Curiosity coaxes Meno?’s habitual arrogant sneer into the more relaxed expression of a young woman who once knew how to be happy.
“Little sister, please come forward and greet me. I am anxious to make your acquaintance.” She scans the ranks of the women with a touch of puzzlement in her brow. There is nothing different in their garb or decoration except for the one girl whose skin is pale as ivory instead of an attractive golden brown. It is this freckled, brown-haired girl who comes forward. Meno? greets her with a kiss to each cheek, then indicates that another chair must be brought up to the platform where she and Berenise sit. Shenia looks toward Prince General Cissorios. His nod gives her permission to sit.
This signal allows the most exalted among the visitors to sit as well. Attendants bring around basins in which the newcomers can wash, after which drinks and platters of food are offered. I, of course, am offered nothing, not even a wet cloth to cool my face.
“Where is your new husband, my uncle Thynos?” Meno? asks Shenia.
The prince general answers for her. “He met with an Efean man who he said was a servant of yours. They intend to travel inland immediately to take charge of the garrisons in the Stone Desert, the route that leads to the fortress of Furnace Gate. Did he not pay his respects to you before he left?”
Berenise smiles with the easy sardonicism of age. “Ah, so he went with Inarsis. Thynos is a bit like the south wind from which he takes his Fives name, changeable and inconstant.”
“The game of Fives!” The prince general makes a show of laughing. “Lord Thynos described this contest at great length although it is hard to picture how athletes can manage feats of agility and strength on such a small playing field. In West Saro our chief games are chariot racing, horse racing, wrestling, and archery contests.”
Gargaron says, “You’re in luck, Prince General. We have made plans to hold a Fives trial here in Maldine in honor of our alliance. I have my particular favorite and most obedient adversary traveling with me, who has been practicing for weeks now on the ship’s rigging. Quite the boldest and most adventurous competitor I have ever watched run. Choose any man among your soldiers, and my spider will climb that wall faster than he can. I guarantee it.”
As our West Saroese allies laugh in disbelief it’s all I can do not to rage aloud at the thought of being ordered to perform like a trained animal. But at least now I know what Gargaron wants from me besides to keep me away from Maraya.
“How can a man climb that wall without falling?” asks the prince general.
“You have no brave man willing to risk it? What a shame.” Gargaron snaps his fingers. “Spider, show them how it is done.”
I’m just grateful I’ve been wearing Kal’s riding clothes on the ship: not as supple as Fives gear but at least my knees won’t get scraped up and no one will be able to look up my keldi.
“Yes, my lord.”
Every gaze among the West Saroese leaps to me.
Of course I cannot help myself, even in these circumstances. The taunt slides out.
“Shall I climb up the figure of His Gracious Majesty King Kliatemnos the First, my lord, stepping atop his head? That looks to be the easiest route. But perhaps you would prefer I take a path more respectful of the dignity of the founder of the Saroese-Efean dynasty?”
“You have climbed atop enough kings recently, Spider.”
Just like that, the atmosphere in the garden sharpens. Humiliation scalds me, as he means it to, especially knowing I can’t talk back. The West Saroese stare, and that isn’t even the worst of it. It’s the snickering among the highborn Efean women, because however embarrassed I am to be mocked in this way, Gargaron is really doing it to undercut Kal.
I shouldn’t care. Kal is lost to me. He’s my adversary, not my lover.
And yet I do care.
As I walk over to the wall and examine the relief for the holds and pressure points by which I can create a route up to the top, a young West Saroese man hurries over. He strips out of his feathered helmet and kestrel-embroidered uniform jacket. After giving me a sharp look, he frowns at the wall.
“On my signal!” calls Gargaron.
He whistles.
16
I fix my foot where the foundation sticks out and shove myself up to the main face of the wall. The hull of the ship makes a kind of ladder because each carved plank is delineated just enough to give purchase for me to finger-climb. I miss my fingerless gloves and wrist wraps, which protect my palms and capture sweat before it slicks my skin, but I don’t have such luxuries. The West Saroese man slips, drops, and lands on his feet, but he moves right back, seeking a new way up. I cling my way up the carved afterdeck and press my face against the head of the steersman at the rudder. Hot stone prickles against my cheek. If I doubt, I will fall.
Isn’t that always true?
From the steersman I reach to capture the rigging and the unfurled sail, and from there use the pressure of fingers and toes to mount the crow’s nest and thence move to the top of the mast. My left foot slips. My shoulders tip out. A shout splits the air, and I grab for and catch the rim of the roof, dangle a moment with legs bumping a spray of carved stars, then fix my other hand beside the first, hook a foot over, and heave myself up onto the flat roof.
Up here the sun blasts me. I lie panting and also laughing under my breath as cheers and a buzz of astonishment serenade me from below. I could escape through the confusion of the half-empty compound. But he’ll kill Maraya and Polodos.
So after I can breathe properly I look for a safer way down and, to my relief, find a ladder. My reward is having to return to the garden and be gawked at while the highborn eat and drink. My mouth is parched until a woman attendant appears with a cup of palm wine.
“Lady Adia sends this cleansing drink, Spider, with her compliments.”
Lady Adia is Kal’s mother. I lift the cup in her direction before I drink it down.
A trio of young men wearing West Saroese uniforms sidle up to me.
“How did you do that?” The speaker has a scrape on one cheek and favors his right leg, by which I recognize him as the man who contested me.
“Training. It was brave of you to try such an unfamiliar skill.”
“Is there a Fives court here?” They’ve become fledglings eager to test their wings although they are grown men and not gangly youths.
“There is a Fives court in every city, town, and village of Efea.”
Here too I see Gargaron’s strategy at work. Our allies are no longer just thinking about politics. They want something both worthless and priceless: an entry to this game. He needs me to make it seem thrilling and also desirable, something of Efea that they won’t be able to get anywhere else. After all, I am the adversary who conquered the king.