“And…” I prompted. Tertulyn caught my eye, rolling hers.
“These are unusual prisoners, Your Highness.” The girl sounded increasingly desperate. “Your Highness, they’re destined for His Imperial Majesty’s justice and no one wants to make an error.”
No. Ejarat forfend that we should err in turning over these unfortunates to Anure’s undoubtedly cruel vengeance. I flipped a careless hand, dismissing the thought. “Please rise already. I see no reason to deny the request. Give them what they need to bathe, and whatever clothing they like—though not their armor or weapons, of course.”
“Your Highness, should we send for their clothing from their ship in the harbor?” The maid bit her lip when I turned an incredulous stare on her.
“All right now,” Tertulyn intervened. “This is beneath Her Highness’s attention. I will—”
“No, that’s all right, Tertulyn. I realize we are operating without precedent here. Do not break the quarantine on their ship for any reason. It’s to remain under guard, and the prisoners should access nothing from it.” Who knew what the wizard might do, given the opportunity? “Provide them with an array of clothing from the palace for them to choose from.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“You’ll need something large for Conrí—be sure to keep that in mind.”
“Who, Your Highness?” Her clear brow knitted in anxious confusion.
“Conrí. That’s what his people called the Slave King.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” But her frown persisted. Likely the girl hadn’t seen the man, so she wouldn’t realize how ill most of what we had on hand would fit him.
“And nothing too colorful—he won’t like that.”
“Your Highness?” The maid twisted her skirt in anxiety.
Tertulyn moved in front of me, so only I could see her face, and fully raised her brows in question. Yes, yes—I was acting out of character. I needed to get through this and I’d be able to return to my usual role and rehearsed lines. Still, I’d be serving a grave enough injury to this Slave King—even if I saved his wizard and his lady—while sending him to a fate I couldn’t bear to contemplate. The least I could do was see him dressed as befit his sense of himself. The man had fought hard and won, until now.
My father had been a warrior in his day, before he gave that up for Calanthe. He’d been a big man, too. “His Highness, the late King Gul—all of his things were stored, yes?” I directed the question at Tertulyn and Calla, who both looked startled and somewhat aghast.
“Yes, Your Highness.” Tertulyn recovered swiftly and replied smoothly. “Packed in cedar and preserved.”
For whom, I wondered—the sons I’d never bear? If I had a way to identify and round up all of my illegitimate half siblings, I could distribute the lot to them. As things stood, it ended up being fortunate that I had the stuff still. “Let Conrí choose from those trunks. They should fit, if My eye judges correctly.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” The maid curtsied—an abrupt bob, quickly aborted—and fled. I looked after her thoughtfully, then became aware of my ladies’ unusual silence. The Glory, sensing something in the air, looked about uneasily. Tertulyn didn’t quite meet my gaze, but her mouth quirked in an unhappy bent.
“I may have had no choice but to protect Calanthe and the empire by apprehending Conrí and his companions,” I said in formal tones, though I should not have to explain myself, “but we are a people who celebrate beauty and the higher aspirations of all people. I will send His Imperial Majesty’s prisoners to him, but they will make the journey in the dignity befitting any human being.” There, that would lay the groundwork for my subterfuge. Now I just needed bodies to put the clothing on when it came time to ship them out. If only I could use Leuthar for one.
“I loved when You called the Slave King a dog,” Tertulyn quipped. “Such a joke!”
Nahua made a yipping sound, then giggled. “Did you see how dirty they were? No wonder they want baths!”
“No amount of soap could make them clean,” Calla replied with disgust. “They’ve been filthy so long, the dirt has embedded itself in their pores.”
“Did you see Lady Sondra’s complexion?” Tertulyn put a light emphasis on Sondra’s title, as if dubious about its origins. “Positively ruined. No wonder she’s ended up with an ill-mannered brute like the Slave King. What man of refinement would have her?”
“And that’s if she weren’t an escaped slave and traitor!” Calla replied.
The Glory laughed with them, but with a line between her brows. What she must think of all this. Unexpected shame pricked at me. Time to send her away. Giving the Glory the usual thanks, gift, and good wishes also served to put an end to the gossiping. When the ladies renewed their efforts to prepare me for the day, they did so quietly, perhaps because I reminded them to hurry. Perhaps they sensed my displeasure.
“I’m surprised,” Tertulyn murmured for my ears alone, as the others retrieved my gown, “that You would want to demean your father’s memory by dressing that dog in his clothes.”
I kept my face serene—necessary, so as not to disrupt her careful painting, but also to disguise my reaction to her unkind words. Had Tertulyn always been so condescending and judgmental? The Lady Sondra … she could be any of us. Had my father chosen to fight Anure, we, too, might have shared her fate, and lost our pretty complexions to similar trials. By the haunted look in the woman’s eye, she’d endured far worse than losing her beauty.
It took me aback on a deep level that Tertulyn—the rest of my ladies, pampered and sheltered, sure, but Tertulyn, my dearest friend—had no compassion in her heart for another of her station and gender.
“I demean nothing,” I replied quietly, but with an intensity that made her eyes widen and fly to mine. “They’re people, like you and I but for the vagaries of fate. They deserve to be treated as such.”
“Perhaps you’d feel differently if it had been your family they slaughtered in Keiost,” she hissed, then pressed her lips together tightly.
“We don’t know that,” I reminded her. “I have people looking.”
“Apologies, Your Highness. I forgot myself.”
Yes, she did, but I didn’t say so. Partly as the others returned just then, holding my gown aloft, and partly because I might feel similarly distressed in Tertulyn’s position. We’d been friends so long that I could hardly hold one slip against her, particularly under such difficult circumstances.
Still, I remained silent while they sewed me into the gown and Tertulyn finished my makeup, lest I give voice to my annoyance and disappointment. Since when had we grown so callous to the suffering of others? We’d protected Calanthe and Her people, but I’d thought all knew the price we paid for our continued idyllic existence—and that most of the rest of the world, those not in Anure’s pocket like we were, suffered greatly.
Apparently not, though I didn’t know how to change that.
First steps first. I needed to decide how I’d deal with Leuthar, and how to trick him. I could perhaps carry off a switch—but only if Conrí wouldn’t betray it.