We followed the matron down a maze of corridors before she paused in front a trio of doors set into the wall. “These are your rooms, your majesty.” She bowed us into the middle door.
To my great delight the sitting room, an airy and bright space filled with couches and flora, overlooked the gardens. My bedroom opened off to the right, while my mother’s more opulent room lay behind the door to the left. Ignoring the great expanse of open air beyond the balcony, Mother sailed into her room, housemistress in tow.
I took the opportunity to step out into the sunlit balcony. The heavy scent of zezelia blooms filled the air tinged with the lighter smells of kalyee roses and jurnar. Tall trees, great green expanses of grass, organza ferns, and plants I had never seen before called to me. I lay my hands on the sun-warmed iron railing and looked down on them all.
“Is your bedchamber satisfactory, Donellea?”
Startled away from my thoughts of cool green glades, I turned to find the Housemistress regarding me seriously. Her slightly flushed countenance indicated Mother had found something wrong with her rooms.
“Yes, thank you. I am sure it is fine.”
She bowed and turned to leave. Though I didn’t mind her haste, I did have one question.
“Are the gardens open to guests?”
“Yes, they are for your enjoyment.”
“Thank you.” I turned back to survey the greenery. I was going to soak in as much as I could now before I was ushered into the dim audience chamber for my presentation. However, my quiet revelry was cut short.
“Zezilia Calypso,” Mother called.
I reluctantly turned away and entered the cooler confines of the building. “Yes, Mother.”
“It is time we went. The presentations begin shortly and we don’t want to be late. Now turn around so that I can see you.”
Obediently, I submitted to a last minute poking and prodding. I can endure this, I told myself, promising myself I would wander away and explore the green and fragrant wonderland as often as possible before we left. If I had known the extent of the High King’s gardens, I wouldn’t have been dreading this trip quite as much.
A long convoluted journey through the passages and down and up staircases ended in the two of us pausing before a set of great carved doors. The guard standing outside moved to open them for us, but mother tutted him into waiting. Turning to me, she smoothed my clothing once more before adjusting her own.
“Remember your role.”
“Yes, mother, silence, grace, duty, and reserve will impress her most.” I arranged my hands as I had been taught, fingers lightly splayed one hand over the back of the other. Composing my features into a serene mask, I lifted them for her inspection.
Apparently, they were satisfactory. She motioned for the guard to announce us.
He flung open the door and announced, “Queen Ilar and Princess Zezilia beg audience with the High Queen.”
“Come,” an answering herald immediately responded.
Mother preceded me into a long, narrow room. White ornately carved walls rose to meet an airily high ceiling. A single wall of windows lined the far end of the room, lighting the whole in bright daylight. At the far end of long ranks of similarly bedecked mothers and daughters both slightly older and younger than I, the queen and her attendants sat with their backs to the windows. The shadows on their faces left us guessing as to their expressions.
Mother proceeded forward as though nothing was amiss, so I followed her example. Slow and gliding, she paced the length without hurry or apparent worry. When we reached about ten feet away from the Queen and her cohort, my mother curtsied and I did likewise.
“So this is your seventh born?” The Queen’s voice sounded tired, but the women around her stirred with interest.
“Yes, Majesty,” Mother replied. “Zezilia is our youngest.”
“No use trying after a girl messing up the works,” someone to the left hissed in a false whisper.
Mother didn’t flinch. I tensed, but held my expression of calm. It didn’t help to react.
The queen didn’t appear affected in the least. “It is a pleasure to see you, Nascio, and to meet you, Zezilia. Come and sit by me. I would love to hear about your plans for the next year.”
Mother accepted the invitation with her usual grace. I followed out of duty. The following hour filled with polite talk of people I barely knew. My eyes kept straying to the glimpses of green I could see through the Queen’s reception room window and my mind to the freedom it promised.
Hadrian
THE HUM OF LOWERED voices filled the ballroom, almost drowning out the bright dance music in the background. The dancing would begin in a span of minutes, and the press of girlish optimism and matronly expectations stifled my senses. Every survival instinct I possessed urged me to flee, but I couldn’t. I had a task to complete.
“Great potential talent,” Errol Silas whispered into my mind. I watched the girl he spoke of, hardly more than a child, and tried to see what he saw. Or rather, receive what he heard.
“I am receiving nothing,” I protested.
Errol had told me her name was Zezilia Ilar, meaning grey-eyed. Dark and slender, she moved among the throng of recently presented girls. She seemed aloof, distant somehow, as she walked to stand by the outer wall. Her eyes down cast and demeanor quiet. From this distance, I couldn’t even catch a glimpse of her face to find out if her name was because of a characteristic or a romantic fancy of her mother’s.
The rest of the young hopeful girls thronged into clutches of whispers and giggles. Their eager eyes watching for any chance glance from an older male. They knew their purpose, snatch a rich prospect before the high week finished. One or two of the more forward young women boldly scanned the crowd and carefully chose whom they bestowed their
