place for a woman.”
The Guardian looked at him for a moment. “Don’t concern yourself about her,” he said. “She’ll be leaving soon.”
Athan felt relief, and a deep sense of loss. “Good.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
T HEY SPENT THEIR days indoors, now that it was autumn. Saliel disliked the Ladies’ Hall, with its heavy ceiling and narrow, shuttered windows. Two hundred women sat and sewed, but the Hall seemed to swallow them. They shrank, becoming doll-sized.
She raised her head and looked around, seeing tapestries, sofas with brocade cushions, ornate side tables. The colors she wanted to see—warm reds and yellows, vivid blues and greens—weren’t there. The noblewomen wore the colors of virtue: dark colors, pale colors, dull colors.
And gray, the color of mourning. The seamstresses had been busy in the past three weeks; more than fifty ladies wore gowns of ash-gray silk.
And for each gown, a dead man.
Saliel bent her head over her embroidery.
“Noble Petra.”
Saliel looked up. One of the Consort’s attendants stood before her, her face round and placid. “Yes?”
“The Royal Consort wishes to speak with you.”
Saliel laid down her embroidery frame. She glanced up at the shuttered windows as she stood. Soon I shall be gone from this place. It was hard to comprehend such freedom. She inhaled deeply, imagining fresh air in her lungs. It will be as if I’ve grown wings and can fly .
She followed the attendant across the hall, walking slowly, sedately. The Consort sat beside one of the fireplaces.
Saliel curtseyed, low. “You wish to speak with me, your Eminence?”
“Petra.” The Consort’s expression was unsmiling, her eyes cold.
She’s angry.
Saliel’s mouth was suddenly dry. She swallowed, and tried to smile.
The Consort surveyed her for a long moment, and then stood. “Come. There’s something I wish to discuss with you.”
There was no need to ask what; her mourning period ended in a month. The discussion would concern her betrothal to Lord Ivo. And my behavior. I am about to be reprimanded.
Saliel dipped her head and curtseyed again. “Yes, your Eminence.”
She stood aside. A few more weeks and I’m gone ,she told herself. What she says to me doesn’t matter. But apprehension was tight in her belly as she walked two steps behind the Consort. Only a fool would be unafraid of the woman’s anger.
The Consort had a parlor where she spoke privately with her ladies, but today she chose the atrium. Saliel’s spirits lifted slightly. No dark tapestries, no shuttered windows. Instead, fresh air.
In the vestibule she took her heavy, fur-lined cape from its peg. Attendants fussed about the Consort, ensuring she was warmly dressed, and then opened the door to the atrium.
Saliel inhaled deeply as she stepped outside, filling her lungs with cold air. The open courtyard was a cheerless place, the marble as gray as the overcast sky. Potted trees, heavy with blossom in spring, were leafless, their branches bare and twisted. Does she seek to punish me with this? It was no punishment; she reveled in the iciness of the flagstones through the thin soles of her shoes, in the chill, blustery wind that snatched at her cape.
The Consort began to walk down the colonnade. Saliel fell into step behind her, her eyes narrowed against the wind. “Your Eminence?” she asked, meek and deferential.
The Consort glanced back at her. “You are aware that Marta must remarry?”
Saliel blinked at the unexpected question. “Yes.”
“The betrothal will be announced shortly.”
Saliel nodded. Corhonase custom required that Marta remarry before the birth of her baby; only a father or stepfather could name a child.
“I have spoken with her on the subject.” The Consort’s cape swirled in the wind. “And she has indicated a preference in her choice of husband.”
Saliel’s eyelids flickered with surprise. Marta was so bold?
“Given the circumstances I would like to humor her. She
The Guardian looked at him for a moment. “Don’t concern yourself about her,” he said. “She’ll be leaving soon.”
Athan felt relief, and a deep sense of loss. “Good.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
T HEY SPENT THEIR days indoors, now that it was autumn. Saliel disliked the Ladies’ Hall, with its heavy ceiling and narrow, shuttered windows. Two hundred women sat and sewed, but the Hall seemed to swallow them. They shrank, becoming doll-sized.
She raised her head and looked around, seeing tapestries, sofas with brocade cushions, ornate side tables. The colors she wanted to see—warm reds and yellows, vivid blues and greens—weren’t there. The noblewomen wore the colors of virtue: dark colors, pale colors, dull colors.
And gray, the color of mourning. The seamstresses had been busy in the past three weeks; more than fifty ladies wore gowns of ash-gray silk.
And for each gown, a dead man.
Saliel bent her head over her embroidery.
“Noble Petra.”
Saliel looked up. One of the Consort’s attendants stood before her, her face round and placid. “Yes?”
“The Royal Consort wishes to speak with you.”
Saliel laid down her embroidery frame. She glanced up at the shuttered windows as she stood. Soon I shall be gone from this place. It was hard to comprehend such freedom. She inhaled deeply, imagining fresh air in her lungs. It will be as if I’ve grown wings and can fly .
She followed the attendant across the hall, walking slowly, sedately. The Consort sat beside one of the fireplaces.
Saliel curtseyed, low. “You wish to speak with me, your Eminence?”
“Petra.” The Consort’s expression was unsmiling, her eyes cold.
She’s angry.
Saliel’s mouth was suddenly dry. She swallowed, and tried to smile.
The Consort surveyed her for a long moment, and then stood. “Come. There’s something I wish to discuss with you.”
There was no need to ask what; her mourning period ended in a month. The discussion would concern her betrothal to Lord Ivo. And my behavior. I am about to be reprimanded.
Saliel dipped her head and curtseyed again. “Yes, your Eminence.”
She stood aside. A few more weeks and I’m gone ,she told herself. What she says to me doesn’t matter. But apprehension was tight in her belly as she walked two steps behind the Consort. Only a fool would be unafraid of the woman’s anger.
The Consort had a parlor where she spoke privately with her ladies, but today she chose the atrium. Saliel’s spirits lifted slightly. No dark tapestries, no shuttered windows. Instead, fresh air.
In the vestibule she took her heavy, fur-lined cape from its peg. Attendants fussed about the Consort, ensuring she was warmly dressed, and then opened the door to the atrium.
Saliel inhaled deeply as she stepped outside, filling her lungs with cold air. The open courtyard was a cheerless place, the marble as gray as the overcast sky. Potted trees, heavy with blossom in spring, were leafless, their branches bare and twisted. Does she seek to punish me with this? It was no punishment; she reveled in the iciness of the flagstones through the thin soles of her shoes, in the chill, blustery wind that snatched at her cape.
The Consort began to walk down the colonnade. Saliel fell into step behind her, her eyes narrowed against the wind. “Your Eminence?” she asked, meek and deferential.
The Consort glanced back at her. “You are aware that Marta must remarry?”
Saliel blinked at the unexpected question. “Yes.”
“The betrothal will be announced shortly.”
Saliel nodded. Corhonase custom required that Marta remarry before the birth of her baby; only a father or stepfather could name a child.
“I have spoken with her on the subject.” The Consort’s cape swirled in the wind. “And she has indicated a preference in her choice of husband.”
Saliel’s eyelids flickered with surprise. Marta was so bold?
“Given the circumstances I would like to humor her. She
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