Finding Destiny (25 page)

Turning to one of the still-dubious-looking women, clad in shades of green, peach, and gold, he rapped out a command in what sounded like Aurulan. An argument broke out at that, one from the woman in green, another from a woman in pink, and rather vociferously from the man in blue. Ellett’s own tone sharpened, though unlike the others, he didn’t bother to raise his voice. It was the implacable tone of a man who knew and wielded his own authority well, and they subsided. Whatever he said, he ended it with the lilt of a question, and a pointed lift of one brow.

It quelled their objections. The woman in green rolled her eyes, sighed heavily, and stalked off. The front folds of her jacket-like gown parted, revealing gathered peach trousers which matched the peach sash encircling her from shoulder to waist and hip to hip, where it ended in a knot and two trailing ends that fluttered around her knees.

“Lady Lianna, Chief Mage of the Palace, has left to craft and brew the Ultra Tongue potion for you,” Ellett murmured. He gestured at the man in blue. “This is Milord Souder, Master of the Royal Retreat. Mmm, you would say he is in charge of the private, familial residence of His Majesty. Sort of a sub-Consul cross between secretary and housekeeper.” The Mage-Captain leaned in closer and all but whispered in her ear, “Of course, he thinks much higher of himself than that. Thankfully, he is very good at his job, otherwise His Majesty would not tolerate such airs. Indulge most of his whims, but do not be afraid to stand up for yourself. So long as you break none of the laws of civilized behavior common to all lands, it is doubtful you would truly offend.”

Patting her on the shoulder, he nudged her forward.

“Go with Milord Souder, and do as he and his helpers direct you.”

Unsure, Gabria glanced back at him. “What will they want me to do?”

“They merely intend to bathe, dress, and prepare you to meet His Majesty. Your appearance is suitable for Guildara, but this is Aurul, and the court of the Seer King.” Giving her the same friendly smile from the last three days, he bowed and left.

Gabria wanted to protest that her clothes were acceptable, since she
was
a Guildaran and this was how Guildarans dressed, but faltered as he strode away with the air of a man who had other things to do. The mirror had been pulled back into a pillar-flanked alcove, and all of the Royal Guards, save for the two women who had appointed themselves her watchers, had vanished.

Wordlessly, but with a gesture of half-restrained impatience, the Master of the Royal Retreat gestured with his loupe toward the archway where the servants had taken her things. Giving in, she started walking that way. The woman in pink hurried to get in front of her. Not knowing what else to do, Gabria followed her.

Since the man in blue didn’t protest, she guessed it was the right thing to do. As it was, she was hard-pressed to keep up. Her feet kept slowing down, her eyes drinking in the intricate carvings and mosaics outlining yet more of the realistic garden scenes painted on the walls. Despite having to hurry every so often to keep up with the lady in the pink brocaded jacket-gown, Gabria did notice two repeating themes among the animals displayed in wall paintings, mosaics, and carvings: the Eye and the Owl of Ruul.

The Eye wasn’t nearly as common as the Owl. The Eye, she knew from her crash course in Aurulan culture, was the official symbol of Ruul, Patron God of Vision. It was reserved for the Seer King, the priesthood, and the higher levels of government. The Owl was His symbol for the common people to use, and was thus in common use. Very common use; owls were cast into the frames of the wrought-iron benches they passed, carved on the pillars supporting the fluted archways, and painted into the boughs of at least one tree in every garden scene.

They walked for several minutes, climbing stairs and passing windows overlooking real gardens with exotic bushes and trees laid in attractive planted patterns. They passed through a set of ornately carved and banded double doors guarded by more Royal Guards in their gilded purple armor. Just as Gabria was wondering when this huge palace would reach an end, they entered a grand parlor lined with the most ostentatious furnishings yet. The wrought-iron furnishings were covered in gold leaf, not paint, the tassels looked to be spun from real thread-of-gold, and the mosaics framing the windows were crafted from polished semiprecious stones.

She felt distinctly Guildaran in this room. As in, from a brand-new, barely started, makeshift kingdom cobbled together by commoners. Even if they
had
managed to Manifest a bona fide Patron Deity. She also felt sweaty, since the door-sized windows stood wide, the gauzy curtains pulled back, revealing the sun-drenched balcony beyond and letting in the heat of midday.

The lady in pink barely paused, however. She strode straight for yet another fluted archway. Hurrying to catch up, Gabria found herself led into a smaller parlor, then a corridor with latticework windows and carved doors, and finally into a bathing ... well, not a bathing
room
, so much as a bathing
hall
. The first bathing tub was the size of a small pool, half sunk into the floor and surrounded by a raised marble ledge just high enough to act as a sort of bench. It was flanked at each corner by yet more carved pillars, and boasted a fountain which filled it with a constant flow of gently steaming water. The second tub was higher, almost on a pedestal, sized to fit maybe two people, and filled with flowers and a milky white liquid.

Correction,
she thought, staring in wonder as the lady in pink strode right up to its steps and turned to face her.
It
is
filled with milk. I can smell it over the scent of the roses. I thought people only bathed in milk in the wilder bardic stories!
A moment later, an amusing thought quirked the corner of her mouth.
Then again, this palace is so ornate,
it
could have sprung from a bard’s wildest imaginings.

Realizing from her gestures that the lady in pink wanted her to strip and submerse herself in the milk, Gabria quickly looked behind her. Master Souder had not followed them into this chamber, however, just her two Royal Guard shadows, who took up places to either side of the bathing chamber entrance. Apparently they were still keeping up the pretense of being her personal sentries, or watch-dogs, or whatever it was they believed they were supposed to do.

The other figures in the room, three women, wore the cream gowns of the servants she had seen earlier, but these were edged in purple. Royal servants for the Royal Retreat apparently, and not just palace servants. This could only
be
the Royal Retreat which the imperious Master Souder presided over. It was too ornate for anything else.

Relieved he hadn’t entered this particular room, for all he might have been in charge of it, Gabria followed the gestures of the unnamed woman. Removing her cap, she pulled the pins from her hair, twisted up in a bun to keep the hip-length, ash blond locks out of her way. Just removing the gray-felted cap relieved her of some of the excessive warmth plaguing her in this subtropical land. So did raking her fingers through her hair, detangling and fluffing it out.

At the sight of her locks, the woman in pink seemed to look relieved; her own hair was pulled back into a neat plait that reached down past her waist.
Long hair on women must be important,
she thought, remembering the woman in green, Lady Lianna, had worn a similar, waist-length, plaited hairstyle.
On engineers, either you wear it up to keep it out of the way, or you cut it short ... though the priests of the False God used to rant horribly about the unnaturalness of women going too far in looking as well as acting like men.

It was a relief to remove her knitted tunic, too. Dropping onto the steps to remove her boots and her socks, she felt cooler as each layer was set aside. She felt a little uncomfortable rendering herself completely naked but knew it was necessary.
I need to be pleasant, polite, and cooperative, so these people will be favorably inclined toward Guildara by my actions. I suppose, if dressing like one of them will make them more charitable toward me ... well, bathing in milk shouldn’t be so bad. Provided they allow me to rinse thoroughly, of course.

Lady in pink said something and gestured at the pool with a mild but friendly smile. Guessing she was meant to climb in, Gabria removed the last of her underthings and mounted the outer steps. Hesitating, she dipped her toes into the liquid, then started down the first of what looked like an inner set of steps; the liquid concealed all but the topmost stair from her view.

The milk was cool to the touch, and sweet-smelling for its scent. It also had a thin layer of cream floating on the top. She didn’t know if that was because it had been partially skimmed after sitting there for a while, or if the pool had been freshly filled and was only now settling long enough for the cream to rise to the top.
Cream,
she realized, noting pools of clearer liquid floating here and there among the milk fats,
and . . . attar of roses? Actual rose oil, and not just flower petals?
The combination felt odd against her skin, but not unpleasant.

Splashing startled her. One of the older maidservants had removed her outer gown, revealing a short, belted tunic that bared most of her shoulders and covered her only to the tops of her thighs. The middle-aged woman descended the steps of the milk bath, and dipped a pearl-glazed pitcher into the liquid. She poured the mixture of milk, cream, attar, and rose petals over Gabria’s shoulders, then carefully anointed her head, using a sponge to dab the milk onto her face.

A gesture and a handful of words had Gabria frowning softly in concentration, before she comprehended that she was supposed to crouch down at the far end of the smallish pool and soak for a while. Bemused, Gabria found a bench at that end by bumping into it, and sank onto the marble surface. More milk was poured over her scalp as she sat and soaked, and the sponge patted carefully over her face.

She sat like that, bored and wondering what else would be expected of her, long enough for her fingers to wrinkle. Long enough for the milk dabbed on her face to feel sticky. Finally gestured to stand and exit the pool, she found herself led toward a leather-padded table, rather than the larger pool of water. After a bit of gesturing, Gabria stretched out on the waist-high table as directed, and found herself drizzled with scented oil by the other woman.

Gabria stared at the mother-of-pearl mosaics patterning the curlicue arches of the ceiling, while two more of the servants unnerved her by massaging her legs and arms, her feet and her hands, even her stomach, hips, and breasts. Not in a sexual way, but definitely without regard for Guildaran sensibilities. They even carefully massaged her face, which was an odd sensation. Not unpleasant, just odd.

Urged upright, she was given a cup of clear, sweet-tasting water to drink, then urged facedown on the padded table, where she was drizzled with more oil and the two ladies once again massaged their way from soles to scalp and back. Their touch was near-perfect, somewhere between soft and firm, finding knots and gently but determinedly soothing each muscle until it relaxed. Aches which she hadn’t really noticed now twinged, twitched, and vanished, until it was all she could do to keep from moaning out loud.

They finally left her alone for several minutes, until she heard her name being called by the lady in pink. Groaning under her breath, Gabria rolled over, eased up, and wondered briefly why her oily-sticky body should ache in new ways, now that it was thoroughly relaxed. Thankfully, her Aurulan bath companions waited patiently until she felt like she could stand. Crossing to the larger pool, Gabria let herself be directed to stand on the topmost of the inner side steps, where she was sluiced with water dipped from the pool, then lathered and scrubbed thoroughly with coarse sponges until her skin felt like it glowed. Another round of rinsing and she was allowed to sink fully into the pool, where she was handed a goblet of fruit juice and urged wordlessly to drink it all down.

Between the heat of the water and the vigorous scrubbing, her body tingled all over, reviving her from the lethargy induced by her very first massage. The water and the juice had an inevitable effect, though. Dredging up what little Aurulan she had managed to learn and retain in between her many duties as a sub-Consul and advisor, Gabria carefully asked where the refreshing room was. After a long moment of blank looks, one of the servants just as carefully repeated the words with a slightly different inflection and a questioning tone. Nodding fervently, Gabria was gestured out of the water and led to a small chamber to one side.

Even the refresher, she noted with bemused humor, was carved from the finest white marble, and ornamented—at least, on the outside—with bas-relief images of flowers and vines.

Led back to the pool, she was scrubbed one more time, some sort of crème applied to her hair, and led back to the heated water. The woman who had bathed her in the milk directed her back into the pool, though not for quite as long as she had been expected to soak in the milk. The crème was rinsed from her hair and her long locks carefully and gently combed from the tips on up. Urged back out after that, she was led to a fresh padded table—the other one having been cleaned and left to dry in the meantime—and gestured back onto it. The same two servants lightly anointed her with oil and massaged her from head to toe, though they didn’t take quite as long about it this time.

Directed back onto her feet, Gabria found herself patted dry and wrapped in a square-sleeved silk robe. She was then led into one of the other chambers branching off of the hallway, first through a sort of private parlor, then into a bedchamber, and lastly into what had to be a formal dressing room. Here, new servants in their cream-and-purple robes quickly pulled open drawers and cabinet doors on the left side of the chamber, displaying the bright hues of local fabrics—clothing, apparently—and some of her personal effects.