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he prim maidservant did not smile or answer any of Dena’s questions - she simply set out the teapot and delicate cups and left her alone, cup empty, in the parlour in silence.
Dena studied the pattern on the china, almost afraid to touch the cup lest she break it with her clumsy fingers. The walls of her sister’s mansion were covered with paintings of houses and lakes, men on horseback and women in stiff, elaborate gowns.
The silence of this house unnerved her. How long would they keep her waiting? Dena knew so little about the city of Adestan and its inhabitants, even less about the family her sister, Nadira, had married into.
She sat and waited, her heart beating more rapidly as the minutes passed. Dena had last seen Nadira a year before, when the wedding carriage had come to take her to Adestan. She had thought she would never see her sister again, as was customary when girls from the plain married into wealthy city families. Yet here she was now, surrounded by opulence and luxury, having been issued a hand-delivered invitation as if she were a person of great importance.
The double-oak doors at the back of the parlour swung open. Three women swept through as if borne on a breath of wind. It was a moment before Dena recognised which was her sister. Surely the creature before her now was a queen, not her own flesh and blood! What had happened to little Nadira, the girl who’d played chasings around the pinebark trees? Skinny Nadira, in her plain cotton shift, splashing the younger children in the river? A hundred memories swirled and evaporated one by one as Lady Nadira, Mistress of Thorsten Mansion, stood before her, accompanied by a handmaid and a translator, who each took smaller steps behind.
Nadira’s gown was like the gowns in the parlour paintings, only richer and finer than oil on canvas could depict. Deep burgundy, azure and charcoal. The Adestani seemed fond of sombre hues. The only brightness came from the jewels sewn on her bodice and the string of blood-red rubies around her neck.
Lady Nadira (for that was who she was now, not little sister, prettiest of them all) settled herself on the hard divan. Her translator sat in the chair immediately to her right. The handmaid went about the business of making tea, pouring it into the waiting cups the maid had already set out on the low table that separated the Adestani women from their guest.
Dena realised she was slouching. She immediately sat up straight and folded her hands in her lap, not knowing what else to do with them. She felt so clumsy and awkward in her sister’s presence now.
Nadira’s hair was pulled back tightly from her face, fastened into slim braids with tiny clasps of gold. Each braid was woven through with gold thread so fine that Dena only noticed it when Nadira turned her head and the threads caught the light. The end of each braid was capped with golden beads and ringlets interspersed the braids.
When she met her sister’s gaze, Dena feared she might burst into laughter, all the pomp and finery and foreignness forgotten, but Nadira did not laugh, and neither did Dena. They stared at each other until, prompted by the handmaid’s offer of fresh tea, the conversation began.
Dena understood that grand ladies of Adestan were not supposed to speak. When Nadira had accepted master Etan’s offer of marriage, an elegant lady from the Adestan court had presented herself at the family home accompanied by two handsome bodyguards. She had taught Nadira handsign, the language exclusive to high-ranking women in the city of noble stone. No one had noticed Dena spying on her sister’s private lessons through the downstairs study window. No one had caught her practising the elegant gestures when the fine lady and her bodyguards had gone.
Nadira signed to the translator and the translator spoke to Dena.
“Welcome to Adestan, and to our home. My husband regrets he cannot be here to meet you, but he has been unavoidably detained by business on the estate. I trust your room is comfortable. Please let Housemistress Keony know if there is anything you require.”
Dena shifted uncomfortably in her seat. How strange it was to hear her sister’s words spoken through the mouth of another. Her gaze fell to the rubies adorning her sister’s neckline. “You’re so beautiful. You always were, but now more than ever,” she said.
Nadira nodded, acknowledging the compliment gracefully. She paused before signing again.
“Is our mother well? How are Angus and the ducks?”
Dena smiled and relaxed a little in her chair. “Scruffy old Angus misses you. You were always his favourite. But the ducks are as fat and as greedy as ever - I do not think they’ve even noticed you’ve gone.”
Dena felt sure mention of the ducks would raise a smile, but Nadira remained as composed as ever. Her tea lay untouched on the table, as of course it must, Dena realised. Nadira needed her hands for talking. Dena began to babble, recalling every little detail she could remember from their street, hoping that if she spoke long enough Nadira would be able to relax a little, or at least drink her tea. But the tea grew cold and eventually Dena ran out of gossip. Silence fell between them like a heavy curtain.
Then, translated, “Ardena, you must convey to our mother some joyous news. She will be a grandmother before year’s end.”
A baby! Dena glanced at Nadira’s belly, noticing the swelling for the first time. How could she possibly not have seen it before? She had been entranced by the rubies and the fabrics, distracted by the welcome sight of her sister’s face.
A look passed between the translator and the handmaid. A small thing, but Dena caught it. Something Nadira had said was not proper. But what could be improper about announcing the expectation of a child?
“Of course, we are exceptionally busy here. Our mother may not receive an invitation to visit until next year,” said the translator.
Dena paused. Her sister’s hands had been still this time. The translator had spoken for her. She glanced upwards and met her sister’s eyes, but they betrayed nothing. No emotion whatsoever.
“Nadira, your tea is getting cold,” said Dena.
The handmaid leaned forward quickly, picking up the cup and passing it to Nadira, who accepted it without gesture of thanks. She brought the delicate porcelain rim to her lips and sipped.
* * * *
After tea Dena was permitted to accompany her sister on a stroll around the rose garden and down to the gazebo beside the lake. They did not attempt conversation, despite the presence of the translator. Dena told more stories from the plain and her sister listened, her eyes on the bevy of black swans that sailed back and forth across the still water. Dena felt obliged to fill the silence with chatter, but all she really wanted to do was throw her arms around Nadira’s neck and squeeze her until she returned to her old self.
When at last her chatter was exhausted, the three sat in silence for a while. Dena hoped the translator might leave them alone so that they might talk freely, but she kept her place and they watched the swans glide until the shadows lengthened and it was time to return to the house.
They walked slowly. Grand ladies of Adestan did not move quickly, but it was Dena who set the pace this afternoon. Dena who did not want the visit to end.
The women came to a halt at the farthest end of the rose garden. Nadira signed farewell, wishing good health on her mother and her sister, promising to write as often as time permitted.
Dena grabbed her sister’s hands suddenly, squeezing them in her own. “Are you truly happy here?” she asked. She could feel the translator stiffening beside her, clearly disturbed by such an undignified display.
Nadira smiled. A kindly smile and her eyes shone brightly, but Dena saw that it was the smile of a grand lady of Adestan, rather than her sister’s smile.
How could so much have changed in a single year?
* * * *
Back in her room, Dena was served a sumptuous baked partridge on a silver platter. As delicious as the food was, Dena understood full well that she was dining alone because the Adestani did not wish her to share their table. She had been permitted to see her sister and that was enough. Tomorrow the coachman would return her to the plain, back to her proper station in life amongst common folk. She would never return to this beautiful house.
More food had been provided for her than necessary, and she ate more of it than she ought, but she felt so awkward, so nervous and uncomfortable sitting alone in the pristine room. It was a relief when Housemistress Keony came in for her dishes.
“I tried to open the window but it seems to be stuck,” said Dena.
“The window does not open,” replied Keony as she filled her tray with Dena’s dirty plates. “I see you have a keen appetite,” she smirked.
Dena blushed, embarrassed. She tried to engage Keony in further conversation, but the housemistress’ answers were short and sharp. In Adestan, speech was only for men - and the coarser kinds of women. Keony did not wish to advertise her own inelegance.
Sleep did not come easy to Dena that night. The bed was too large and the mattress far softer than she was used to. She twisted and turned, tossing aside the covers, while outside the wind shook the trees and rattled the windows.
She awoke to the clinking sounds of porcelain and cutlery. Dena lifted her head to see Keony setting out her breakfast tray, and not making any effort to be quiet about it.
“Regrettably, your departure from Adestan must be delayed,” said Keony.
Dena sat up and hugged the bedclothes tight to her chest. “Why is it so dark?”
“A frightful storm.” Keony went to the window and pulled aside the drape in a futile effort to let in more light. “Apparently the road has turned to mud. Whole sections have been washed away.” She let the drape fall. “You are to stay here until the road is passable by carriage once more.”
“Oh,” said Dena. She glanced around the room at all the now-familiar objects: the dresser, the pitcher and basin on a stand, the heavy oaken drawers where her few undergarments were stored, neatly folded. “May I see my sister again?” she asked suddenly, her face brightening at the thought.
“No,” Keony replied, heading for the door.
Dena understood that she was not to be given a reason. “I think I shall go mad cooped up in this room,” she added, more to herself than to the housemistress.
Keony paused at the door and turned her face to Dena. “Whoever said you must remain in here? The city square is only a few blocks from here. There are many shops suitable for a person such as yourself. I should not be hiding in here all day if I were you.”
Keony and her smugness left the room. Dena threw back the eiderdown and touched her feet to the wooden floor. She ate her breakfast quickly before the last of the heat faded from it, dressed, then peered out the window into the grey and the gloom.
She was met downstairs at the side door by an older servant, who neither smiled nor spoke. She presented Dena with a heavy cloak.
“If you please, which way to the city square?” Dena asked. The woman gestured to the left. Dena thanked her and tried to catch her eye, but the woman had already turned away.
The rainfall was lighter than it appeared to be from indoors. She pulled up her hood and trod carefully on the slippery stones. The chill wind whipped at her face, invigorating her, driving the last traces of slumber from her head. She gulped icy lungsful of air deep down into her chest until it hurt. Anything to clear the stuffiness and oppression of that house!
Men and women hurried along the footpath with great industry, shielding themselves from the wet as best they could. Dena headed in the direction indicated by the servant, remembering to count the number of streets she crossed so she could find her way back. Flat stone walls soon gave way to small shops with sturdy awnings, their interiors warm and inviting as glimpsed through their front windows.
Dena paused at each one, enchanted by the exotic displays but was too timid to go inside. She had a little money, but did not wish to draw attention to herself. Her mother had made her promise to memorise every detail of her encounters, although all details were irrelevant now compared to the news of Nadira’s baby.
As she gazed longingly at a row of tiny pearl-and-diamond earrings, a sudden blast of sleet buffeted her up against the glass. The rain had resumed its pummelling in earnest.
Dena was about to seek shelter inside the jewellery shop when she saw several people on the stretch of pavement ahead hurrying inside what was clearly an alehouse. Dena decided to join them. She would be far less conspicuous there than in a tiny shop where she could plainly not afford the wares.
Warmth and noise enveloped her as soon as she crossed the threshold. Dark shoulders swept her further into the interior’s warmth as more people crowded in to escape the fierce wind and rain.
“Let’s get that cloak off you,” said a friendly voice. As the wet fabric was peeled from her back, Dena turned and was met by a smiling red-cheeked woman. “Get yourself over by the fire there, lass, or you’ll catch yourself a nasty chill.”
Dena joined the others warming their hands before a roaring hearth fire. They made room for her automatically, just as plain folks would have, had she been back at home. The noise surrounding her soon fractured into individual snippets of conversation:
“An’ bales were banked up row after row on the Port Daran docks with no way to shift ‘em.”
“He might’ve seen that landslide coming after last year’s floods, eh.”
“Better make mine a double this time, Linsy, I’ve three manors on my inventory before lunch.”
The sound of chit-chat was almost more comforting than the fire after the oppressive silence of her sister’s house. Dena had presumed the whole of Adestan to be soundless and austere, and she was relieved to have been wrong. Adestan was a city like any other, its regular folk the same as on the plain.
“What’ll you be having, Miss?” asked the red-faced woman who was now serving behind the bar.
Unsure of what to ask for, Dena had been about to request tea when another spoke for her.
“I reckon she looks like she be needing the special tea today, Linsy - as will everyone else who finds their way through your door.”
A man leaned on the bar, dressed in well-worn leather and black linen. A lean man, yet strong. She could see the curves of his muscles against the weave of his shirt. His posture was casual, as if he had ordered a thousand drinks in a thousand inns.
Linsy handed him two mugs of something hot and fragrant. He held them close and breathed in the aromatic steam. “To your health,” he said to her, then left the bar, carrying his mugs across to a table to where sat another man.
“I think a half’ll be doing you,” said Linsy. She placed a smaller cup on the bar and smiled. Dena nodded and gave the woman a copper. She took the cup in both hands and sipped, blowing on the liquid to cool it.
It was indeed tea, but with a sting of rum in its tail. As Dena sipped, she glanced across the room at the dark-haired man in leather and black. He was deep in conversation with his companion. She wondered if he might glance back her way, but he didn’t.
“You look a little lost, Miss,” said Linsy.
“Oh, no,” said Dena, “I’m visiting my sister. I was to return home today but apparently the road is unpassable.”
Linsy smiled knowingly. “Your sister? Would she be a noblewoman, perhaps?”
Dena nodded, taking another sip of tea. “She is Mistress Nadira, wife of Master Etan. I am staying in their house, only it’s ...”
“Lonely?” Linsy nodded, understanding. “I can imagine it might be. Beautiful grounds on their estate, from what I’ve been told. I do believe I’ve seen your sister in her carriage. Yes, I think so - I can see the family resemblance.”
“Oh, no,” blushed Dena. “There’s no resemblance at all, not hardly.”
Linsy was called to serve another customer. Dena sipped her tea in silence, listening to the crackle of the fire and the ebbs and flows of hearty conversation. She moved to stand before the hearth once more. There were empty seats scattered about the room, but she was tired of sitting. Her drink had made her a little light-headed, a feeling she enjoyed almost as much as she enjoyed the warmth of the flames.
“Still here?” said a familiar voice.
She looked up to see the dark-haired man standing beside her.
“What’s your name?”
He was handsome. She’s decided that already many minutes ago, even before she’d sipped her drink. Before she’d wondered if he might be watching her.
“Ardena,” she said in a whisper. “I’m from the plain,” she added, realising her mistake as she said it - there was no need to tell him something so obvious.
“Mine is Karas, and I’ve been to your plain,” he said.
“Really?” She wondered how she had managed not to notice such a man before, if what he said were true.
“Just passing through on my way to other towns and other plains,” he said.
“You’re a traveller?”
“That I am.”
She could smell the heady musk of his skin, feel the warmth of him, despite the fire, despite the impropriety of such thoughts.
“Perhaps you will travel to the plain again sometime? Perhaps I shall see you then?” It was the rum in the tea talking, she knew, making her far more brazen than a girl ought to be.
“I hope so, Ardena,” he said with a smile, and then he was gone, swallowed by the crowd as a new batch of sodden travellers pushed through the doorway and Linsy ran out to take their cloaks.
* * * *
A surprise awaited Dena when she pulled back her eiderdown and prepared for sleep that night. An envelope poked out from beneath the corner of her pillow. She tugged it free, knowing who it must be from before seeing her name on the stiff cream-coloured paper. A letter from Nadira, somehow smuggled to this room without Keony’s knowledge, for that girl was no friend to either sister, Dena was sure. As she slit the thick paper with her fingernail, she knew that this letter would bear dark news, and that her sister would have taken a grave risk to write it.
My Dearest Dena,
Forgive my haste, but I am desperate. The Adestan court is a terrible place — no place for a daughter, and I feel it is a girl child I carry within me. I will not have her raised by the whip and the knife.
The Autumntide Ball will be held tomorrow night. You must beg Keony to be allowed to attend as a serving girl in the hope of seeing me again. I know that Keony is in love with my husband. She is cruel and will relish the chance to make my sister work. You must bring me a servant’s uniform and we must escape together. These rubies are for a bribe, should you be discovered.
Dena, do not get caught. These people are unspeakably brutal.
For my daughter’s sake,
Dena’s eyes welled with tears as she looked to the place where the letter had been concealed. She slid her fingers beneath the pillowslip, where they brushed against something hard and cold. Her sister’s ruby necklace. She tugged it free and held it up to the light, fighting tears all the way. What would happen to her sister if the jewels were missed? What if she herself were apprehended as the thief?
She stuffed them back beneath the pillow, needing time to think. How would she ever be able to help Nadira escape? Who could she turn to? What could she do?
She sat on the edge of her bed and hung her head. “I’m sorry, dear sister,” she whispered as the tears washed down her cheeks. She cried for hours, the sound of her misery masked by the battering of the rain and the lashing of the trees outside her window.
* * * *
It was not Keony who brought her breakfast tray the next morning, but the silent older servant. Unlike Keony, she knocked before entering the room. Dena sat up as she pulled the heavy curtains open. Outside, the sky was as grey and bleak as ever.
Dena felt for the rubies under her pillow, half expecting them to have vanished during the night, but they were still there.
The woman busied herself setting up Dena’s meal.
“I suppose I am to spend another day in Adestan, with the weather being so foul,” said Dena.
The woman looked up from her work, then gestured to indicate she should come down from her bed and eat. Dena smiled and was about to throw back the eiderdown when she saw something that made her blood freeze. A small detail she had somehow missed, no doubt because of the older woman’s voluminous lace cuffs, obviously designed to hide her disfigurement. One of her hands was missing. Even from a few feet away, Dena could see that it had been sliced off cleanly at the wrist.
The woman saw the look on Dena’s face. She bowed her head in shame, flicked her arm so that the lace fell to cover the stump, then left the room without looking back.
Dena understood what she had not seen before. This servant had been a noblewoman once; as dignified as Nadira and all the other fine ladies of the court. This was why she did not speak. What crime could she have committed to be punished so cruelly?
Dena sat back on the bed, her head reeling, echoing with the words in her sister’s note: the whip and the knife. She snatched the rubies from their hiding place, clutched them in her fist, drawing them close to her heart. I’ll get you out of here, she promised. Somehow.
After she had washed and dressed, and tucked the rubies safely inside her undergarments, Dena went downstairs in search of Keony. She was not in the kitchen or the hallway. Dena crept stealthily through the house, room after room, well aware that she was overstepping boundaries, but she knew her time was limited to the duration of the storms and the impassibility of the road.
The corridor opened out into a parlour far less grand than the one where she had been received by her sister. A flash of movement caught her eye. Reflections in a mirror. She trod softly, angling her body for a better view of curled hair and an energetic flurry of hands.
Dena stopped still. It was not two ladies talking that she could see, but Keony sitting by herself practising handsign! Dena recognised some of the words from when Nadira had been taught: man and handsome and better. Marriage and deserve and plain folk. Keony smiled as she formed each word, blushing and pouting and lowering her eyes.
You stupid girl, thought Dena, inching closer to the shadows almost by instinct. As if the master of this house would fall for the likes of you. And then it struck her - he had fallen for a commoner once, why not believe it might happen again? Keony wasn’t half the lady Nadira was, but as a fantasy it made perfect sense. Perhaps Dena could use it to her own advantage?
Dena backed slowly out of the room. She paused for a moment, then re-entered, this time deliberately treading hard to make the floorboards squeak. Keony appeared in the doorway, a dark silhouette radiating caution.
“I’ve been looking for you,” said Dena, lacing her voice with as much meekness as she thought she could get away with. “Bad weather is still keeping me from returning home.”
Keony did not reply. Dena continued talking to fill the uncomfortable silence. “If I must be detained, I would like to see my sister again, if I may.”
“You may not,” said Keony. “Mistress Nadira is far too busy with the Autumntide Ball preparations. “We are all extremely busy.”
Dena cleared her throat. “I do not expect a formal meeting. I only wish to see her again before I go. There is no need to trouble a handmaid or a translator. Perhaps if I could -”
“Lady Nadira is not to be disturbed. The Autumntide Ball is tomorrow night - do you not know what that means?” Keony took a small step forward, bringing herself into the light where Dena could see her face. “But of course you don’t know. How could you? Autumntide is not celebrated amongst the plain folk.
“I have heard of it,” whispered Dena, her eyes downcast. “A very grand occasion. Although, of course, I have never seen it.”
“No, I am sure you have not,” said Keony. “I am to be senior kitchenmistress this year. My role is extremely important.”
“Will my sister be promenading with Master Etan?”
“They shall both promenade,” said Keony, her eyes shining.
“Then I would like to be there, too. Might not a small servant’s role be found for me? I will cause no trouble. I only want to -”
“Out of the question!” said Keony indignantly. “We do not just pull servants off the street for Autumntide Ball!”
Dena bowed her head in penitence, holding her breath, hoping against all hope. She could feel the weight of Keony’s eyes on her, hear her mean little mind ticking like a clock.
“There is one small chore you might be suited for,” said Keony coldly. “It’s a speaking role - few of our maids are well suited to the task. When canapés are presented to the lords and ladies in accompaniment to their wine, you may stand beside the tray and describe the contents of each morsel.”
When Dena raised her head she saw the cruel smirk on Keony’s face. “I would be honoured, if it meant another glimpse of my sister.”
“You will be honoured indeed. With any luck you might see Lady Nadira for a moment or two, although don’t go expecting too much. You may not speak to her. If you try to, I shall have you whipped.”
Dena took a deep breath. “Thank you, Housemistress Keony. You have been so very kind.”
Keony sniffed, then pushed past Dena and strode out of the room.
Dena learned quickly that the role of speaking servant was the lowest of the low. She and four other unfortunates were made to memorise list after list of canapé ingredients until they could recite each one to Keony’s satisfaction.
Keony’s eyes shone clear and bright as she ordered the servants from task to task. It seemed that for such events, she outranked the silent servant with the missing hand, a situation no doubt founded in practicality.
Dena did not feel safe with Nadira’s rubies in her care, but she knew she could not chance leaving them hidden in her room, so she tucked them inside her brassiere when she changed into her servant’s uniform for the ball. The uniform was brown, drab and neat. In it, she looked the same as all the other serving girls, a fact Nadira would know full well.
When no one was looking, Dena took a second, larger uniform from the cupboard and pulled it on over the first. She felt cumbersome and enormous in the double layers of fabric, but no one gave her a second glance.
Dena had thought the alehouse large, but upon entering the ballroom, her jaw dropped at the immensity of the space. Several thousand people could have been accommodated with room to spare. The walls were adorned with bright frescoes depicting minutely detailed plants and animals and scenes of mountains, rivers and fields. Even the high, curved ceiling was painted bright blue and dotted with stars, held in place by sturdy-yet-delicate columns of wrought iron wreathed in vines.
An orchestra played soothing music on a corner stage designed to resemble a garden gazebo, complete with caged birds and palms.
The talkers were made to stand against the wall, their hands folded and eyes downcast until their services were required. Keony was busy with so many details. Too busy to supervise the girls and see that they did not raise their eyes to gawk at the lords and ladies arriving through the arched entrance at the far side of the room.
Dena’s eyes darted in search of Nadira. She presumed her sister would be easy to spot, but there were several pregnant women present, each heavily laden with jewels, as indeed were all the guests, men and women alike.
As the space gradually filled, Dena imagined she was observing a garden filled with strutting peacocks, each one prouder and haughtier than the next. The gowns were so exquisite, the jewels so bright, that for a moment she lost herself in the spectacle of it all.
The sound of clapping hands brought her back into the moment. Keony paired each talker with a waiter as he emerged from the kitchen, then sent them out into the crowd to perform their tasks. Dena’s waiter swiftly manoeuvred himself to a position on the left of the orchestra, and Dena trotted dutifully beside him, sneaking a look at the faces in the crowd when she could. Once in place, she recited her menu, noting the looks of disdain on the ladies’ faces. None sampled the canapés. The air around her was filled with the deep voices of men and the silent fluttering gestures of women’s conversation.
On her third foray into the crowd with the waiter, Dena spied not her sister, but Karas, the man from the alehouse. He was dressed in a fine uniform of royal blue and silver. She lowered her eyes at once and began her recitation. When finished, she stole another glance in his direction and discovered he was staring directly at her, a broad smile on his face. He reached forward and sampled a treat from the tray. “Delicious!” he declared. “Make them yourself, did you?”
Dena opened her mouth to answer when a sharp glance from the waiter made her change her mind. Karas reached over and grabbed another. “I could eat the whole damn tray!” he declared to a burst of polite laughter from his friends. The tray cleared quickly and Dena returned to her place against the wall. To her horror, she realised he had followed her back. “I can get you a tray for yourself if -”
He laughed. “It’s not the tray I’m interested in, girl! I remember your face from the alehouse. I took you for a traveller. I had no idea you were a servant in this house!”
Dena could feel her face flush. If Keony caught her speaking with this man, she’d punish her severely. “Please, Sir, I may not speak with the guests. I will get into trouble.”
“Undoubtedly,” he replied. “Pity. I hate these damn balls. Everyone’s so busy watching what they say, minding who they’re seen with. There’s never anyone interesting to talk to.”
He cast his eye around the room as he spoke, a disapproving frown on his face. The kitchen doors burst open again. Dena quickly hurried to the side of the nearest waiter.
She performed her recitation again and again throughout the hours that followed, each time searching for her sister, each time returning to the wall disappointed. She felt so helpless. So hot and uncomfortable in her heavy double uniforms. What if she did find Nadira? What then? Were they to run from the ballroom together out into the enveloping darkness? The cold pressure of rubies against her chest did nothing but reinforce the helplessness she felt.
The one fortunate aspect of the evening was the busyness of Keony. Dena presumed that she would be tied up in the kitchen. When the double doors burst open again, Keony appeared, sweating, clutching a pail and a cloth in her hands.
“A spill near the bay window - one of you clean it up,” she barked, her attention already shifted to something else.
Seizing the opportunity, Dena grabbed the pail and made herself scarce. This was the most freedom she had been allowed all night and she intended to use it well.
The spill was found and mopped within minutes. Dena wandered through the crowd pretending to be in search of another spill. It was soon evident that no one was paying her the slightest attention. With her dour uniform, pail and grim expression, she could move as freely as she liked so long as Keony didn’t catch her.
Dena slunk amidst the jewels and corsets. Her eyes had finally acclimatised to the sight of such finery and splendour. Now all she wanted was her sister.
Finally she spied Nadira. Dressed in azure velvet, she stood alone, her hands cradling a goblet, no doubt to avoid unwanted attempts at conversation. When their eyes met, Nadira’s brow softened with relief. She turned her back and headed for stained glass doors at the far end of the ballroom that led to an outside balcony. Dena waited a moment, then followed, clutching her pail with both hands.
Outside the air was cool and clear, thick with the scent of recent moisture but no rain fell now. Nadira waited for her sister in the shadows. Once she was sure no one was nearby, Dena ran to her, set her pail down and they embraced.
Dena gripped her sister’s shoulders. “Nadira, there are so many people. How will we ever get out of this place? I don’t think I can go through with it. I’m sorry, but -”
Nadira pulled free of Dena’s grip. She stepped forward into a clear shaft of moonlight, then took Dena’s hand lightly in her own. Nadira opened her mouth. She guided Dena’s hand to her lips, then gently pushed two of her sister’s fingers inside.
Dena gasped in horror. She snatched her fingers back and cradled them against her breast. “You have no tongue!”
Nadira pressed her lips together, her eyes glistening with tears.
The whip and the knife.
Handsign was no mere affectation. The faint sound of music escaping from the ballroom took on a sinister tone as Dena comprehended the elegant silence of the ladies of the Adestan court. And their reluctance to take the canapés.
Nadira tugged on Dena’s uniform. With the moon so bright, Dena could make out the lines of tension etched around Nadira’s eyes. Lines that had not been there a year before.
Together they pulled the spare uniform up over Dena’s head. Dena then helped her sister undress, tearing at the lacing of her bodice with her nails. There was nowhere to hide the elaborate gown. They could only wedge it into a dark corner and hope it would not be discovered before they were far away.
As Nadira pulled the servant’s uniform over her head, moonlight revealed the whip scars on her back. Dena sucked in her breath. Working as fast as she could, she bound Nadira’s intricate hair braids in the dirt-brown scarf. A rough job, but it would have to do.
The uniform was large enough to conceal Nadira’s belly. In it, she looked dull and lumpen. As long as she kept her face downcast and no one asked her any questions, the sisters had a chance.
Dena handed her sister the pail. “Head for the servants’ staircase. I shall follow behind you. Don’t look back.”
Nadira nodded. She slipped quietly through the stained glass doors. Dena waited only a few moments before leaving the balcony. So far they had been lucky. Almost too lucky, but she didn’t want to dwell on that thought. She could not see Nadira in the crowd and could not chance looking for her, nor directly into the faces of the ballroom guests. The steady pounding of her heartbeat drowned out all other sounds. Even the orchestra became faint and distant, along with the raucous laughter of men and the clink of crystal glasses.
A sudden crashing sound a few feet ahead made her jump. Nadira! She ran forward and found a pool of red wine, glistening like blood sprinkled with splinters of shattered crystal. A man had dropped his glass. He was very drunk and he pointed accusingly at Nadira, whose head was bowed, her shoulders trembling in terror. The man was attempting to admonish her, but his words were jumbled with drink.
“Fetch a mop this instant, you stupid girl,” barked Dena. Nadira didn’t move. Dena stepped forwards, pulled a cloth from the pail and shoved her roughly. “Go now!” she said, and Nadira moved at last, heading for the servant’s door as fast as she could.
Dena dropped to her knees to the accompaniment of ugly laughter. She mopped up as much of the spilled wine as the cloth would take, then stood, curtsied roughly, and followed Nadira to the stairs.
Nadira was cowering behind the door, trembling in terror. Dena looped her arm through her sister’s and guided her down the stairs. She stashed the pail and cloth in a cupboard on a landing. “We must take water with us,” she told her sister.
The empty downstairs kitchen was illuminated by shafts of silver moonlight. Leaving Nadira by the door, Dena tiptoed to the pantry. Half a loaf of bread and a row of water bottles on thin leather straps sat within easy reach. She slipped the bread into her uniform pocket, selected a bottle and filled it from a pitcher. She turned to leave, only to see a silhouette of a woman blocking the doorway.
Keony! What should she say? What could she possibly say to explain why they were creeping around the kitchen in the dark?
The silhouette stepped forward. But it was not Keony. It was the servant with the missing hand. The two women regarded each other for a moment in silence. The woman looked to the water bottle, then to Nadira, and finally to Dena. And then, to Dena’s complete surprise, she stepped aside. Dena quickly gathered her wits, taking her sister by the hand. The woman’s eyes shone clear and bright. She would not betray their secret.
As the girls were about to leave, the woman took a knife from a kitchen drawer, offered it to Dena, handle first.
“Thank you,” Dena whispered. The woman nodded, her expression impossible to read now in the half shadows.
With the knife and bread in her uniform pocket, and the water bottle slung across her shoulder, Dena and Nadira hurried to the servants side entrance that led from the kitchen out to the street, snatching two half-sodden cloaks from the racks as they went. There was no time to think, no time to consider their options - either they made it back to the plain on foot or they would both be brutalised at the hands of the Adestani nobility.
The streets lay silent and deserted. “Where is the gate? I can’t get my bearings,” said Dena. Nadira wiped her tears with her sleave and pointed. The two girls hurried, conscious of the crisp sound of their shoes on the pavement.
At first the gate guards’ hut seemed deserted, but sounds of grunting from within soon let them know that it was not. Dena stopped at the door, uncertain of what to do. A girl emerged from the darkness within. She eyed the sisters cautiously. Nadira stepped forwards quickly and placed something into her hands. The girl smiled, revealing two missing front teeth. A prostitute! Dena tried to mask her revulsion, but if she saw it, the girl didn’t care. Nadira had given her the jewelled necklace she’d been wearing at the ball. The girl slipped the necklace into her pocket, then led the sisters through the guard’s hut and out the other side as the sound of rutting emanated from the back room.
How much of tonight’s sequence of events had been planned by Nadira? Had anything been left to chance? The timing of the invitation to coincide with the season of terrible storms, the full moon, the distraction of the hall, the prostitutes in the guards’ hut? Without each of these elements, escape would have been impossible, yet here they were, shivering in their thin brown uniforms and damp cloaks, picking their way across the straw-patched road with only a few moonbeams to guide them.
Nadira strode purposefully, a look of grim determination on her face. There was so much Dena wanted to ask her, but all questions would have to wait until they were safe, if indeed that were possible.
The road wound steadily down the hill and, mercifully, it did not rain. Dena prayed it would rain later to wash away their tracks. If they could make it as far as the forest before they were missed, perhaps they stood a chance. She tried to force darker thoughts from her mind. Where were they going? They could not return to the plain - that would be the first place the Adestani would look. For now, it was enough that they kept moving. Enough that the moonlight held steady and true, and the road did not subside beneath them.
Eventually the forest came into view, a dark impenetrable mass of trees. Dena knew it to be criss-crossed with well-worn paths, but they would have no hope of navigating it without daylight. She had to place her hand on Nadira’s shoulder to stop her marching head first into the blackness. Nadira seemed not to care if they couldn’t see, as if all she wanted was to run from the Adestani.
They had travelled the road for perhaps another hour when Nadira tripped and fell. In hauling her sister to her feet, Dena saw that her shoes were shredded to ribbons. She had not thought to swap Nadira’s shoes for suitable footwear. Her ball slippers been delicate: ornamental and useless.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dena protested, making her sit as she tore strips off her own skirt to bandage her sister’s bleeding feet. Nadira didn’t utter a sound. She stared at the road before them with glassy eyes, and Dena cursed her own lack of foresight in not stealing boots from the servants’ quarters.
With the first weak rays of dawn came the point where the road cleft in two and the plains lay spread below them like folds of rich cloth. The right-hand path would be the easier way - easier both for the sisters and their pursuers. The left led through the forest, and clung to the hills like fur on a wolf’s back.
Nadira stared ahead with eyes that reflected nothing but pink and orange streaks across the sky.
“They will be coming for us soon,” Dena whispered.
“I’m afraid that’s true,” said a deep voice behind them. Dena spun around. Behind them stood Karas, his hands resting on his hips.
Dena stepped in front of her sister, spreading her arms in a futile gesture of protection.
“What do you want?”
“From you? Nothing. I’ve come to take the lady back home where she belongs.”
“She does not belong in Adestan.”
“Her husband says otherwise.”
“Her husband is a tyrant.”
“So I have heard. But he is also my master, and if I do not return his property to him, I shall not remain on his payroll.”
“My sister is no one’s property!” Dena’s eyes filled with tears.
“Was your mother not paid a dowry?” he gestured to Nadira’s belly. “Does she not carry his child? These are our laws, girl. If you do not like them, stay away from our city. Stay on the plain eating dirt where you belong.”
“They will cut off her hand.”
“There are worse punishments.”
Nadira made a whimpering sound, a sound more befitting an animal than a human being. She was staring out over the cliff, her face still and expressionless. She took a step closer to the edge, the movement dislodging a handful of smaller stones and sending them tumbling downwards.
“Let us go,” pleaded Dena. “I will give you Nadira’s rubies.”
“A thief as well as an abettor!” said Karas. “Girl, you have nothing to bargain with. I have offered you your freedom. Take it and run home to your plain. I will not make the offer again.”
Dena slipped her hands into her apron pocket, wrapping her fingers around the kitchen knife’s sturdy pommel. Karas’s eyes followed the movement.
“But I do like rubies,” he added. “Better give them over before you go. In return, I’ll tell her husband I lost you in the forest.”
Nadira took another step closer to the edge of the cliff. Dena positioned the knife so that the blade angled upwards against the thin fabric of her apron pocket.
“If she jumps, I’ll be taking you back to Adestan in her place,” said Karas. “You’re not worth much, but at least the Master will be able to take his revenge.”
“Come and get them yourself,” whispered Dena.
Karas laughed and shook his head. “I am a bounty hunter by trade. I’ve been hunting runaway women for years. You cannot possibly win.”
As he moved forwards and reached out, Nadira kicked a large stone over the edge. His eyes flicked to the movement and at that moment Dena lunged upwards with the knife, angling the blade to slide under his ribcage and pierce his heart, thrusting with more strength than she knew she possessed. She stepped back suddenly, her hands raised in horror as Karas crumpled to the ground. A look of utter disbelief was frozen on his face.
Nadira smiled and stepped away from the cliff. She knelt and began to tug the bounty hunter’s boots from his cooling corpse. When this was done, she moved to do the same with his cloak. Dena helped also, relieving him of several items: a knife, a coin purse, a compass, a water bottle and a pistol. When he was stripped of everything useful, the sisters tipped his body over the edge. A rain of tiny pebbles tumbled in its wake.
“We can’t go home to mother,” said Dena. “That’s the first place your husband will look.”
Nadira unlaced the boots and forced her feet inside them. They were too big, but with the bandages, her feet filled them well enough to walk in. She sloughed off her own sodden cloak and slipped the bounty hunter’s dry one around her shoulders, hugging the rich blue fabric close against her damp skin.
“Where can we go?” whispered Dena, unnerved by the look of utter stillness on her sister’s face. We have killed a man, robbed him and thrown his body onto the rocks, yet she does not flinch? What happened to my little sister who was once all sweetness and light?
Nadira stood tall and straight. In the bounty hunter’s boots and coat, she looked nothing like the fragile creature Dena had discovered trapped within the walls of Adestan. Nadira pointed to the east, away from the plain and all that Dena had ever found familiar.
“The coast? We must travel to the coast? But there’s nothing there but Port Daran and a thousand leagues of ocean.”
The sisters looked back the way they had come. In the distance, the cold grey stone of the city wall blended seamlessly with the sky.
Below them, the plains rolled on for miles’, a repetition of grey and green vanishing into the mists of early morning.
“And beyond the ocean, Nadira, who knows what? Foreign lands! Places where we don’t know their language, nor understand their ways!”
Nadira nodded with certainty, and as the weak rays of dawn blossomed into sunlight, strong and true, Dena saw not her little sister, but the Lady of Adestan she had become, and knew that she was right.
Cat Sparks lives on the sunny south coast of NSW where she works as a graphic designer and occasional editor. She has been employed as a photographer, a media monitor and at various government jobs too dull to mention. Cat has won Aurealis Awards, Ditmars and a Writers of the Future trophy as well as surviving Clarion South in 2004. Forty-six of her stories have been published this millennium.
Editor’s note:
‘A Lady of Adestan’ won the Ditmar Award for Best Novella/Novelette of 2007.