The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.) (20 page)

Salina sat down, staring at the bales of fabric. ‘No. I have a green dress for tonight. A mejkith that is green should do fine.’

‘Oh, but this is your first mejkith. The dress you wear is less important.’ Fatini happily started going through the fabric. Like most Ganjeese
ladies of means, she wore a dress of velvet, the colours slightly muted yet nonetheless beautiful. Silver and gold threads rounded the cuffs, all perfectly stitched. ‘You should choose a colour that makes your heart sing,’ said Fatini. ‘Something that will make men wonder about you.’

‘Lady Fatini, this is my father’s pride,’ said Salina. ‘I do not mean to be unkind, but I have not given this much thought.’

‘Then it is time you did think of it, child. You are a woman grown now, and tonight is a formal night. You cannot act like a little girl any longer. Consider what people will say about you, and your father. Always consider that, Salina.’

Salina nodded, concealing her anger. Everything she did was carefully considered so not to embarrass her father. That was the duty of all daughters – to make their fathers proud, and never, never to embarrass them. People like Fatini simply never noticed the contortions Salina put herself through to please her father. Still tired from being woken up so early, Salina felt her lips twisting in rebellion.

‘We’ll choose the best colour for your face,’ said Fatini. She had a large swatch of lavender silk in her hands, which she helped up to Salina’s face, just below the eyes. ‘Look how pretty this is. Do you think so?’

Salina shrugged. ‘It’s nice.’

‘Nice?’ Fatini seemed hurt. ‘Child, do try to understand what we’re doing here. The mejkith will give you mystery. It will mark you as a woman, ready for a husband.’

‘Husband?’ Salina shook her head adamantly. ‘No.’

The lady laughed. ‘Oh, yes. There will be many fine men at your father’s celebration tonight. Do not be surprised if one has his eyes on you.’

‘One already
had
his eyes on me,’ said Salina. She knew it was an open secret. The entire palace knew of Aztar’s interest in her. And now that Aztar was gone – maybe even dead – no other suitors had come forward.

‘Prince Aztar would have made a man for you,’ said Fatini softly. ‘Your father spoke of him often.’

Did he speak of Jador too? Salina wondered. Or how he simply bargained me away for it? She wanted to ask these questions with an acid tongue, to pin Lady Fatini down like a butterfly, but she did not. She simply pushed the lavender silk aside. She had already settled on green.

‘If Prince Aztar would have had me,’ she grumbled, ‘it was not my father’s place to speak of it. I am a woman grown – I should be able to choose my own time of marriage. And my own husband.’

‘That is northern nonsense,’ said Fatini. She looked at Salina gently. ‘Your father is very wise, Princess. Let him make these decisions for you. You will see – he will not fail you.’

‘But I do not wish it, Lady Fatini.’ Salina pushed herself away from the
table. ‘I do not wish to be bartered as my sisters were, or share a bed with a man three times my age.’

‘That is how marriages are made, child. That is how I met my husband, and Toran is a good man. He has provided well for me and our children. He works hard to make a fine life for us all. Do not fret so. Your father will choose wisely. Your husband will have the means to make you happy.’

Salina glanced up at the woman. ‘We are so different, you and I,’ she sighed. ‘You take joy in the mejkith. I do not.’

Fatini put down a bale of silk she was about to unravel, pulling up the only other chair to sit beside Salina. She did not seem offended by the girl’s words, but rather confused. In the shade of the orange tree, she smiled the way a mother might, plaintively and without judgement.

‘Princess, if you were my daughter I would tell you things, about how a man shivers when he looks at a woman in a mejkith, and how he hungers, wondering what beauty lies beneath.’

Salina laughed, feeling her cheeks flush. ‘Fatini, please . . .’

‘It’s true,’ said Fatini with a grin. ‘Men love mystery. You see? The mejkith is not a prison, Princess. It is a mighty shield! It gives you power. If I was your mother I would tell you these things.’ Lady Fatini sat back. ‘But I am not your mother, so I never told you that, did I?’

‘No,’ chuckled Salina. ‘You never did.’ She reached out and took the fabric Fatini was about to show her, a rich silk the colour of sparkling emeralds. ‘Now, show me how to make a mejkith.’

Happiness flashed through Lady Fatini’s dark eyes. In the still cool air of morning, the merchants wife lined up her needles and cutting tools and began her teaching. Salina listened intently, still not wanting to wear the mejkith but not wanting to disappoint the sweet, surprising woman, either. She had misjudged Fatini, she decided, and cheerfully let Fatini guide her hands across the fabric, using a sharp blade to cut the delicate silk. The first would be only practice, Fatini told Salina. There was no need to worry about mistakes.

‘We have all day,’ said the woman.

Salina settled into her work, and after an hour she had learned to work the little tools. She was already an accomplished seamstress, a skill all the women of the palace learned from an early age. As she worked some golden thread into a long needle, Salina began to sing to herself. It was a glorious morning in the garden, too lovely to retain a foul mood. Then, from the corner of her eye, she glimpsed someone waving at her. Salina put down her sewing.

‘Nourah?’

Her friend and handmaiden stood a few paces away, partially hidden in the grove, staring at her sheepishly. Nourah gestured nervously for Salina
to come. Salina frowned, surprised at the girl’s forwardness. Nourah was a close confidant, and smart enough not to interrupt unless something important had arisen.

‘Lady Fatini, your pardon, please,’ said Salina, getting up from her chair. ‘That is one of my maidens. She must need something.’

‘Of course, Princess,’ said Fatini, preoccupied with her own projects. ‘Do not be too long, though. You still need work.’

‘I won’t,’ Salina promised, then excused herself to go to Nourah. One of her youngest handmaidens, Nourah was nevertheless among Salina’s most trusted. Salina was closer to Nourah than to any of her sisters, and had confided her deepest secrets in the girl, who had kept them all safely locked away. Nourah’s brown eyes jumped nervously as Salina approached, obviously bursting with news. Anxiously she waved for her princess to hurry, keeping herself partially hidden in the grove.

‘Why are you here?’ Salina asked crossly. ‘Nourah, you shouldn’t have come . . .’

‘I had to,’ Nourah insisted. She waited until Salina was well within earshot, keeping her voice to a whisper. ‘Salina, Kamag came to see me.’

Salina started at the name. She took Nourah’s shoulder and turned both their backs toward Fatini. ‘Kamag? When?’

‘This morning, when I was shopping in the market. He wants you to come.’

‘Did he say why?’

Nourah bridled at the question, bracing herself. ‘Salina, he said it was about Aztar.’

Princess Salina felt her heart race. She had not had news of Aztar for months, nor had she heard from Kamag, either. From his place in his safe little tavern, Kamag had helped Salina ferry Seekers across the desert, keeping them safe from Aztar as they sought Jador. Like she, he had risked his life to help the desperate northerners, always using Nourah as a messenger. Since Aztar’s defeat, there had been no need for them to talk, and very few Seekers who needed their help anyway.

‘Aztar . . .’ Salina put her hand over her chest. The news had winded her. ‘What did he say?’

‘Nothing else,’ said Nourah. ‘But he wants you to come tonight.’

‘Tonight? I cannot come tonight! It’s Oradin!’

‘Kamag knows, but it is urgent. I told him of the gathering at the palace, but he insisted that it cannot wait, and that you would want to know.’ Nourah looked helpless, like the young girl she was. ‘I’m sorry, Salina. I do not know more.’

Salina simply wilted. ‘Aztar. I can’t believe it . . .’

Nourah looked at her expectantly. ‘What will you do?’

‘What can I do? I have to be at that cursed gathering tonight.’ Salina felt exasperation rising like a cobra. ‘My father will skin me if I miss it.’

‘Tell him you are sick,’ Nourah suggested, ‘that you have your moon time.’

Salina rolled her eyes. ‘He is wise to that one. So is everyone else.’

‘Think of something else, then. Eat a bad fish or some spoiled milk.’

‘I don’t want to really be sick. Seriously, now, think . . .’

Salina turned back to Lady Fatini, who waved at her impatiently. Salina waved back with a face that begged indulgence.

‘I have to get back,’ she groaned. ‘Nourah, I have to see Kamag tonight.’

‘I know,’ Nourah nodded helplessly. ‘We will get you there. Stay at the gathering as long as you can, then be ill. I will say you’ve gone back to your room. Everyone will be too busy to look for you. By the time they do, you will be back.’

Salina considered the plan, confident it would work. Her father always got too drunk on Oradin to notice anything unusual, and with so many people to entertain, it was certain she would not be missed.

‘All right,’ Salina agreed, smiling nervously. ‘Go now. I’ll be done here when I can.’

Salina squeezed her maiden’s shoulder, then turned and walked back to Fatini and her table full of fabrics. Over the next hour she struggled hard to concentrate on her work, but her mind was a thousand miles away, over Aztar and what fabulous news Kamag might have for her.

Just past midnight, Salina found herself in the streets of the city, surrounded by revelers still celebrating Oradin. Overhead, the moon that was the holiday’s namesake glowed a brilliant ivory, lighting the avenues of Ganjor while men and boys moved between the shrana houses and played card games, enjoying the parades of brightly garbed women as they too enjoyed the merriment. At her palatial home, Salina had managed to convince her father of a sudden illness, excusing herself from the gathering even as hundreds of guests still stalked the palace’s halls and banquet chambers. King Baralosus’ guests had come from miles, paying him tributes of gold and spices and enjoying his famous kitchens and wine cellars. Salina had endured the night gracefully, wearing the mejkith she had made and doing her best to please the young men her father introduced, smiling just enough not to encourage them. It had been a tedious function, and Salina was glad to be gone from it. With Nourah’s help, she had slipped out of the palace in the dress and sandals of a commoner. Because she was the king’s daughter and seldom allowed out of the palace, almost no one in the city knew what she looked like, making it surprisingly easy to walk the streets anonymously.

Kamag’s shrana house lay in a dark and quiet corner of the city’s marketplace. Normally, there were few people in this part of Ganjor so late at night. Tonight, however, the streets were filled with happy people and market stalls that had stayed open for the holiday, selling sweet and spicy foods that filled the avenue with aromas. Salina’s head swam with excitement as she hurried toward the place. To be out so late at night, without a chaperone to pester her, was a rare treat she always savoured. So far, she had managed to keep her meetings with Kamag secret and rare. It had been months since she had spoken to him.

Salina tugged the fabric of her head wrap closer around her face. Normally, women were not permitted in shrana houses unless escorted by a man, but tonight was Oradin, and that meant the holiday would give her cover. She pressed passed the inn’s beaded curtain, hiding her face from a pair of men who were leaving. Entering, her eyes scanned the busy house. Kamag was having a good night, indeed, for every one of his tables were full. Luckily, she spotted Dahj darting about the place, taking orders from the patrons. Another of her confidants, Dahj often worked for Kamag to earn much needed money. He was a young, friendly man, and brave like Kamag, too. Both of them had risked much to aid the Seekers. When Dahj glanced in her direction, Salina waved. Dahj quickly dropped his tray of shrana cups on a nearby stool and hurried toward her, pushing his way through the crowd.

‘Princess,’ he whispered, not smiling and not wanting to draw attention.

Salina nodded, holding her wraps high against her face. She was pleased to see Dahj, but had no way of showing it. ‘Kamag?’

‘Waiting for you.’ Dahj looked around. ‘Busy tonight. Be careful.’

Salina understood, careful to avoid the stares of others. She followed Dahj through the busy inn, keeping her eyes low. Dahj moved quickly to the back of the tavern, toward the hall that lead to the upstairs sleeping chambers. A few other servers darted past them with trays of steaming shrana and the popular moon cakes. When they reached the hall, Dahj paused.

‘Wait here,’ he directed. ‘I will bring Kamag.’

Dahj disappeared quickly back into the main room, leaving Salina alone in the hall. The servers ignored her, too busy with the work to pay the girl much notice. Salina shifted uncomfortably, anxious to see Kamag and hear his news. Overhead, she heard the boards creak from the rooms upstairs, obviously rented for the evening. Salina smiled beneath her wraps, imagining the romance going on above her head. A minute passed, and then another, but before too long Kamag appeared, alone, skidding into the hall and beaming when he saw Salina.