‘Had some, have you?’ said Kizzy, coolly. ‘Who for?’
‘No, it’s a speciality, only for the boyar’s dining hall,’ said Fen, determinedly ignoring her second question. He looked at the snake again, swallowing queasily. ‘I can see why.’
‘Are you well, Fen?’ I said, hurrying to smooth the prickly air. ‘Are they treating you all right?’
‘Better than I expected them to. We’re in a hut all together, Morsh and me and the rest of the boys. We’re at the edge of the fields. The thatch is leaking and it’s the poorest of them all, but no Settled come in. At night we’re free to talk amongst ourselves. We see Girtie. Reeni too sometimes, when they bring the cows to the fields.’
‘That’s nice for you,’ said Kizzy sharply. ‘We’ve seen no one.’
‘I know,’ said Fen, trying to soothe her. ‘We were all worried. The girls thought you were in the kitchens or the dining hall.’
‘We’ve done both,’ I said. ‘But tonight Kizzy’s meant to entertain.’
Fen looked at her searchingly. ‘No one’s … have you been hurt?’
‘Not in the way you care about,’ said Kizzy meanly.
‘Kizzy!’ I snapped, but Fen held up a calming hand.
‘I know you can take care of yourself, Kizzy. But it doesn’t mean I don’t worry, that I don’t think about you.’
Kizzy set her newly pointed chin. ‘I wish you hadn’t brought the snake. Take it back.’
‘He can’t do that, Kizzy,’ I said exasperated. ‘He’ll get in trouble.’
‘Please,’ she said, and I was shocked to see her lip was trembling. ‘Take it away, Fen. Set it free.’
‘Kizzy—’ I started, but Fen squeezed my hand.
‘It’s alright, Lil. I’ll think of something.’
‘Won’t you be punished?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s not such a bad life, in the fields. Our master doesn’t watch us much, and there are other Travellers.’
‘Other slaves, you mean,’ sneered Kizzy. ‘Are you like my sister then, accepting your fate meek as a child?’
Fen stilled, so suddenly he may have been stone aside from the hurt flickering across his face. ‘Is that what you think of us, Kizzy? That we are weak for trying to survive?’
‘Survive for what?’ Though she did not raise her voice above a hiss, my sister seemed to grow taller, magnificent and terrible in her rage. ‘To be an errand boy? You are an aurar, a Traveller. Have you forgotten that?’
Fen’s heart was breaking. I could see it in the pallor of his cheeks, the slump in his broad shoulders. I too felt pinned in place by her anger, the room airless as our prison cells.
Finally, he picked up the pot, and spoke.
‘I have not forgotten what matters. All I have done, all I have borne, I have done it in the hope of seeing you again.’
‘I’m sorry to have disappointed you.’ Kizzy’s voice was ice. ‘Don’t trouble yourself further.’
Fen nodded. He had heard all he could take. He turned to me. ‘Be careful, Lil. Stay alive. To see you again—’ He cast a last look at Kizzy, his pain clear and shining in his eyes. ‘It is enough.’
Malovski arrived to a sour silence. She seemed distracted, her usually piercing gaze skimming off us like black pebbles over ice. She did not even comment on the silence of the snake in the remaining pot, the lack of another.
‘Bring the pot and the wine. They’re waiting.’
The potted snake was silent. I thought of the breath we had taken from it, how it should be alive and vibrating between my palms like a cupped cricket. I had the bottle of wine under my armpit, and wished I had the courage to drop the whole lot, to take the punishment that would mean, perhaps, my sister could be saved.
But then, likely nothing would save her from what the boyars, feasting above, desired. Spectacle. My sister was one, the would-be torture of the snake another. And I was the shadow behind, serving only to show up their light. Even my song would be a mere backdrop to Kizzy’s performance.
I fixed my eyes on the back of Kizzy’s neck, willed loving words into her, words of strength, of comfort. Perhaps she heard them, because her back straightened as she passed from the narrow passages that bellied along the castle into the lighter, broader corridors.
There was a strange, heady scent coming from somewhere, out of place and cloying. I realised the animal fat lamps had been mixed with beeswax, and that was how all of this felt: a lick of sweetness over barbarity. Like poison in wine.
‘We will enter through the front doors,’ said Malovski. ‘As serving girls do. Performers usually come through the side.’ She said it like it was an honour.
The boyars wanted a good look at her, I supposed. The noises of feasting grew louder. The floor was strewn with rushes that flashed like forest through the bars of a cage, and the candlelight made everything feel slower. My head throbbed as though I had supped on the wine sloshing under my arm. Fen and Kizzy’s argument chased around my mind. Stay alive. It is enough.
We came to a stop outside the pair of massive wooden doors, braced with iron. Now they looked more like the gates of a fortress than the entrance to a feast hall. My skin prickled as Malovski gestured for Kizzy to take the pot and the wine. She cradled the pot in the crook of one arm, gripped the bottle in the newly smooth skin of her palm. She looked young in the soft light of the candles.
‘You, follow behind,’ said Malovski. ‘Your sister will dance first, so sing something. Then, you leave while she serves the bite wine.’
She nodded at the guard to open the door. He heaved on the metal ring, and the noise and heat smashed into my face, along with the stink of unwashed bodies and stale wine.
I saw the already too-familiar high ceiling, the room with walls of glittering silk and plunging red, and more men than there had been even that afternoon – more men than I had seen in one place my whole life. Faces turned towards the open door, a momentary lull in the ruckus.
‘You would do well to please him,’ Malovski said to Kizzy. ‘For your, and your sister’s sake.’
Then she pushed Kizzy inside.
I went to follow, but Malovski threw out an arm.
‘Let her go ahead.’
This was as easy to me as breathing. As I tripped in behind, I saw Kizzy apart from myself. I saw her as a stranger might, a woman with thick hips and curling hair, her body brown and shining in the light from Boyar Valcar’s massive fire.
I pinched my own narrow waist, hugged myself tight as she walked the long length of the room. No one touched her, but I knew it was only because they didn’t dare. She was not theirs to touch, and not because she was her own. She was here at the whim of Boyar Calazan, and that at once protected and damned her.
‘Here she is!’ Boyar Valcar boomed. His voice was high, sloppy with drink. ‘Your girl as requested, Calazan.’
Valcar was seated at his usual place at the top of the room, at the long table with people sitting along only one side, an audience to Kizzy’s entrance. Boyar Calazan was on his left, his heart side, as Old Charani would have said. The position of highest honour.
As I drew parallel with Kizzy, I could see their table was strewn with goblets and bowls. There were heaps of untouched salad leaves on platters, yellow-white bones of chickens. The main course of pig would be brought up soon, dripping fat. But first they would have their entertainment.