze to the floor. From across the room I heard his guests laughing at a most explicit Veshtari fertility fetish. "It's nothing, my lord. I'm sorry I had no time to clean-"

"Answer my question, Seyonne."

"I was clumsy in my duties. I deserved-"

"And what duties are those?"

"Whatever is needed to serve you, my lord."

"You have spoken frankly with me in the past, and I require the same of you now. I just found out that many of these gifts have not been catalogued because Fendular has no scribes to spare, yet you have been given 'other duties'?"

"I am given the same duties as the other household slaves, Your Highness.

Nothing else." Whatever it was he was offering with his quiet anger, I wanted no part of it.

His boot of golden leather was tapping on the floor like a flicker's beak. "Can you even see properly?"

"No, my lord." No use in lying about it. He was going to find it out if he wanted me to read or write anything. "A day or two will mend it."

"And lashes, too. Have you eaten today?" What was his point?

"No, my Lord."

"I'll have their heads for this."

"Your Highness, please don't." I could not believe the words from my mouth.

"It is no matter."

"Aleksander, isn't it time to be off?" called one of the young men from across the room. "The dancing begins at midday."

"Yes, yes, I'm coming." The boot stopped tapping. "Tomorrow I want the rest of these gifts examined and catalogued. I've been feeling ... odd ... these last two days."

"As you command, my lord." I bowed, and because I had no certainty that I would see him before his birthday, I added something else. "May your G.o.ds shower you with glory and wisdom on the occasion of your dakrah." The wish I gave him was a strange melding. The prayer for glory was Derzhi, of course; the prayer for wisdom, Ezzarian.

"You may go, Seyonne."

On my way to the door I saw the Lady Lydia standing only a few paces away, beside a suit of ruby-studded gold armor where Aleksander could not have seen her. Our gaze met square on before I could pretend I hadn't noticed. Her great green eyes were full of unabashed curiosity.

I spent the rest of that day and night in the same laborious fas.h.i.+on as the previous ones, but on the next morning, Boresh gritted his teeth in annoyance and dispatched me to the gift room.

It was a pleasant interlude to sit in the quiet room. Except for the regular rounds by the guards and an occasional visit by Boresh to check on my progress and complain of my laziness, I was left alone with my ledger and my writing case. The windows were covered by heavy draperies to keep out the cold, so the place was lit by candlelight gleaming on burnished metal. I found myself getting drowsy as the afternoon pa.s.sed, until voices outside the door startled me alert. Women's voices.

"Wait at the door, Nyrah. I want to see the Kuvai bow again. My archery master says they are the finest in the world, and I thought to have one made if I can string it. And I'll permit no knavish eyes to witness when I try doing so."

It was the Lady Lydia. There was no place to retreat. I glimpsed flowing green on the other side of the room beyond the laden tables. Perhaps she wouldn't see me on my stool in the shadowy corner. I fixed my eyes on the ledger and convinced myself I was working.

"I thought I might find you here."

Even half expecting it, I jumped when the voice came from behind me. I slipped from my stool and genuflected. "My lady. May I serve you in some way?"

"Only to sit down again and tell me what you are." Her green riding skirt, rust-colored tunic, and long leather boots suited her far better than her flowing court dress. The red curls had been released to billow about her narrow face. On her shoulder she carried a well-used bow, and she held the long Kuvai gift bow in her hand.

I returned to my stool and fiddled with my pen and ink. "I am the Prince's writing slave, my lady. Nothing else."

"A great deal more than that, I think. I cannot quite believe what I saw and heard yesterday. It's why I had to come." She sat herself on a gilt chair that was crafted in the design of a snake-a gift from a Manganar village chieftain- set her elbow on the gift table, and propped her chin on her hand, calmly watching me fidget. "Who are you who can request Aleksander of Azhakstan to control his temper and have him do it? His own mother and father, who overlook his every fault, have found such a thing impossible. His uncle, who adores him, despairs of the possibility. No one else in the world would even bother to attempt it. Yet a soft-speaking slave tames him like a horse master calms a colt. It's something I would like to understand."

"I can't explain anything, my lady. I should not speak of-"

"Of course you should not speak of him. You might accidentally mention that he is a despicable, vengeful, bloodthirsty child. But there is no one to hear you say it but me, and you cannot be unaware of the Emperor's intentions with regard to me. Consider that I may be your mistress someday."

Even for one of the strong-willed Derzhi, she displayed extraordinary determination. It was very hard to refuse her. But I did. "That consideration can do nothing but a.s.sure that I adhere strictly to my place, my lady. I would do nothing to merit my mistress's concern. She would not allow me to speak of my master without his permission."

The candlelight grew brighter with her smile. "He said you spoke with frankness. I hear some hint of it... and sense and wit that are extraordinary for one in ... your circ.u.mstances. So, well enough. Say nothing of Aleksander.

Instead, say something of Seyonne. You are Ezzarian?"

"Yes, my lady."

"A sorcerer. Perhaps that explains everything. I've heard it said that Ezzarian sorcerers can cure madness. Is that what you've done?"

"I've been through the Rites of Balthar, my lady. It is impossible for me to do anything of sorcery."

"How long have you served the Prince?"

"Only these last three months."

"Three months to breach a bulwark of stubborn self-indulgence built over twenty-three years. I am more impressed than ever."

"My lady, my last wish is to displease you, but I should get back to-"

"No, Seyonne, you will not put me off so easily. My serving woman will warn me if anyone comes." She retrieved the Kuvai bow that she had laid on the gift table. "So what do you do besides scribe's work?"

"Only what I am commanded to do: reading, writing, household work. It would not be of interest to a lady."

"Hmm." She ran her fingers over the polished sweep of the bow and frowned.

"How long have you been in bondage?"

"Sixteen years."

"So long? Well, if you will not speak of the present, tell me of yourself seventeen years ago. What has made you into a person Aleksander holds in a regard he shows no one else?"

"Please, my lady, I cannot. There's nothing to tell."

"I insist. I know nothing of Ezzarians, save the rumors of sorcery and that they were intelligent enough to allow a woman to rule them. Enlighten me."

I could not allow it. Not even for one with so engaging a manner. "Please understand, madam. I did not exist seventeen years ago. I did not exist three years ago, nor even one hour ago. A slave can exist in no moment but the present one. I beg your gracious pardon, but there is nothing more to tell. I am a slave who reads and writes, and who is honored to serve the future Emperor of the Derzhi."

"I see." I regretted the chill in her voice just as I ached when the sun would set after a rare sunny day in Capharna. "So only one more question, then. Who was your master before Aleksander?"

I would rather not have told her, but she could find it out very easily, and I didn't want to offend her further. "The late Baron Harkhesian, my lady."

"Has the Baron died today? I'd not heard it. I saw him just last evening."

I was somewhat fl.u.s.tered. The Baron's physician had been sure he would not survive the change of the year. "No. I mean ... he was very ill when I was sent away. I a.s.sumed ..."

"He is noticeably feeble, but not dead yet. He was lifting his tankard well into the night with every other warrior. I don't think he missed a toast or a song."

I couldn't help but grin at the thought. "I'm glad to hear it. He always said that Suzaini brandy and strong ale would preserve him beyond his physician's prediction."

"You see ... even now you give lie to your own words, Seyonne. We will continue this conversation another time. For now I suppose I must let you get back to your work."

She rose from her chair, and I bowed to her. "Please excuse my frankness, my lady. I have no intent to offend."

"Your frankness serves you well, Seyonne. I'm not in the least offended."

It was a long time before I could summon up enough concentration to get back to my work. I spent a great deal of it wondering how so perceptive a man as Aleksander could fail to recognize a prize more magnificent than any lying in his treasury.

Chapter 13.

On the same evening as my talk with Lady Lydia, after I had eaten a bowl of greasy stew with the other slaves and was being given instructions as to the evening's duties, I was summoned to the Prince's apartments. He was wearing white satin breeches and white silk hose, but no s.h.i.+rt. His body slaves were hovering about him, offering a filmy white s.h.i.+rt embroidered in gold, black boots, three jeweled rings in a velvet box, pearl windings for his braid, and a fur-lined cape, but he was pacing restlessly and came near pouncing on me when I entered.

"Skip the bowing and write a message. I want it dispatched instantly by messenger bird to the Chief Magistrate of Avenkhar. I'm tired of waiting and no one can give me any information. And Korelyi keeps asking me when my uncle will come, as if I hadn't thought of it. The d.a.m.nable Khelid is like a scorpion in my boot."

His eyes spurred me on as I set out the materials and sharpened a pen.

Rozhin, I require immediate news of Dmitri zha Denischkar, brother to the Emperor.

He is five days overdue in Capharna. He" was to complete business with Demyon, the swordsmith, and proceed straight here. If you value your position and your b.a.l.l.s, you will have a report to me no later than midnight on the seventh day of this month.

Aleksander, Prince of Azhakstan "Curse all stubborn Derzhi. Where is the man?" said the Prince as I rolled the sc.r.a.p of paper in its leather covering. "Punis.h.i.+ng me, no doubt. Decided he can't thrash me anymore, so he'll get his revenge another way. I swore I'd not ask after him, but almost half the dakrah is past. He should be here."

"The message will be off within the hour, my lord," I said.

I wanted to ask him more about Korelyi's goading. What interest could the demon Khelid have in Lord Dmitri... or was it only to spur this fever in the irritable Prince? But before I could get close enough to ask discreetly, one of the slaves finally caught his arm and helped him on with the s.h.i.+rt. As the rest descended on him like flies to a corpse, he called after me. "You're to stay at the aviary to wait for the reply. Otherwise they'll try to send it through Fendular, who won't dare interrupt anything important, but you'll come straightaway, no matter what I'm doing: even if I'm at table with my father or in bed with a woman. Do you understand me?"

"Of course, my lord. The Chamberlain ..."