“But he likes you, no? You have been with him?” Hadassi waved at the second woman, who entered and took a seat next to Mesema. “This is Chiassa, second wife.”
“You are concubine?” Chiassa didn’t speak Cerantic as a native. Her hair suggested eastern origins. “You go on cushions with emperor, heaven bless?” It struck Mesema that both women had asked the same question-were they genuinely curious, or worried, or had someone instructed them?
Snakes, Beyon had warned her. Arigu had gone to great lengths to bring her across the mountains and the desert, to arrange for an heir that was not Beyon’s. And now someone wanted to know whether she and Beyon had lain together. Mesema pretended not to understand. She curled her marked finger against her palm.
“Well,” said Hadassi, patting her leg, “we’ll know soon enough.” Mesema kept her silence. She must be careful. The women would be in and out of her room every day, asking questions until everything was revealed, even her pattern-mark. She would never be safe here. The room felt close and stifling. She stood up.
“Blessed be the day,” said Hadassi, rising also.
“Blessed be the day,” Mesema repeated. It felt like the thing to do. Chiassa stood, brushing the wrinkles from her pink skirt.
“Blessing, where do you go?”
“Blessing,” Mesema repeated. “I’m going to go-” Nessaket didn’t want to see her. “For a walk.” Perhaps the wing was big enough for that? She walked out of the door, and the other two women followed behind her like ducklings. Well, this won’t do. She quickened her pace and rounded a corner, nearly colliding with an Old Wife, who stood against the wall chewing black leaves that smelled of rot. A dark froth bubbled between her lips and ran down to drip on sagging bare breasts. She did not speak, but glanced at Mesema’s covered front and stuffed another stinking leaf into her mouth.
Mesema curtsied and kept on walking until she reached the great room inside the main doors. A red-headed woman sat upon the cushions and fiddled with her jewellery. She looked at Mesema with piercing dark-blue eyes. “Well, hello there.”
“Hello.” Mesema gave up on finding a place in the women’s wing with no women. Resigned, she sat down, and Hadassi and Chiassa sat opposite.
There was a moment of silence as everyone looked at one another, comparing, measuring, wondering. The red-haired one twisted a jade bracelet around her wrist.
Chiassa laid a soft hand on Mesema’s arm. Her touch differed from Hadassi’s. Hadassi had been curious and false, even greedy, while Chiassa felt sisterly. “Nessaket say to keep out of sight. You should do that.” “I’m to stay in my room all day? What of my horse, Tumble?” Hadassi almost jumped off her pillow. “You have a horse? You don’t ride it, do you?”
“Of course I ride him-or I did, at least.”
“Well, they won’t let you now.” She thrust her lips out in another pout. “But they said… It was written.” Dry plains take you, Banreh. The redhead let go of her bracelet and it dropped to the carpet. “You meant a real horse?”
“This is Marren,” Chiassa said, motioning.
“Fourth wife,” said Hadassi. Marren made a face at her.
“Yes, a real horse. His name is Tumble. He is somewhere here at the palace. Bey- The emperor let me ride him in the desert, but I don’t know what will happen now.”
All three of the young women leaned forwards.
“He let you- You rode with him?” Marren asked, and the others leaned back again, eyes cast down, thoughtful.
Careful, now. “Oh-I think it was just amusing to him.”
“Even if Beyon allowed it in the desert,” said Marren with a cold smile, “Nessaket and First Wife would say no in the palace.” At the mention of those two women all the other wives went quiet. Mesema reached for Beyon’s memories, but could find nothing of his First Wife except for a lingering sense of dislike.
“Where is the First Wife? What is her name?”
“Atia.” Chiassa said. “She’s sleeping, maybe.”
“She is speaking with Beyon,” said Marren. The wives exchanged looks at this and said no more.
Mesema studied the floor. Did Atia have a grievance about her? She shifted on her cushion and looked up to see Marren watching. Perhaps she’d given them enough to talk about and could now return to her rooms alone. “B- blessings,” she said, rising. “I think I will retire.”
They smiled at her. She judged that it would not be long before they were deep in gossip.
Mesema went out into the corridor and worked her way towards the ocean room. She paused to examine the mosaic in a wall niche: a woman, her eyes made of polished jade, held out a red fruit to a reclining man.
Her placid face was almost a challenge; many people-her father, Arigu and now Nessaket-wished she herself were this calm and unquestioning.
She couldn’t be, especially not now that the pattern stood so close, its colours scratching at her skin, ready to be revealed.
Voices intruded upon her thoughts, distant, but raised in argument. “Perhaps Nessaket sent for her, but you went to the desert to claim her and never said a word to me!”
“The tale was carried quickly enough.”
“Lana, explain to him that I have the right to refuse new wives and concubines!”
“Why did you drag Little Mother in here with you? To make sure I keep my temper? Because I won’t. I am the emperor, and you have affronted me. If I say the horsewoman comes, she comes. If I decide to make you fifth wife and her the first, that’s how it will be.”
Me, First Wife? What about my prince?
“Bey-Bey-”
Mesema could not hear what else Lana said.
As she strained to listen, the jade-eyed woman swung away from the wall, ruby fruit flashing in the lamplight. A corridor revealed itself on the other side, dark and reeking of smoke. Mesema backed away as a cloaked figure moved forwards, but she found nowhere to hide among the tapestries and cushions. She felt naked and vulnerable: someone in the desert had tried to kill her, but killed Eldra instead. Now she stood here defenceless, with no generals or look-alikes to protect her. She remembered her vision: No, it’s impossible; I can’t die before Beyon does…
How could I take comfort in that!
The stranger pushed back his hood, revealing white hair and a long nose. Bright eyes examined Mesema’s face. The old man stepped into the corridor and closed the hidden door behind him. His shoulders were stooped and his skin sagged, but she sensed a strength in him that didn’t come from swinging a sword or throwing a spear. His strength was more like Banreh’s.
“My dear, I am sorry to frighten you,” he said, taking both her hands in his. She feared momentarily that he would notice her mark, but his eyes were on her face. “And you are the girl.” He cocked his head. “Ah, I could not have chosen better myself.” His eyes held her still and she realised, too late, that his kindness covered something else. He expected something from her: some unnamed duty.
But Mesema would get something from him, too. She looked back at the tiled woman, swinging towards the wall now, her fruit still uneaten.
“How did you come through that wall, my lord?” And who are you?
The old man tapped his head with a grin. “I am an old man, but I still have some secrets.” He linked arms with her and turned back towards the entrance. “I heard the emperor was here.”
“He is… talking, my lord.”
“Then I shall wait. Would you be so kind-?” They entered the great room, and the women on the cushions all turned their heads, craning their necks for a better look at the old man.
Mesema caught sight of Beyon at the back, white-faced and motionless, and beyond him Lana, pointing with a shaking hand, her lips trembling. Then Lana screamed.
Chapter Twenty-Eight