“I wish you would.”
“Allow the royal officials to feel useful and not to feel threatened. Let them go about their routine, as they are trained to do in exacting detail. But do not be ruled by their whims if they go against your wishes, lest you be seen as weak. Meanwhile, assign a trusted officer to interview each official separately over the next few days. Those who criticize their comrades in hope of gaining your favor can be eased aside into positions where they do not wait directly upon Your Gracious Majesty.”
I break in, still thinking of the surprised look on Temnos’s face when his uncle stabbed him, the moment when the shock of his mother’s betrayal hadn’t started to hurt yet. “I would not put it past Queen Serenissima to have insinuated knife-carrying men among the officials, willing to murder anyone she points to.”
“Jessamy!” Father’s tone is cutting. “I did not give you permission to speak.”
“The doma is not incorrect.” The captain has the highborn ability to speak in a perfectly modulated tone but the tension in his shoulders makes him seem annoyed. “Nikonos ruled as king for less than ten days. He was never popular. He’s still a threat with the East Saroese army, of course. But here in the palaces it is Queen Serenissima of whom Your Gracious Majesty must beware. Besides ruling the queen’s palace, she will have loyal servants and spies insinuated into every corner of the king’s palace.”
Kal nods with a resigned glance toward the officials, who are waiting with prim disapproval for him to summon them. “So to begin with, I must confront Serenissima.”
“Not yet, Your Gracious Majesty,” says Helias. “It is imperative you meet Queen Serenissima on your terms, not hers. Make her wait and wonder. Furthermore, do not summon her until you can show yourself before her in kingly splendor.”
“Very well. I will take a bath. I will ask—”
“Command,” I murmur, with a glance at Father.
“I will command the royal stewards to assign to you, General Esladas, a suite of rooms next to mine until matters are more settled.”
Kal carefully does not look at me as, with a kingly nod, he leaves us and walks to the stewards, but everyone has seen whose advice he values most.
Father bids Captain Helias stay behind. “You and your company will guard his person at all times, day and night. Secure the royal kitchen. Let no food or drink touch his lips that has not been sampled in front of you by the head cook.”
“Yes, General. I had understood that to be my duty.”
“You may go.”
Captain Helias taps his chest twice, to signal obedience, and Father answers in the same way.
Yet the instant the captain is out of earshot, Father is the same strict disciplinarian I’ve always known. “Do not again speak to the king until I give you permission. We will discuss your relationship with him later.” He keeps his voice low as a stout man dressed in steward gray glides up.
“General Esladas, I am Junior Royal Steward Sarnon.” He punctuates his speech with so many bows they begin to seem disrespectful. “His Gracious Majesty has given me the honor of escorting you to your new apartments and arranging for a bath and refreshment.”
“Jessamy, come with me and do not stray.”
Sarnon gives a visible start at my inclusion. “My orders—”
“Are to settle me securely. Find women attendants who can help my daughter bathe.” Sarnon glances toward an older steward for orders, and the older man signals with hand signs I can’t interpret. “This way, General.”
The bustling streets of Saryenia and the obstacles of a Fives court seem like child’s play compared to the maze of the palace, with gardens nested inside gardens, corridors lined with paper lanterns trailing ribbons in every color, statues of poets and playwrights flanking doors like literary guards congealed into stone. Accompanied by Father’s entourage of officers and military stewards, we are shown into a suite of rooms so magnificent I can’t help but think they must belong to the king, until Sarnon informs Father these are the apartments that belonged to Prince Nikonos, back before he made his play for the throne.
Haredas takes over as Father’s traveling chest is brought in and a clean uniform unwrapped from a layer of protective cloth. I sit on a stool as Father vanishes with the doctor and an aide into another part of the suite. Haredas does not allow the scarcely concealed sneers of the royal stewards to deter him from clearing jewel-encrusted ink pots and a lacquered writing board off a desk and setting out Father’s writing board, ink, and pens, all crafted out of ordinary materials that can withstand the rigors of a campaign.
Two soldiers wearing different regimental badges appear to give reports and have to wait. They work very hard not to look at me while the royal stewards, also relegated to waiting, stare at me and whisper. I wish I could be anywhere but here. No wonder Kal tried to convince me that we should run away together. He understood what awaited us. And yet to abandon Efea would mean to abandon my beloved mother, my sisters, everyone I care for, and I can’t do it.
At last Father returns, freshly bathed. The two soldiers report that the palace has been secured. Father gives a new string of orders, directing a brisk roundup of the East Saroese troops in the city, then sits down and begins writing the daily report he has kept all his life.
A stir at the door startles us. A trio of women enter. They wear calf-length orange jackets over pale yellow sheath dresses. The eldest wears her age-whitened hair in a plain braid but the two younger ones are highborn women with beaded and beribboned hair in the most fashionable style. The instant these two get their first glimpse of Father they look surprised, then exchange glances hot with unspoken words.
Father rises politely, his steely gaze more intimidating than any weapon.
The youngest speaks to Sarnon, who speaks to Haredas, who tells Father that the chamber ladies, the king’s own attendants, have come in response to his request.
The youngest simpers, “General, I am Lady Volua. Please know that my companion Lady Galaia and I can provide any service you need.”
His frown kills her ingratiating smile. “Very well. Please assist my daughter Jessamy with bathing and an appropriate change of clothes.”
All this time the women have been too busy ogling my father to see me seated against the wall. But they notice me when I stand.
“Junior Steward Sarnon, we are royal attendants, not stable hands.” Lady Volua taps her nose as if to object to the smell.
Father tenses with outrage, but when his glare merely makes her smirk, I break in because I am not about to let them think they intimidate me.
“It’s all right, Father. I can manage on my own.”
“She speaks Saroese, and so well!” exclaims the shorter one, Galaia.