Chapter One
She stood at the window of the princess’s room, her back to the royal bed and its royal (and still-sleeping) occupant. The air was cold: Ashe had tumbled out of bed naked and wrapped her cloak about her, but her feet were bare. Elsewhere in the room, the floor was covered with ornate rugs and carpets, all of them beautiful. Was it some puritan element to her blood that made her seek this cold discomfort, Ashe wondered, or was she just too distracted to think about her boots?
Dawn reached across the mountains, in purple and gold. Looking toward the snow-capped crests of the mountains, Ashe watched the sun rising steadily. It would be a fine day, despite the early chill. It might even be warm, and the air would in any case be studded with perfumes. One day to go to the beginning of the celebrations and the various feasts. The occasion was sacred but not sacred enough to ward off rain. Ashe regarded the sky a little longer, and the sun stared back, golden light washing over her. Ashe blinked and turned away, momentarily blinded.
Sitting on the window ledge, Ashe looked down at the ground, some seven storys below. Heights never bothered Ashe: this was one of her more precarious practices, and it terrified the princess. Anyone looking up from the streets below might have thought that a strange black bird was roosting against the brickwork of the Lammoran palace. To increase the image, the wind caught at Ashe’s cloak and made it flap like the wings of a gigantic raven.
Ashe grinned at the thought. Her teeth were very white against the light brown of her skin, and the black of her hair. Ashe was not from Lammor. Laure was said to have the (very good) looks of a typical Lammoran: pale and blonde and tall. Ashe was shorter and compact, and she stood out in Lammoran society through no fault of her own - she just looked so very different to all but Jura. In my own land, thought Ashe, wherever the hell that might be, I would not stand out at all, I would simply belong. The thought appealed very much. Unusually – for Ashe had worked hard to put such thoughts out of her mind - she was overcome on the instant with such a wash of contrary thoughts and longings that it nearly overcame her. In a rush of sudden loneliness she shivered, and almost fell off the sill. Her fingers gripped at the brickwork and tightened. The sun continued to rise, oblivious.
High above the marble and brick of the palace, buzzards soared on the thermals. Fine white clouds dissipated as the sun struck them. Laure twisted beneath the silken coverings of the bed and sat up, her hair falling back from her face and down across her shoulders; her expression, even half-awake, was both imperious and certain. She was poised for speech when she saw where Ashe sat, and caught her breath. As Ashe climbed back into the room, the princess’s concern for her vanished. Their gazes met, and Laure beckoned Ashe to come closer. Ashe walked slowly across the room and stood attentively by the edge of the bed nearest the princess.
Laure thought: she’s not really exceptional to look at, although in this society of course, she does stand out. And with the thought came back to mind all the things she had to do about Ashe. What emotions she had felt on rising disappeared. She no longer felt sensual, she felt irritated, and she threw out her first order of the day. “Ashe, the first guests will be arriving today. I want you to help out in the main hall. If I need you for anything, I’ll send someone to fetch you.”
Ashe said nothing. She had spent all of the previous day involved in the preparations for the ceremony, only leaving off when Laure had summoned her up to bed. Ashe sighed. Laure added, “You can tell my servants to prepare my bath.” As Ashe made her way toward the door, Laure added sharply, “Dress first, Ashe.”
Ashe obediently began pulling on her clothes. Laure drew her knees up to her chest and watched her. She hadn’t intended to begin sniping at Ashe so early, but she felt guilty, and guilt was making her irritable and uncomfortable. It was all very well knowing what she meant to do, and planned to do, but it wasn’t going to be easy.
Ashe was too well-trained not to obey orders. In accordance with the rules, she was careful to dress facing the princess. Bending to her boots, Ashe became aware of how much her back hurt, which meant that it was probably marked. Ashe knew from long experience that although Laure was happy enough to dispense marks hard enough to scar, she never liked being reminded of what she had done. Ashe’s scars would have to fade in private.
The Lammoran court stood on the brink of the celebrations that would mark the princess’s promotion to joint-ruler of the country, in the company of the queen, her mother. Invitations had been sent out to everyone of consequence in Lammor, and the preparations had been going on for weeks. Before Ashe had left the main hall the night before, she had taken one last look around her. The long tables – there were three in all – would each seat a hundred. Columbine had ordered that every chair be decorated, spun about with flowers and vine leaves, and Ashe had been co-opted to help with that. The cooks were working hard: in addition to preparation for the three days of feasting, they had prepared bouquets of sugar flowers, colouring the leaves and petals with dye taken from the very plants they duplicated. The only exception was the tiny, violet gulls-foot, the juice of which was poisonous. The sugar flowers had been arranged to look as if they grew up naturally from the columns that supported the hall. Lammor’s fame for exotic fruits had meant that the cooks had been crystallising everything that didn’t move, and there were a hundred different cheeses waiting in the cool rooms.
In the main hall itself, the decorations had been spun like spider webs about the walls. The emphasis was to be on scent and colour, and Ashe had helped Siras and the others, under the strict instruction of Columbine, create a positive spectacle. The paintings had been left hanging on the walls, but were hardly visible though the silk streamers. Dried flowers that still smelled of the previous summer had been stitched into the streamers, and the purple and red of early Lammoran roses stood as a contrast to the yellow and blue Lascan poppies. It was the blue poppies that provided the illegal aspect of the forbidden brandy. Even the - oddly still legal - wine made from the yellow poppies was said to be as corrupting, sweet and intoxicating as it tasted.
Fastening a last button, Ashe was unaware that Laure was watching her every move. And when Ashe stood up and pushed her fringe out of her eyes she met Laure’s cold green stare. Ashe bowed without any hint of irony, and went off to give orders.
Alone, Laure lay back against the goose-feather pillows and frowned. Everything that needed to be done for the celebrations was being done, the only issue left outstanding was… Ashe. Laure ran her hands through hair and swore out loud. What in the name of the goddess was she meant to do about Ashe? Rhea had refused to see the princess, let alone do what she demanded. Rhea, being a wise-woman, knew exactly what Laure had in mind for the country and for Ashe; she just wasn’t going to allow herself to be involved. Laure had been so angry that she’d broken several of the tall vases lining the walls of her room; it had taken the servants some time to clear up and remove the bits of broken pottery.
Had she had opportunity, Laure would have happily throttled Rhea, but violence toward the famous and rebellious wise-women was a sure-fire way to a short and unhappy future. Besides, Rhea liked Ashe. Laure had no idea why. And Ashe never failed to treat Rhea with respect. Perhaps the queen might have helped. Jura would be no help at all, if she heard Laure’s plans. If she could only keep Ashe occupied or just plain out of the way, all might be managed with the minimum of fuss or hurt. Laure sighed. Her plans went deep enough to unearth the country, let alone rock the throne and inheritance of Lammor.
Ashe returned to say that the royal bath was ready, and Laure took the opportunity to dismiss her. Ashe was happy enough to go: for ten years Ashe had stood at the princess’s right hand. She’d fought with Laure, played with her, shared an education and court instruction. Ashe was blamelessly loyal to Laure, serious and intelligent, but the differences that stood between the two had never faded in all that time. Laure could – as she had just done - dismiss Ashe as easily as if they had not shared the same bed for almost every night over the past four years.
Laure liked to tease Ashe about her looks, but she had come to admire them, albeit silently. She also accepted that in some ways, Ashe represent a darker, more potent reflection of herself. Laure knew that Ashe was proud, in a quiet, self-contained manner that she almost envied. She was wary of Ashe’s determination and self-possession, two qualities she pushed to their limits in her own worst hours. Laure had come to enjoy hurting Ashe, within the bounds of their love-making. It was exciting to demonstrate such a very specific power, and if Laure could not leave any lasting impressions with her words – she could make an impression in flesh that pleased and fed an aspect of her sexuality. Making love with Ashe excited her, and the power to leave marks upon that dark skin made her burn.
Ashe walked the long corridors of the palace and then stepped out into the cold sunshine. “You call this spring?” she asked, out loud, and hurried on.
Ashe found herself thinking about the past. It was something she tried to avoid, because it was painful. But now, with so much changing all around her, it was hard not to do so. She knew that beneath the chatter of the servants and the bustle of the streets, the suggestion that she was shortly be announced consort to the princess was being generally discussed. She felt suddenly and unexpectedly very lonely: somewhere out there was her own country, and her former home. An exile of ten years hadn’t erased all her memories. She still dreamed of home, especially when she drank the heady, illegal brandy that Rhea brewed from the Lascan poppies, and which she shared with only special guests, Ashe and Cairo among them. Cairo loved the stuff, loved the wild dreams that came after it; loved the sensuality she felt then. Ashe had become wary: when she drank the brandy she felt as though she left off being Ashe, companion to the princess, and become instead something so different that it frightened her.
Ashe walked quickly, wanting to be alone. She had recently learned that Laure had recently ordered that everyone passing Ashe was to nod a greeting or give a fleeting bow to her. In other words, to treat Ashe as if she was royalty, too. Ashe was not happy with the news: since learning it, she had kept to herself more and more.
It had taken Ashe and Cora four years to reach Lammor. Ashe had no memory of why she and Cora had first set off, and Cora had never explained it to her. It had taken them the best part of a year to reach their first ocean, and then they had met the sea-people, and had lived with them for two more years. Ashe still missed the sea-people: that time accounted for Ashe’s confidence in and around water (something that most Lammorans, having never seen an ocean, found bizarre and a little unnatural). At the end of the two-year period Cora, directed by the workings of some internal clock that rang instructions, had taken Ashe onwards by boat. They had been at sea a very long time: Ashe had almost forgotten what land looked like by the time they washed up on dry ground and began the long slog across country to Lammor, the principle city of which was Lascar. At the gates of Lascar, Cora had hugged Ashe once and then turned back down the road they’d just walked.
Cora hadn’t gone far. Ashe had turned in confusion at being left, and so watched as Cora began back down the same path that they had so recently shared. After a couple of hundred yards, Ashe had seen Cora drop to her knees on the dusty ground (it was summer). Ashe had raced back to Cora’s side, and had seen how painful Cora’s last moments had been. In her death throes, Cora had dug her hands into the earth and stone of the road so hard that she had cut them to the bone. The guards had had to knock Ashe out before she’d let go her hold on Cora’s body.
The guards had taken Ashe inside the city walls, and when the story of her arrival, her strange companion and her oddly-alien appearance, had reached the palace, Ashe had been sent for. She’d stood before Lammor’s queen – still marked by dust and blood, a bruise rising on her chin, her dark eyes red-rimmed from crying – waiting (she didn’t know it at the time) for her fate to be decided.
At the time of Ashe’s arrival, Rhea still lived in the palace. She had turned her back on the sisterhood when they had rebelled against their queen choosing as her consort someone from outside Lammor, and from across the sea. Rhea liked the queen’s favourite, and when she met Ashe, she liked her, too. The queen had sent for Rhea when Ashe sat in an anteroom, waiting to be summoned. “What do you think? Is she the one chosen for my daughter?” Rhea had consulted bones, cards and the cloud formation of the day, before saying that, yes, Ashe was the one chosen to become Laure’s companion. Rhea had not said, her consort, something that the queen had unfortunately forgotten.
As the years had gone by, it seemed to the queen that the bond between Laure and Ashe was of sufficient quality to pass muster in the opinion of the court. The queen was sufficiently honest with herself to note that the relationship had its inequalities: Ashe was much fonder of the princess than the princess was of Ashe. There were times when the queen felt rather sorry for Ashe.
At the doors to the stables, Ashe paused to admire the view. The palace had been built on a low hill, so it was possible from almost every angle to look down over the remainder of the city. She looked over the high towers, the curved tops of the houses, the nests of brightly-coloured, exotic birds perched in the highest chimneys. In anticipation of the celebrations, flags flew in a speckled mass of blues, yellows and reds. The air of ceremony and exhibition was tangible, and it reached Ashe as scented with lilies, wine, incense and saffron.
She looked to the west, where she’d never been, where the blue and purple mountains were still topped with snow. She was blindly tired: the night before had had its pleasures, but also its cost: she could have dropped where she stood, like Cora. But she wasn’t yet tired to death, and Cora had been. Why had her death been so painful? With that death Ashe had lost all sense of personal history, and although she would have liked to raise the issue with the queen, or the princess, she was aware that it would have been an unwanted subject. So she went her own way, and if she was sometimes acutely lonely, she had become good at hiding the fact.
Ashe could have stood and stared for hours, watching the city gates open and close as yet more people arrived for the ceremony. The knowledge of what was to come – the entire process of Laure’s coronation and then the announcement of her consort - was both exciting and frightening. Ashe knew all the right words; she’d been trained too well to have forgotten her lines, but she was still nervous, happy, confused and careless all at once. The queen had seen the state in which Ashe wandered about the palace and the sight hurt her. Jura, consort to the queen of Lammor, watched Ashe with greater understanding. Jura too had come from outside the city, and her background and colouring were as much at odds with the bulk of the Lammorans as was Ashe’s own. Jura watched Ashe’s slightly-stunned but wholly serious attendance on the princess, and understood the mix of awe and confusion that surrounded Ashe. Ashe had been tutored for seven years in the ways of the country, she loved Laure from the bottom of her heart, even if she did sometimes wish that Laure was a little less demanding, a little less cruel. And Jura knew that Ashe was often lonely: it wasn’t easy being different, and it was hard to maintain confidence and self-control in such trying times. But Jura had almost stopped worrying: once the next few days were over, and Laure had announced to everyone her taking Ashe as her consort, the imbalances would be evened out: Ashe would have some status, and the best security of all.
Ashe stood at the door to the stables, a vast, sweet-smelling place, and listened to the distant sound of Cairo’s voice issuing orders. The voice grew clearer and closer, and then Cairo was at Ashe’s side, grinning wickedly. “Ah, the potential consort approaches. What are you doing here, Ashe? You know how much Laure likes you hanging around with me. Are you just making the most of the last of your freedom?”
Ashe grinned back. With the light behind her, Ashe’s face was dimmed in Cairo’s view, and not for the first time, Cairo remembered the rumours that had abounded about Ashe, when she first entered the court. It was suggested by some that the little refugee’s people must have been vampires… It was all the dark hair/dark skin/white teeth that did it, thought Cairo. Ashe could blush, but it was hardly noticeable, and on the undersides of her wrists the veins showed very clear and close to the surface, another vampiric trait.
“You really don’t like the princess, do you,” said Ashe, walking alongside Cairo down the long corridor that divided up the stables.
“Nope. Not a single solitary little bit,” said Cairo, cheerfully. “And I don’t envy you the royal personage, the royal bed or the royal demeanour. You’re your own worst enemy. But I’d never try to talk you out of doing something as insanely nonsensical as agreeing to be consort, or anything like that.”
“Maybe Laure’s thinking the same thing,” said Ashe, absently.
Cairo glanced at her. “Do you really mean that, Ashe?”
Ashe considered. After a moment she said, “Not really, I suppose, but she’s a hard person to read. This morning she seemed…” Ashe tried to find a way of phrasing her dismissal from Laure’s room that wouldn’t feed Cairo’s dislike of the princess. “I suppose she’s just nervous,” she said.
“Or plain ill-tempered,” replied the stable-mistress. “Believe me, by becoming consort to the princess, you’re saving someone else from a fate worse than... She’s all yours.” They walked on in silence, and Cairo dug into her jacket pocket and reached out a flask. She glanced around quickly and then said, “Here. Just a mouthful, though.” Ashe drank, then coughed, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“How the hell did you come by that?”
“Rhea gave it to me. Oh, and a message, too. She wants you to go see her.”
“Today?”
“If you can. If her royal highness will let you…”
“Ah, to hell with royalty. Come on, Cairo, let’s have a swim.”
“Another swim? You’re going to be growing gills, Ashe. Usually I think you’re pretty sane, but this preoccupation with water is strange.”
“And yet you go swimming so often. It makes one wonder.” Ashe grinned. “And the other oddity is that you only swim when the most attractive attendants are on duty.”
Cairo grinned back. “So you noticed?”
“Hell, Cairo, everyone’s noticed. So let’s go swim, admire, whatever…”
They were almost at the doors to the bathing house when Ruth appeared. Ashe’s heart sank. Ruth was one of Laure’s most faithful (and fawning) admirers, and Ashe couldn’t stand her. Cairo eyed Ruth with obvious dislike. “Ashe,” said Ruth, “The princess wants your immediate attendance.”
“Hell, Ruth, Ashe isn’t a dog, or a slave. Don’t speak to her as if she was either.”
Ruth disregarded them both. “I’m surprised at you, Ashe, not being at the princess’s side, today of all days.”
“Actually,” said Cairo, coldly, and before Ashe could reply, “If there’s so much to do, Ruth, I don’t understand why you’re not doing it. You are, after all, almost the princess’s right hand.”
Ruth glared back at her. Cairo outranked her, Cairo was of a much older family than Ruth’s, and Ashe was… Well, Ashe was without rank in the great scheme of things. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at Ashe’s casual attitude to the preparations for, and the significance of, this time. She is after all not Lammoran born and bred.”
Ashe had to admire Ruth. It wasn’t just that the words were meant to hurt; Ruth’s tone was just so objectionable. She said, “I will get along to the princess soon enough, Ruth. And believe me, I can find her on my own.”
“Forgive me, Ashe,” said Ruth, “I had wrongly assumed that the plans for tomorrow’s celebrations would matter to you.”
The ceremony: the bloody, bloody ceremony. Ashe was almost sick of the word and tired beyond measure of the preparations for it. She surprised herself by wanting it over and done with. She shoved her hands into her pockets to conceal the fact that she was clenching her fists.
Ruth continued. “I have known the princess since childhood, and it is clear to me that she is concerned about something. The most likely theme – it seems to me – is the risk of your spoiling the ceremony through a lack of knowledge. There are the many aspects of the celebration that I am sure you will not appreciate, Ashe. Ours is an old country with a strong history, and long-standing customs.” Ashe glanced skywards, hoping for a freak lightning bolt to strike either of them.
“The princess has many demands with which to deal,” said Cairo, ironically. She would have liked to tell the princess’s oldest friend that Laure’s tendency to behave like a spoiled child was encouraged by people like herself. But she only added, “I’m sure that she appreciates your support.” Such court-based niceness made Ashe’s head ache.
“Laure will cope excellently with all that she has to do over the next few days.” Clearly implying to them both that Ashe would not. Ashe watched Cairo take a sly mouthful from her flask. “When I left her, she was administering orders to her slaves.”
“Ah,” said Ashe. “The slaves. You know, Ruth, for such a civilised country, I still find it odd that Lammor depends so much on the service of slaves.”
Ruth said, disdainfully, “It is how our country has been since its inception. Wars have repercussions, Ashe. Without slaves, how could we structure our society?” Cairo put a warning hand on Ashe’s arm.
“I’m sure that the princess will need your continued attention today, Ruth. Should you better not be getting back to her?”
But Ashe couldn’t leave the subject alone. “I’m not arguing whether or not wars are necessary,” she said. “I just don’t like the practice of using slaves.”
“Would you refuse to fight for the country that adopted, raised and educated you, Ashe? Are you so selfish?”
Cairo was holding Ashe back; her grip on Ashe’s arm was vice-like. Cairo knew that she must be hurting her, but it seemed dangerous to let her go. Surely Ashe knew that it was dangerous to push Ruth too far?
“As you say, Ruth, I’m not even a native. So who am I to criticise? Perhaps my native land was equally blood-thirsty. And besides, had it not been for the queen’s intervention, I would have been taken into slavery. Instead of being a slave, I became a servant. And what glorious servitude it is. And all because I was – because I am - different.” The gloves were off. Ruth saw for the first time the cold anger that burned inside the foreigner.
For a moment, no-one spoke. Even Cairo, who was easily angered, and who would fight at almost any opportunity, didn’t know what to do or say.
“Such differences are sometimes very vivid,” said Ruth, hoping that she might make Ashe lose control. She’d enjoy reporting back to Laure that her favourite was so ill-mannered.
At that moment, one of the palace slaves trotted in with a message for Cairo, who read it and shrugged. “Things to do,” she said, turning and taking Ashe’s shoulder in her grip. “Come on, you. Work to be done.” Cairo had to push Ashe to get her moving. Cairo said, under her breath, “Come on, Ashe. Don’t dig yourself in any deeper. The oily little rat’s not worth it.” Ashe allowed herself to be dragged away from Ruth. When Cairo had glanced back and seen that Ruth had gone, she dragged Ashe into one of the newly-prepared and empty byres.
“What is it with you today? You know what a little sneak Ruth is. Do you really want her reporting back to the princess that you’ve been slating her homeland? What’s gotten into you? You’re never normally wound up by the likes of Ruth.”
Ashe shrugged her shoulders but said nothing. It struck Cairo that Ashe didn’t look well: her skin was much paler than usual, and there were huge shadows around her eyes. Sweat had broken out across Ashe’s forehead, and she was shaking.
Cairo put her hands on Ashe’s shoulders and talked to her as gently and persuasively as she would have approached the most restive animal within her stables. She sat Ashe down, gave her more brandy to drink, kept talking to her of normal, everyday things that had nothing to do with the forthcoming celebrations.
After a while, some of the colour came back to Ashe’s face, and the shivering that had swept over her had stopped. Cairo put her arms around Ashe and hugged her hard. While she had never thought seriously about bedding Ashe – Cairo was brave, not suicidal – Cairo had always found Ashe attractive. The most normal thing for Cairo to have done at that time, would have been to take Ashe off to bed. And it was the one thing she couldn’t do. “Come on, love,” she said, in tones she had never before used with Ashe, “Let’s get that swim before Ruth comes back.” She put an arm around Ashe’s shoulders and took her off.
Laure was angry, but for once she tried not to show it. She’d been marching up and down in her rooms, waiting the interminable amount of time that it had taken Ruth to run a simple errand and return to her. And when Ruth had finally come back, it had been without Ashe. Ruth was too keen, subservient, devoted and useful for Laure to dismiss her, tempting as dismissal was.
“Ruth,” she said, “Give it an hour, then find Cairo, and tell her that I need to speak to her. Make sure that she’s alone when you tell her. I don’t want Ashe knowing.” Ruth nodded, happily. She had no idea of what was going on, but she sensed that whatever it was, it wasn’t going to please Cairo, or Ashe. She hugged the little piece of knowledge to herself.
Laure watched her go and then began her pacing afresh. For the first time in her life she would have liked to have consulted with Ashe, who knew, after all, more about the princess’s life than anyone else. And Ashe was the last person she could approach. It would have helped had she been able to talk to her mother, or to Jura. But Jura was the last person… She’d never understand, and never approve. And as for the queen… Laure shook her head. She loved her mother very much, but she knew that soon Lammor would need a new kind of leadership.
Laure told herself that she was being very brave. It was a shame that Ashe would have to suffer, but there was no way around it. Not for the first time, Laure wished that Cora and Ashe had never stopped at the city’s gates.
Laure wondered if she would miss Ashe. A year ago she might have thought that she would, but then she had met Calypso, and everything had changed. Since that first conversation with Calypso, Laure had been on fire with excitement, only some of which was sexual. But the attraction was by no means all, Laure reminded herself. Calypso was a strong leader: she had a detailed knowledge of warfare, and she was strong and incisive. It had taken Calypso a week of talking to convince Laure to choose her as consort. It had taken the space of a single night to persuade into her bed.
“Keep all your plans quiet up until the last minutes,” Calypso had told her. “Some of your court will not approve your choice, and we must not give them any opportunity to rebel. Trust only me. Once you have named me as your consort, we will drag our combined countries into the present day.”
The night with Calypso had been something Laure thought back on almost constantly. She hadn’t told Calypso much about Ashe. Calypso, who had a selection of bed-mates at her beck and call, did not understand how unique Ashe’s situation was. So she had without any concern told Laure to continue to keep Ashe as her bedfellow, and as a result, Laure had come to hate Ashe. The serious, dark foreigner was not Calypso, and this ate away at Laure. She was offhand with Ashe, then severe, then downright cruel. Laure had been surprised at her capacity for cruelty, and Ashe’s capacity for tolerance. Once she had named Calypso as her consort; Ashe could be placed in some other role. Calypso had made that last suggestion, knowing as she did, exactly what role Ashe played in the princess’s life.
Laure was furiously angry with Rhea. All she’d asked for had been delicate means of drugging or poisoning. Nothing fatal, of course, Laure only wanted to knock Ashe off her neatly-booted feet for a few days. By the time Ashe had recovered, the ceremony and celebrations would have been completed.
Laure hadn’t told Rhea whom she wished to incapacitate, but Rhea had refused, point-blank. The irony of the situation frustrated Laure so much that she could hardly see straight. Rhea had forced Laure into an impossible situation: the person she most wanted to ask for advice was the one person she wanted such advice about.
Calypso would be with her by early evening. They had not met for almost six months. Six long, soul-destroying months. At times Laure thought that the combination of lust and anticipation was going to consume her. She recollected the details of their last meeting with a certain degree of erotic relish. Laure moistened her lips with a very red tongue. Calypso was charming: no-one meeting her could resist her. Indeed, Ashe would probably take to her at once…
Laure reconsidered the thought and amended it. Calypso and Ashe would hate one another. If only she had succeeded in persuading Rhea to give her the drug! Once Calypso knew the full details of the relationship Laure had shared with Ashe, she’d want Ashe demoted to kitchen slave, or stable attendant. If Ashe was demoted to the stables, there was a risk of Ashe falling in with Cairo, with whom Laure felt Ashe already spent too much time. Laure suspected that Cairo’s tendency to flirt with Ashe was only a modified expression of her true feelings. Laure had no desire to shove Ashe toward the stable-mistress: she was not a matchmaker. No, she reminded herself, you are a princess who is about to oust her long-term consort for the potential leader of another people, and not even your own mother knows about it.
Laure wasn’t sure whether to applaud herself or cry.
In the warm water of the bathing house, Ashe recouped a little calm. She tried to put the entire celebration out of her head for a time, if only to please Cairo, who seemed to be genuinely concerned about her. For her own part, Cairo felt uneasy and didn’t know why. It wasn’t just that Ashe had come so close to losing a temper she’d never allowed herself to lose, though: Cairo thought about Lammor’s queen, who had been chosen her consort in open defiance of the opinions of the city’s wise-women. That had been when Rhea had left the sisterhood and set up on her own, in the tumble-down tower near the city gates.
Cairo watched Ashe swim and thought about the next few days. Laure would be celebrated, Ashe would be named, and Rhea’s approval – Cairo was sure it would be given – would seal any breach within the court. Besides, who else could Laure choose? For one wild moment Cairo entertained the idea of Laure throwing caution to the winds and taking up with the daughter of their one-time enemy. What was the woman’s name? Cairo couldn’t remember, but she had heard that the girl in question – almost the same age as Laure – was reported to be rebellious and a little bloodthirsty.
Cairo had seen the marks on Ashe’s back, and her hands shook a little – from anger, she guessed - as she shed her own clothes.
Underwater, Ashe thought about the last week. After seeing very little of Laure, Ashe had been summoned into the royal presence. She had been feeling a little lonely, but had she had the choice, she would rather that loneliness had continued. It was humiliating to be hurt. And it felt too as though Laure was angry at her, but Ashe couldn’t think why.
When it had been decided that Ashe was to fulfil the role of companion and study-mate to the princess, she had felt the weight of that honour. The weight let up for the first time when Ashe became friends with Cairo, and the two of them had spent Ashe’s free nights roaming about the city, and talking endlessly. And Cairo had introduced Ashe to Rhea.
Ashe had liked Rhea from their first meeting. Even years later, she still held Rhea in something like awe. Ashe had felt something similar for Laure, in those early days, when she was still overwhelmed by the princess’s beauty. She had respected Laure, and feared Laure a little, and then been as surprised as anyone else when Laure named Ashe as her bed-mate. Laure had been much freer, always, than Ashe. Ashe’s virginity had been a mere bauble to the princess.
Ashe, rather to her own surprise, had fallen desperately in love with Laure, and had taken the occasional ill-treatment and the more frequent coldness as being almost anticipated. She was not always happy, and she often felt lonely, but she loved Laure deeply. A year before, Laure had gone with her mother to visit the country whose borders lay at the far west to Lammor. When Laure returned, she was different, though Ashe could not have explained in what way. As the date set for Laure’s coronation drew closer, Ashe had thought that responsible for the change in the princess. Perhaps Laure was panicking at the thought of her coronation, and the whole process of making Ashe her consort. That seemed the most likely option.
Ashe climbed out of the pool, and began to dry and dress herself. She felt refreshed but still tired. The memory of the previous night returned to haunt her. Laure had been determined, almost cruel, and suddenly gentle. Ashe was used to the princess demonstrating a blend of treatments, but the night before had been… different.
And it hadn’t just been the love-making itself: whereas Laure often wanted to sleep alone after sex, that night she had kept Ashe with her, holding her so tightly that it hurt. Ashe hadn’t slept: the force of that hold had kept her awake until dawn, when Laure’s grip relaxed.
The queen wasn’t happy, either. She had been delighted when Laure had shown a liking for Ashe – Ashe had plenty of good qualities to commend her – and liked Ashe, too. Now, only a couple of days before the great celebrations at which Laure would name her consort and take on joint responsibility for Lammor with herself, the queen felt a wash of tiredness break over her. She was weary, and only knew that she was beginning to be ill. She had not yet told Jura, but it was impossible to keep anything secret from Rhea.
Cairo climbed out of the water and sat beside Ashe. “I know you don’t want me to say anything, Ashe, but I can’t stop myself: she may be a princess, but she can behave like a true savage at times.”
Ashe said, “She’s young; she’s still learning.”
“It didn’t take me any time to learn that hurting people isn’t necessary,” said Cairo. “Sometimes I wonder what she’ll be like when she runs this country single-handedly. I wish we could just keep on the queen, or Jura. Or you, Ashe,” she added, “Although I’m not sure how good a leader you’d be. You lack the savage qualities that war-making demands. Much as I try to envisage it, I honestly can’t see you hurting anybody. Oh, and Ashe?”
“Yes?”
“You’d better change your shirt before the princess sees you. There’s…” she hesitated before adding, “blood on that one. Not a lot, you know, but it’s a bit off-putting.” Then she glanced up into the shadows and said, “Hallo again, Ruth. You’re just spoiling us today.”
“The princess wants to speak to you,” snapped Ruth. “She’s been waiting a good hour. I couldn’t find you.”
“How tragic,” said Cairo. “Alright, I’ll go along now. See you later, Ashe.”
Ashe nodded. She tugged on her boots, laced them. Looked up at Ruth. “Any orders for me, Ruth?”
“No.” It angered Ruth that she couldn’t send Ashe off on some trivial errand. “But I am sure there are things you should be doing.”
Ashe didn’t look at her. She tucked her shirt into her trousers and turned away, not caring if Ruth saw the bloodstains there. She waited until she heard Ruth walk away, and then she set off in direction of Rhea’s tower.
Cairo made her way to Laure’s rooms and was announced. “Good morning, your highness.”
“Cairo. Thank you for coming here.” She waited for the stable-mistress to sit, but Cairo stayed defiantly on her feet. “There is something I need to discuss with you without Ashe being here. I understand that you were with Ashe this morning.” Cairo thought; she’s putting a sexual slant on that. Why would she?
She replied, “Yes, we shared a swim. And discussed the arrangements for tomorrow and the succeeding days.”
“Yes.” Laure wouldn’t look Cairo in the face. “Cairo, I assume that you know the plans for the next few days. Do you expect Ashe to be named as my consort?”
“Me?” Cairo raised her eyebrows. “I don’t expect anything, but I think that Ashe does.” Then the full meaning of the words made her think again. She stared at Laure without the slightest hint of humility. “Your highness, the outlines of the reception have been given and Ashe and I both understand them. She also believes – as do I – in the right of the future queen to make her own decisions about who she intends to name as consort. I had thought you meant that to be Ashe, but now I don’t know.” Her voice trailed off.
“No, but I imagine you’ve guessed.” Cairo’s expression was almost too much to bear. “Don’t look at me like that, Cairo. You’re a servant here, just as much as Ashe is. And you’re her friend. I am going to need your help.” As she said the words, she suddenly knew that Cairo would never help her.
“With respect,” said Cairo, suggesting none, “it would be better to tell Ashe immediately what you intend to do.”
“Which is not what I intend to do,” snapped Laure. “And when I want your advice, believe me, Cairo, I’ll order it.” She took several deep breaths. “If you say anything to Ashe about this conversation, you won’t simply be demoted, you’ll be deported. Do you understand me? And those wonderful horses, that you claim to love more than any woman, I’ll have let loose for the wild beasts to eat. Do you understand?”
Cairo’s expression was one of horrified fury. At length she nodded. “Good. Now, I should prefer you to be away from the court for the next few days.”
“I have responsibilities within the court,” said Cairo. “It will look very odd if I leave now. It would be more in keeping with your requirements if I remain her, fulfil my duties and witness the ceremony.”
Laure considered this. After a few moments she nodded, resignedly. “Alright,” she said. “But from this moment until the ceremony, I want you to keep away from Ashe. Do you understand? You are not to talk to her again until the ceremony is over.”
To Be Continued
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