The City


The Manth woman looked down on the city of her enemies and marvelled to herself. When she'd last seen the city, it had been cluttered and bedecked with bunting and flags, glittering like a giant diamond. It had been magnificent then, shining in its own joy. But now, with only the lingering traces of the festivities still lingering from the highest peaks of the tallest buildings, she could appreciate the beauty of the true city.

Huge creamy yellow walls rose up from the edges of the island, glowing golden in the early morning sunlight. Inside it, she could see enormous domed roofs popping up at various intervals, like mushrooms in a field. Unlike normal cities –unlike Aramanth – the roofs weren't the same colour as their walls. Instead they were bright, rich hues; reds glowing like the sun, blues that matched the shimmering shade as the water below the walls, greens that rivalled the grass below her. It looked like the Mastery had raided their treasury rooms to cover the tops of their homes in rubies, emeralds and intense sapphires.

Around each towering building, right at the top, she thought she could see a row of large mirrors that reached from floor to ceiling. The glass curled around the buildings like a necklace of diamonds. They sent flashes of sharp, white light out and made the buildings sparkle and shimmer like the water below them.

The city was like a jewel-encrusted brooch, ringed in gold and surrounded by blue silk. It was even more beautiful than on the day of the wedding. More beautiful than any city she'd ever seen.

But it was rotten on the inside, she reminded herself, shuddering slightly and folding back into the shelter of her cloak. Any city built on slaves was rotten to the core.

On either side of them, long fields stretched out, divided like pieces of a jigsaw by waterways and ditches. The earth was covered in light brown stubble, proclaiming a late harvest. Close by, Kestrel could see children out and about, industriously plucking berries from the gorse of the bushes. The little boys and girls were laughing, their mouths stained a bright purple from the juices of the blackberries they were stuffing into their mouths on the sly. In the fields near them, their parents toiled cheerfully with the earth, digging, uprooting, and collecting the last sheaves of grain that littered the ground. They paused as the convoy passed by, shading their eyes in wonderment at the luxuries piled high in the wagons. Undeterred by notions of etiquette or concern for the foreign girl who rode alongside the steward of the Master's son, they stared at her, their eyes scorching up and down her awkwardly placed body and unusual clothing. Kess straightened self-consciously under their scrutiny and loud whispers, pulling her light veil forward until it shadowed her face completely. The steward noticed her action and smiled over at her calmly. "They stare, madam, because you are so unusual." He confided in an almost paternal fashion, as they passed the in the edges of the lakeshore. "It is not often that we see strangers here in the Mastery." Inwardly though, he was surprised at the girl's reticence. He had enjoyed the increased attention, the awe, the reverent respect he had commanded, leading such a rich caravan into the city.

Kestrel managed a small smile at him, politely acknowledging his concern for her. The clip clop of the horses' hooves echoed over the drawbridge, through the great wooden doors that guarded the entrance to the city. Guards saluted as they passed and Lubulino nodded graciously from side to side like a king. The high walls of the city towered above them like mountains. For a moment they were almost completely overshadowed just by the gates. It was like passing through a tunnel – but whether she was entering Heaven or Hell, the brown eyed woman still hadn't quite decided.

They passed through clean streets, the roads paved in large slabs of dark grey limestone, cut from the mountains to the south-west. Each slab was enormous; perhaps fourteen feet wide and seven long and pockmarked with tiny holes from the many feet and horses hat had moved over it in all the years. Surrounding it in neat, straight lines, rose small two-storey buildings, whitewashed and plain. Unlike the poorer quarters of Aramanth, there were no graffiti on the walls, no areas where the paint was flaking. The sun glistened on patches where the walls had been freshly painted only yesterday, showing that a regular maintenance team was in place.

The buildings were built close together, with only tiny streets leading off into, what Kess thought, looked like a large inner courtyard. The houses built so close together, they appeared to be a continuation of the wall. Only this time they were separating one group of people from another.

The streets were packed with people; men and women, all dressed in a serviceable brown. They were crowded together, like cattle at a mart. But it was no random crushing together of people. Kess narrowed her eyes. In each group there appeared to be a passing resemblance: in some there was a similarity around the eyebrows, in other the mould of their bodies. In one particular group, every single person, man woman and child, had flaming red hair, the colour of rust. Splotches of black moved through the crowd, as the guards plucked people out of their family groups and lead them to the front where a man with a green armband noted down the numbers burned into each wrist and motioned them away. The chosen people were lead away, escorted by the wails of their kinfolk, down the shadowed alleys and into the square, until Kess could no longer see them.

"Ah. The monkey-cages." A dismissive voice interrupted her thoughts from her left-hand side. "Ignore the noise they make, madam. The slaves are always like that. So… unrestrained."

A child was marched to the front of the queue, trembling with fear. For a second, large blue eyes glanced over the two well-dressed people mounted on fine horses. One small fist clenched and unclenched, forcing some type of courage into the small child's soul. Casually, the man with the green armband twisted her wrist over and noted down the number. In the silence – the unnatural silence – she could hear his words clearly. "Cage Number Four."

"It's full sir."

"Five, then."

"Yes, sir."

Kess glanced back over at Lubulino, wondering if he felt even a hint of the horror and nausea that was threatening to engulf her that very moment. Instead the tall, heron-like man was carefully inspecting his clean nails, tutting softly over a speck of dirt resting under the nail of his thumb. Glancing up, he met her eyes and raised his eyebrows. "Madam? You are composed?"

Pulling the edge of her cloak further over her shoulder until only the curve of her cheek was visible to the silent crowd, Kess nodded.

He smiled. "Then we shall continue."

Ducking her head, the Manth woman copied his motions and pressed her heels into the horse's sides until it began to move forward, ambling slowly past the crowds of slaves, waiting quiet as oxen for the call to dismiss and vanish to their respective tasks. Kess turned her head away; hoping none of them would recognise her. It would not be wise to have her nationality revealed at now. Safer for everyone to think she was from Gang. It meant she would have more freedom, would not be confined to the slave quarters. It was safer.

Then why did she feel like she was betraying her family?

They had now ridden past the slave quarters and Kess began to see the outer layer of the true City of the Mastery. The surroundings were more salubrious now. The utilitarian look of repetition had disappeared, leaving individualised shops and houses lining the streets. Most of them were made out of a strange, almost honey-coloured stone, instead of the grey limestone used in the lower ring, but the basic structure of the streets were the same, even if the lanes were more narrow and twisted slightly every now and again. Shop signs bristled above doorways, advertising every trade known to man. Kestrel could see goldsmiths, engravers, dressmakers… the shops piled in on each other in a mish-mash of glorious merchandise, richer and more luxurious than anything she'd ever seen before. Dashing out beside them, leading away like sunlit rabbit warrens, were other streets, the upper storeys strung from side to side with laundry and clothes, so brightly coloured that they looked like bunting.

Something drifted down onto her shoulder: she could feel it, the soft tip against her cloak, so light, it was barely there. Suspicions reared. It could be anything: the tap of a guard, the gentle blow of Death personified. Reaching back, her hand closed around something soft and drooping. She blinked in confusion. Resting in the centre of her palm was a tiny petal. Dark pink veins diffused out through the white centre, tinting the velvety flower a delicate pastel colour. Frowning, she glanced up and her eyes widened in surprise. Above each shop front hung a tiny, egg-box sized balcony, overloaded with flowers. The iron-railed stepping areas would scarcely had supported child; yet each one was as lovingly tended for as the rest of the Middle Ring, each reflecting the unique tastes of their occupants. One was spilling over with exotic lilies, some of which she recognised from growing wild along the rods far to the west of here. Another was a jungle of wide-leafed palms and waxy foliage that emitted a faint rubbery scent that Kess caught even down on the street. Another was messy with dancing white candyfloss-like flowers, the one above the jeweller's was singing with multicoloured poppies.

Street-bawlers shouted out their early morning wares to the occupants of the apartments, holding up their trays of fruit and fresh milk bottles to be seen and bought.

"Milk! Fresh milk! Buy, mistress, buy!"

"Sharp razors, oh, my razors sharp! Shaved for a silver, bald for two!"

"Oranges! Oranges from Gerat and fresh for your table!"

"Bread! Bread for sa- Oi! You! Luckless! Watch where you're damn goin'!"

The convoy pushed up the main street, the horses straining forward with the uphill slope, their heads low and almost touching the ground. The servants followed up the rear, exchanging good-natured curses with the bawlers who had been shoved out the way by their progress. Some of the sellers even shouted encouragement to the horses, laughing as they did so.

"Go on Mabel! There's a carrot in it for you."

"Can that old nag walk any faster? It's as slow as a…" The words were drowned out in an indignant whinny from the insulted equine, rousing a wave of laughter from the spectators.

"You'd know all about slow, wouldn't you, Dago?"

"Slowest goddamn snail in the whole goddamn city!"

"You sir! Oranges? Fresh oranges? Only the best for your lady, sir?" The voice was ingratiating and obsequious, unlike the brash squawks of the other vendors. Lubulino smiled graciously and tossed down a few coppers into the dark, outstretched palm, plucking a round fat orange from the sturdy tray that was being held up for his inspection. With a smile as wide as the lip of the bay, the scrubby faced child pulled their dark palm down to eye-level. Turning around in her saddle (precariously, she had to admit) Kess saw the two large green eyes widen in shock at first and then outrage as the three copper pieces glowed dully in the morning sunlight. With an incoherent shout of disgust, the child spat in the gutter and shoved the money into a small leather pouch hanging from his belt. Two fingers flashed up briefly at Lubulino's oblivious back in a rude and vicious salute before the boy disappeared into the swelling crowd once more, roaring out his wares in a high-pitched shriek.

She had barely stifled a chuckle before she realised that the culprit of the boy's rage was smiling paternally at her once more, a juicy segment of orange flesh held out in his outstretched palm.

"Madam?"

Silently, Kestrel shook her head. To distract herself from his hurt acceptance of her refusal, she turned her head to the side and stared idly into the shop windows. The wares were really astonishing, she admitted quietly to herself, hating to even grant this one modicum of approval on the city of her enemy. In Aramanth, they stocked the essentials, with few luxuries. Most of the stock had come from nearby or the farm valleys to the near south of her home. There weren't even that many shops – certainly not the amount that dealt with such specialised trade as here. She could see fruit she had never known existed, gold necklaces glittering in the sun (although the majority of the jewellery was in silver or fool's gold, reflecting the relatively middle-class surrounding of the Middle Ring), pottery carved and emblazoned with geometric designs and unusual shapes and flowers she had never known existed. It was incredible the variety and number of products on sale. It was like every country in the world had donated some of their produce and creations to fill the shops of the Mastery.

Slowly, she noticed that the shops began growing larger and larger and the road started to smooth out into a level line. Th horses came up from their hunched crouches and began to pull the heavy caravans with a bit more relief now. Even the crowds seemed more genteel, quieter and better dressed than the loud, vigorous rabble that had thronged through the lower, steeper streets. The twisting street widened into a sweeping boulevard of wide pavements and discreet shop signs. In turn, it too widened out in a large square, with more buildings in the same honey-yellow stone clustered around on all sides. A large, Palladian structure graced the far side and if she narrowed her eyes, Kess thought she could see crowds of people hurrying in and out of the wide, thrown open doors. An aside from the heron-like steward informed her that it was the City Hall, the centre for all administration in the City. Middle-aged men in long sweeping coats and self-important paunches sailed across their path, moving graciously towards the large building with servants (invariably dressed in either slave uniforms or extremely basic versions of a personal livery) tottering after them, scrolls and books clutched in their hands. Startlingly white neck-stocks were knotted elaborately around their necks in wild extravagancies of cloth and tie-pins and, balanced precariously on their head, each man wore a tall wig with an vertical fringe thrown up and standing rigidly perpendicular from the crowns of their heads. They were the councillors, Lubulino told her sotto voce, men who dealt with overseeing the upkeep and law and order in the slave quarters and the Middle Ring. They were like little kings in their own jurisdiction but in truth had little real power, being completely answerable to the Master and his own advisors. Nevertheless they held themselves as high as their High Domain counterparts and brushed their wigs – their symbols of power - even higher.

For a moment, the cavalcade paused on the entrance of the square. Confused, Kess turned around as Lubulino kicked his horse around and had a low voiced conversation with the Monkey-Man. She saw the tiny dwarf nod briefly and bow to his superior. Then his tiny legs kicked the ribs of his horse and he was away, shouting orders to the drivers and waving them away into one of the wider side streets.

"Sir?"

The mud-brown eyes flickered back to her and he urged his horse into a lazy walk up towards her. "Madam?"

"The others…Where are they…?"

"Going? I told them to take the back streets, madam. One cannot after all," He chuckled softly, "Have an entire caravan striding up the streets of the High Domain."

She frowned. "Why not?"

Clearly this wasn't a question he had been expecting. He stared at her in shock. "Bring a caravan up the High Domain? Madam… It just isn't done."

Why not? She was tempted to ask once more, but seeing little success in continuing this line of conversation the Manth woman merely set her lips into a smile and nodded back at the steward. Thin shoulders seemed to relax in relief at her acquiescence. With a low bow, Lubulino held out his hand to her. A ridiculous, pointless gesture, but really, so like him.

"Shall we?"

They crossed the great square in a rigidly straight diagonal line, Kess following where the steward led. Their locomotion across was astonishingly smooth. Not once did they check their horses to allow one of the portly councillors across their path. Neither too did the striding, bewigged men pause or hitch for even a moment in their perambulations. The two riders and their pedestrian counterparts negotiated the great honey-cobbled rectangle like a strange dance, each partner waltzing carefully around the other. It was like this city: beauty and grace in the most unexpected places.

Finally, they reached a large, elaborate arch, stretching across the road leading out the north west of the Great Square. Like the rest of the city, no real iron gates separated the High Domain from the Middle Ring. However there might as well have been, so great was the difference between the two districts. Even peering through the arches, Kess could see it. The streets were cleaner, wider, whiter. Immaculately smooth pavestones in pale, pale cream stones lay along the gently sloping avenues. Trees blossomed from the ground, providing soothing baths of shadows to rest in from the heating morning sun. There are no hard edges here that she can see: everything is rounded and smooth. The roads, the corners, the sweeping turns and views.

Beside her, she barely heard the steward as he sighed in appreciation and whispered: "Welcome to the Gates of Heaven, madam."

It was Heaven. It had to be Heaven. She had never seen anything like this before, not in Aramanth, not in the wilderness along the Great Road. The houses were as graceful as swans, sitting stationary on a clear pond. There were no shops here, no bawdy street sellers. Everything was quiet and elegant and refined. It was like lace, like ice, like diamonds, like anything fine and beautiful in the world.

The bird-like call of the flute drifted out on the air, carried along by a breeze that lightened the growing humidity of the day. Kess turned her head, following its sound. It had come from one of the houses, spilling out of a top window. If she squinted, she thought she could see someone pacing about in front of the window, their face creased in concentration and beautiful music pouring out from the instrument between their fingers. Even though she was here in the heart of her enemy's world, Kestrel could feel her face relax in a small smile of pleasure at the rivers of silvery sound that the stranger was creating.

A subdued giggle woke her up from the daze of blankness she had been steered into by the music. Sitting up straight, brown eyes glanced around in surprise, in time to see two elegantly dressed young woman ride past her, their silk autumn cloaks billowing lightly in the breeze across their horses' flanks. Flashing green eyes caught her gaze and Kess felt the sharp-eyed look scorch up and down her dowdy provincial clothes and overly modest veil. A tiny smirk darted across the noble woman's face and she leaned in closer to her friend, bringing up her white hand to shield the words whispering from her tongue. Heat scorched across the brown-eyed woman's cheeks. Instinctively, she shrank back into the heavy protection of her cloak, pulling up until it covered one shoulder. A melodious laugh echoed out from behind her before it faded away into the gentle murmurs of the High Domain.

As she passed another turn, the full western view of the bay flew out before them. Without thought, without consultation, the two people on horseback paused by the wall, struck dumb by the sheer brilliance of the sight.

The High Domain, Kess realised now, was not just the upper part of the city, completely cut off from any part of the lakeshore. All along the southern part of the island city, were pleasure gardens, each one on the edge of the lake. Bright beds of flowers blossomed in the green spaces beside artificially created piers and marinas. If she screwed up her eyes, she could see small groups of men and women floating through the parks, their silken clothes like multicoloured butterflies on the breeze.

A soft sigh broke out from the steward by her side. As she turned to his questioningly, he gave a small faux-modest smile and waved a hand at the view. "Forgive me, madam. My sentimentality is such that I cannot but be moved by the sight of our city. But I fear, it is nothing to Obagang, is it not?"

Still in a slight trance after the loveliness of the High Domain, Kestrel replied without thinking. "I've never seen Obagang."

The instant the words were out of her mouth, she felt the world drop out beneath her. Her grip tightened on the leather ropes – reins – as a sick, crunching feeling rolled through her stomach. Fear spread through her like a virus, flowing along her blood vessels and pulsing along under the skin. She could feel it, pushing through the frail skin on the back of her hand. She could almost smell the flames, the soot, and the crackling fires as they nipped at her feet…

"Oh." A disconcerted noise from Lubulino. "I…well… Yes. Such a large country… Probably not… Forgive me."

She froze. He believed her? He wasn't suspicious?

A cough came from her side. "If you will, madam, Lady Ortiz…"

Kestrel lifted her head, straightened her back and nodded with courage. She was safe so far. And she would continue on. The magnificence she had just seen was a nothing, a paradise carved from misery, she told herself firmly. It would not stand. The Mastery was living through its final days. She promised herself that.

They rode downhill now; passing through more beautiful streets that somehow seemed almost too beautiful, too perfect. The gracefully carved fountains, the smooth intricate masonry, the sense of music and rhythm pealing from every house now created a suffocating blanket of luxury. She was drowning in the beauty of it, so much so, she was glad when she saw the vaguely patronising looks she was gathering from the inhabitants of the High Domain. It stopped her from falling in love with the place all over again.

A right turn and they were riding down a quiet street. Slaves in a distinctive emerald green swept some of the early falling leaves from the pathways, silently and efficiently. There was no music here. Only the soft, far away noise of waves washing against the island-shore and the whisper of wind in leaves. Kess heaved in a sigh of relief at the completely natural silence that at once seemed completely comforting and homely. They rode a little way down the street before turning right again, Lubulino's horse leading the way.

A courtyard opened up in front of them, the house standing graciously, unobtrusively centre stage. Made of plain, simple stone, It had none of the external intricacies and embellishments of some of the buildings she had passed on he way. Instead the elegance came from the setting of the house, the placing of the stones, the blending in of the external fringing walls and the main body. Large, slowly rising front steps led up to a wide, double-doored entrance of light, golden coloured wood. Oak or perhaps polished ash, she thought. Three floors rose up in front of her, casting a midday shadow over the entire courtyard.

Lubulino dismounted from his bay mare with obvious relief, completely ignoring the young boy who had rushed forward to grasp his horse's reins. A gesture of his hand and two other servants appeared from the shadows of the hidden stables, one rushing to her horse's head, the other moving quietly over to the right hand side of Kess, holding up his arms expectantly to catch as she fell from the horse. The sleeve of dark red – a house livery? – fell down his arm, exposing charred flesh, there, right there at the base of his wrist. And a number. 3586.

Nausea jumped up her throat. They had burned a number into a person's skin. Other people did that. The Master of this city had ordered that. They had hurt people, her people so that they may have order.

For a moment, she could not move from the servant's arms. She was too afraid to move, certain that if she did so she would attack someone – the murderer – attack and kill someone, the fury and hurt pride inside her was building up so high.

"Miss? You okay?"

The words rumbled in the giant's chest. The Manth woman glanced up, biting her lip as she saw two worried brown eyes, placid and untroubled as a cow's. In an instant the rage was gone, washed out of her in three simple words.

She was sane now. Calm, controlled and deadly.

"Yes. Thank you."

"Madam? If I may…" Lubulino intercepted the brief conversation smoothly. One liver-spotted hand captured hers and she was being pulled so gently she could barely feel it, away from the now blushing groom (blushing? What's he blushing for?) and onwards towards the front steps of the house. As they mounted the steps, his voice was like an informative gnat buzzing in her tired ears. "Servants' entrance over there…" He pointed to small door tucked into the lower, below ground floor of the house, a flight of tiny steps leading down to it. He took on a vaguely monotonous tone as he relayed the usual information to her. "Although we are entering via the main entrance this once, you will, of course, always from now on use the servants' door. Lord Ortiz will not appreciate you disturbing his guests!" He laughed after that, as if it was a joke. Kess couldn't even crack a polite smile.

The two great doors caved inwards as if by a silent signal. Lubulino hadn't even raised his hand to knock. The steward did not even notice. His voice carried on as he guided her indoors, more lively now. "Of course, Lord Ortiz originally had his own rooms closer to the Master's palace but since the betrothal, he has lived here. The Master gave it to him as a wedding present. After all – Yes, what is it?" He turned away as another servant dressed in the same dark red and black livery touched his elbow and tip-toed up to whisper in his ear.

The interruption gave Kestrel time to look around her, to absorb her surroundings, to map it down in her mind and plan for escape routes.

But she couldn't. Every time she tried, she would see something new and intriguing and the thought would fly out of her head once more. There was so much to see, so much to marvel at.

So much beauty.

A domed ceiling of plain, uncarved white marble fell down in a perfect arch from the centre of the room, meeting the walls of the second floor and flowing into them so smoothly it was impossible to say where one began and the other finished. The second floor was open, a white marble barrier protecting anyone on the storey from falling down onto the ground floor. Kess could see the doors of the second floor easily, past the balcony-like corridors in front of them. A sweeping, exquisite stairway of rare cedar wood connected the two floors, a faint exotic scent still emitting from it. The handrails curled at the end into two carefully carved spirals, the banister planting firmly into the white marble floors of the hallway. The hallway itself was plain almost to the point of severity with practically no furniture gracing its walls.

Only a small basin by the door for catching people's cards as they visited and the two waist high jars of green jungle-like plants by the doorway graced the room. And the rug. Embroidered in gold and sky-blue nightingales around the edges, it was rich and vibrant, the definite colours making a perfect foil for the immaculate whiteness of the rest of the room. The weave was so small it could not be seen, creating the illusion of completeness, of life almost.

A cough. Lubulino's cough. "Forgive me, madam, but I fear that I have pressing matters to attend to in other areas." He bowed, his hand pressed to his chest like before. A wave to the side brought his companion forward. Brown eyes widened in mild surprise. It was Monkey-man. "Merryn will escort you upstairs to your mistress."

Monkey-man – Merryn bowed. "Miss Kestrel."

Kess nodded at him politely. With another bow, this time to Lubulino, Merryn strode ahead, gesturing Kestrel to follow behind.

They made their way up the stairs, Merryn carefully instructing the Manth woman to go only on the edges of the steps. "Don't want to muddy the centre or you'll catch it from Old Misery." He muttered, discreetly jerking a thumb back in the direction of Lubulino's retreating back. Like the steward, he kept up a running commentary of the house and its recent history, only his information was delivered in short, self-reserved starts that contained as much information in as few words as possible. With small, barely seen hand movements, he pointed out Ortiz's bedroom, the hidden entrance to the servants' stairs, the library ("Keep your nose out of there. Master don't like anyone disturbing him.") and finally the door of Sisi's bed chamber. "It's a big one, bigger than the Master's even." The short, stocky man said quietly, nodding forwards towards it. "He said the Lady should've the most comfortable."

The dark haired woman nodded calmly, waiting for him to announce her. Realising that she was not going to offer him any answer, Merryn cleared his throat and rapped on the door formally.

Raised voices called out on the other side of the door, one commanding and slightly haughty, the other rushed and worried. A rumble of thumping feet hurried towards the door. A click of a lock and Lunki's fat comfortable face peered out between the crack of wall and door. "Yes?"

Merryn cleared his throat. "Miss Kestrel has arrived, my lady-"

"Kess!" A cry of joy and the Johdila had swirled out of the door. Kestrel had a brief impression of her glowing smile and too-bright brown eyes before she was engulfed in a fierce, thin-armed hug. Lunki's squawks of outraged decorum, the shocked silence of Merryn… For a moment, Kess allowed herself to forget them all as she hugged her friend, the Johdila of Gang back as tightly as she could.

The two girls were barely aware of Lunki's gentle herding until they were once more back in the closed bedchamber and the door was shut. Smiling slightly at her charge's complete joy at seeing the friend once more, the old nurse-maid moved away, busying herself with rearranging the already neatly put away dresses in the Johdila's new wardrobe and placing some scented oils made from Gang wildflowers in the bathroom.

Letting go of the brown-haired Princess, Kestrel gripped her arms tightly. Dark brown eyes frowned firmly into the joyously bright face of her friend, worry darkening the brown colour until it was almost black. "Sisi, are you all right?"

The Johdila laughed lightly and avoided her gaze. Carefully, she disengaged herself from Kess's tight grip on her wrists and walked gracefully over to her dressing table where the six connected mirrors had already been placed. "Of course, I'm all right, Kess." She teased the Manth woman gently. "Why shouldn't I be?" A shadow of irony passed over her words, adding a slightly bitter twist to her radiant smile.

"That… that…"

"Murderer, you call him." Sisi avoided her friend's penetrating gaze and tried to smile again. But this time, the doll's smile was slower in coming. "He's not… so bad."

Kestrel's lips tightened into a thin line as she worriedly followed Sisi's aimless movements. "Did he… I mean, did you…"

The doll-like mask fell down abruptly. With a slow sigh, she put the perfume bottle she had been toying with down onto the wooden dressing table. "Yes."

Silence echoed through the room. Sisi shifted slightly, uncomfortable in Kestrel's mute pity. Brown eyes rose up and met the dark-haired woman's gaze for the first time. Her words forced out slowly, hesitantly. "He… He was very… polite. Very polite." Biting her lip, she wrapped her arms around herself, as if fighting off a sudden chill. Impulsively, Kess went over to her. Pale arms in green cloth encased the shivering Princess. With relief, Sisi leaned into her friend's embrace. One soft-skinned hand reached out and clutched the green-cloth covered arm.

"Friends, Kess?"

The Manth woman gazed down at the golden wood floor, holding her friend's trembling body tighter. "Always, Sisi." She mumbled softly. "Always."


Ortiz quietly closed the door of his library. As the lock clicked into place and the noise of the rest of the house muted in volume, he exhaled softly.

Kess. Kestrel. It was her name. The lady, the dark-eyed lady, the servant, the woman he loved… her name was Kestrel.

He almost laughed. It was so ridiculous. He had loved her for what felt like a lifetime and yet he had never known her name. But he did now. Kess.

Carefully, he ran over the scene in his mind. Her name. The servant had announced her. Then the Johdila – He checked himself. His wife. His wife had rushed out and embraced her like a long lost sister. He remembered the rush of emotions fleeting across her face. She had never been able to control her emotions, he recalled. They were always flying across her face, her dark brown eyes, like fire, like banners. She had hugged his wife tightly, affection evident in every line of her body. And her eyes had flashed and softened. He'd never seen her eyes soften before. It turned them a warm brown colour, still dark but gentler now, more comforting. He wished she would look at him like that. Maybe it would happen. Someday.

He wandered over to the large, floor to ceiling glass doors that led out onto the wide terrace wrapping around the southern face of his house, barely noticing what he was doing. The sunlight drowned the entire front of his library, picking out the dark green and red leather of the books in the shelves. Dust specks floated along on the white light. The white caught the bright gold of his wedding ring and flashed.

Hazel eyes glanced down at the symbol of his marriage and his lips tightened slightly. His wife. The gold ring seemed to tighten unbearably along his finger, reminding him of the life he was now in. Of his new responsibilities. He was no longer single, he could no longer do as he pleased, love where he pleased. He had a duty, a responsibility towards his wife. He could not use her as an excuse to see the dark-eyed lady… to see Kestrel again. It would not be honourable or right. It would be cruel.

The temptation to scorn honour and etiquette was overwhelming.

Irritably, he strode over to his desk. It was of redwood, like the one in his bedroom and situated a little way out from the direct glare of the sun. He preferred it like that. With quick, hurried movements he began to riffle through the various proposals that the Master's Council had put forward that week. Even if he was on his supposed 'honeymoon' – he restrained a snort at the thought, memories of the previous night flying over him – he knew it would be sheer stupidity to let himself fall back on any of the current issues in the Council. Particularly since his marriage. He had to keep all thoughts of the dark-eyed servant out of his head. He had a wife. A wife he would remain faithful to, physically if no way else.

Kess. The word whispered through his mind, distracting him.

He had responsibilities, duties. Duties to his Master, to his wife. Duties to himself, to his father's memory.

Kess.

He could not – would not ignore those duties for a whim. A mere fantasy.

Kess


The silver cutlery tinkled gently against the plates. With delicate precision, the former Johdila of Gang speared the last few strawberry slices that lay in the rich creamy sauce of her dessert. Opposite her, at the head of the table, her husband was silently consuming a tasteless dinner, instincts making him retreat to the old childhood dictate of chewing each mouthful thirty times and not wasting anything on his plate. Neither met the other's eyes.

Ortiz swallowed his last bite and felt strangely hollow inside. He was used to eating alone. In the past few years, he'd begun to enjoy it. He could relax when he was alone, read at the table, slouch or just wallow in the comfortable silence, letting occasional thoughts filter into his mind and disappear again. But now, uncertain of Lady Ortiz's preferences (he did not make the mistake of calling her by her personal name again), he felt forced to make polite conversation to put her at her ease.

Unfortunately the weather, as a topic, only lasted for a maximum of two courses.

He could have, he supposed, watching his unveiled wife dab prettily at her lips with the linen napkin, eschewed the formal dining room and invited her to have dinner on his terrace. But the thought of having to make conversation with her there… of having her there revolted him. The southern terrace had always been private to him. Every time he thought about inviting her out there as an attempt to create some type of relationship between them, his heart sank. He couldn't imagine relaxing out there with his radiantly beautiful and spectacularly dull wife, showing her the views of the lake shore and the forest on the far side where he used to go when he'd run away from his tutor and play and climb the trees with his friends.

Briefly, an image of sharing the sunny, wide balcony with another woman jumped into his mind, a darker woman with brown-black eyes… But then a sound broke the silence and he started.

"Yes, my lady?"

"I was wondering how your day was, my lord."

"Oh." Ortiz dragged himself away from ridiculous imaginings and straightened in his chair. "It went well, my lady. Thank you."

An awkward silence of ignorance filled the room. Then etiquette hit Ortiz like a battering ram. "And… you. My lady. Did you… Did you enjoy your day?"

"Yes, thank you my lord." She paused and dabbed her lips with the napkin once more. "I would like to thank you for having my things brought from the caravan. It was most generous of you."

He reached out for the glass of wine that stood by his elbow and sipped it slightly, etiquette again restraining him from tossing it back his throat. "And your servant?"

Her sea-blue eyes flew up in shock. "My… my servant." She stated again, caution edging on her words.

"Yes, the dark-haired girl. Kestrel." Deliberate casualness in his voice. He had not needed to say her name but he couldn't help himself. I'm becoming obsessed, he thought silently.

Sisi watched her husband carefully. Uncalled for, the words Bowman had uttered in that small antechamber off the manaxa echoed in her mind. "He loves my sister, Kestrel." Was it true? She wondered. Did her husband really love Kess? Kess, who hated him? "Oh yes." She replied diffidently. "Kestrel."

"She is settling in well?"

"Oh yes."

Ortiz wondered briefly if she ever moved her thought patterns beyond the conventional "Oh yes", "Oh no" or "I don't know". Falling back into silence once more, he gazed meditatively at the ruby red heart of the wine in his glass. Like blood. The Master always preferred white wine so clear it appeared as transparent as water. The thought of the Master sent a reminder through his brain and he lifted his head to his wife once more.

"I'll not be here tomorrow."

She blinked. "Oh."

Ortiz blushed slightly at the rudeness of his statement. "What I mean is… I'll have to go somewhere. I'll be gone most of the day." A pause. Then, he added, as if as an afterthought. "Don't bother keeping dinner for me…my lady. I… I do not expect to be back until late."

"Yes, my lord." She agreed quietly, her hands linked neatly on her lap. She looked absurdly young in that pose, rather like a child than the married woman she now was. A faint niggle of guilt worked its way into his heart. He should try harder to like her, to see her good qualities. Not to always see her as an obstacle.

"I'll be taking my…my truth teller with me." Another piece of useless information. But how else was he to continue making conversation?

She nodded. He held back a sigh. The awkward silence had been firmly reinstated.

For want of something to do, he reached down for his dessert fork, expecting the next course to come out through the door in a bustle of pomp and ceremony. But there was nothing there. There were no more forks left. He glanced down, frowning a little in surprise. There was no more cutlery left, he realised, seeing the snowy white linen stretching out in front of him, bare and plain as a desert. The table had been cleared. His heart sank a little as he thought of what must inevitably come next. What was his duty.

The chair screeched slightly against the wooden floors as he stood up, sending a servant rushing to his side to lift it back out of his way. He glanced back and forced a small smile of thanks onto his lips, nodding politely at the poker-faced footman. Lady Ortiz looked up in surprise at her husband's unexpected move. But then she say the tired, resigned look in his eyes and the practised, warm smile on his lips and comprehension dawned. Without speaking, he held out his hand to her. A silent question.

She raised her hand and laid it in his, accepting it without emotion. Together, they left the room, each moving forward perfectly in time, not pulling back, not dragging their feet. They had been schooled too well for that.

The clock in the corner struck ten.