Illusions of Fate
Page 9
Shaking my head, I close the window and sit back on my cot. The school is on holiday, which means as much studying, only done in this tomb instead of the library. I have become intimately acquainted with every inch of my tiny room. At one point I charted the precise rate at which the plaster splits, and extended the formula to predict when the next crack will appear and how many finger-lengths it will span.
I am going mad.
I wish Kelen had told me where he lived. I could use an outing, some excuse to leave the hotel. And I’d dearly love to talk about Melei and our childhoods there.
I hate that I have to wait for him to visit in order to see him. I don’t like being locked in my own thoughts. He’d be such a nice distraction.
There is a soft knock at my door, and I call, “Come in!” with a great deal of relief and urgency.
Ma’ati enters, closing the door behind her with a whisper of sound. She is the perfect maid—even when you are in the same room together it’s difficult to notice her. Her face is sweet and plain and round, her hair always pinned beneath a white cap. We cannot tell whether her Alben or my Melenese is worse, and our conversations always vary between the two in a confusing jumble of not-quite-right words before we settle on Melenese.
“How are you?” she asks, her eyes taking in books strewn on every surface.
I wave my hand. “I wish this rain could wash away the gray, but it seems to be adding even more.”
“I miss color.” Her eyes drift to my window. “And fruit ripe off the tree.”
“And the warm brown skin of men who work an honest day.”
“Oh, I still see some of that.” She blushes and her hand goes to her mouth as though she can pluck the words out of the air and put them back beneath her tongue.
I smile. “When will you and Jacky Boy marry?” She’s younger than I am, only sixteen, but there is something in the way she carries herself, telling a sad history that made her far older. It makes my soul light to think that she has found someone as strong and gentle as my cousin.
“You cannot speak of it! I haven’t—we haven’t—I would never do anything improper.” The word improper is in Alben, of course. It has much more meaning here.
“Ma’ati, sweet, I know that! But it’s obvious you two are meant to be together.”
Her dark eyes twinkle with light. “Spirits willing, next spring. We think the managers will let us stay on rather than lose two good workers.”
“Oh, Ma’ati!” I draw her in for a hug and wonder if, had they not left the island, Ma’ati and Jacky Boy would have ever found each other. Perhaps this dreary country is good for something after all.
“Oh, but that is not the reason I am here!” Ma’ati pulls back, her eyes alight with even more excitement. “You’ve had a package. It came just now. They brought it to me by mistake. Come on!” She takes my hand in hers and we run past the other servant quarters’ doors and into her room.
I see now why she elected to leave it rather than move it herself—it’s nearly as tall as I am and half again as wide.
“I have no idea what this is.” The box is made of wood so thin it’s nearly translucent, and a red ribbon encircles it, with a cream envelope tucked into the bow. I pull it out—the paper is heavy and thick in my hands. Jessamin Olea is written in elegant strokes.
“Open it, open it! I have three rooms to finish before midmorning and I cannot handle the suspense!”
Smiling nervously, I break the seal—an unmarked circle of black wax—and slide out two cards. The first is an invitation to a gala ball celebrating the opening of a new royal conservatory; the date is tomorrow night. I pass it to Ma’ati, shrugging my shoulders. The second is handwritten in the same elegant script from the envelope.
Please attend as my guest. I must see you again, if only to apologize and explain myself. I cannot banish you from my thoughts and no longer want to. Until then, F.
I realize only when Ma’ati holds out her hand for the second note that I am covering my mouth, barely breathing. I had not thought to hear from him ever again.
A rebellious anger stirs in my breast and I set my mouth in a grim smile. I will not attend. He can wait all night. I’ll not do him the honor of playing to his whims, nor will I ever again give him opportunity to unsettle me like he did that night in his room.
“Open the package!” Ma’ati demands, still eyeing the note I have not yet passed to her. I tuck it into my dressing robe instead, and undo the ribbon. It takes both of us to pry the lid free, but when we do neither of us can find words for what we see.
Five
I WEAR THE SINGLE MOST BEAUTIFUL DRESS I have ever seen in my life. Set against the brilliant scarlet material, crystals are sewn down the neckline and across the bodice in a dizzying pattern. The skirts hang with a gauzy lightness that feels like a dream on my legs. It’s sleeveless, in the fashionable cut of the season, with a sash over my shoulders.
“You’ll look like a fire-petal, dancing in that,” Ma’ati whispers, referencing the flowers that bloom in the high heat of summer all over Melei, turning the hillsides into a violent riot of red.
Spirits take that rotten Finn. I didn’t have the strength in me to say no to this dress. And the shoes, delicate black heels, fit perfectly with the gartered stockings. As though these details were not enough to win me over, a silver hair comb with the same red crystal accents as my dress was included and is now tucked into my twisted bun.
I am going mad.
I wish Kelen had told me where he lived. I could use an outing, some excuse to leave the hotel. And I’d dearly love to talk about Melei and our childhoods there.
I hate that I have to wait for him to visit in order to see him. I don’t like being locked in my own thoughts. He’d be such a nice distraction.
There is a soft knock at my door, and I call, “Come in!” with a great deal of relief and urgency.
Ma’ati enters, closing the door behind her with a whisper of sound. She is the perfect maid—even when you are in the same room together it’s difficult to notice her. Her face is sweet and plain and round, her hair always pinned beneath a white cap. We cannot tell whether her Alben or my Melenese is worse, and our conversations always vary between the two in a confusing jumble of not-quite-right words before we settle on Melenese.
“How are you?” she asks, her eyes taking in books strewn on every surface.
I wave my hand. “I wish this rain could wash away the gray, but it seems to be adding even more.”
“I miss color.” Her eyes drift to my window. “And fruit ripe off the tree.”
“And the warm brown skin of men who work an honest day.”
“Oh, I still see some of that.” She blushes and her hand goes to her mouth as though she can pluck the words out of the air and put them back beneath her tongue.
I smile. “When will you and Jacky Boy marry?” She’s younger than I am, only sixteen, but there is something in the way she carries herself, telling a sad history that made her far older. It makes my soul light to think that she has found someone as strong and gentle as my cousin.
“You cannot speak of it! I haven’t—we haven’t—I would never do anything improper.” The word improper is in Alben, of course. It has much more meaning here.
“Ma’ati, sweet, I know that! But it’s obvious you two are meant to be together.”
Her dark eyes twinkle with light. “Spirits willing, next spring. We think the managers will let us stay on rather than lose two good workers.”
“Oh, Ma’ati!” I draw her in for a hug and wonder if, had they not left the island, Ma’ati and Jacky Boy would have ever found each other. Perhaps this dreary country is good for something after all.
“Oh, but that is not the reason I am here!” Ma’ati pulls back, her eyes alight with even more excitement. “You’ve had a package. It came just now. They brought it to me by mistake. Come on!” She takes my hand in hers and we run past the other servant quarters’ doors and into her room.
I see now why she elected to leave it rather than move it herself—it’s nearly as tall as I am and half again as wide.
“I have no idea what this is.” The box is made of wood so thin it’s nearly translucent, and a red ribbon encircles it, with a cream envelope tucked into the bow. I pull it out—the paper is heavy and thick in my hands. Jessamin Olea is written in elegant strokes.
“Open it, open it! I have three rooms to finish before midmorning and I cannot handle the suspense!”
Smiling nervously, I break the seal—an unmarked circle of black wax—and slide out two cards. The first is an invitation to a gala ball celebrating the opening of a new royal conservatory; the date is tomorrow night. I pass it to Ma’ati, shrugging my shoulders. The second is handwritten in the same elegant script from the envelope.
Please attend as my guest. I must see you again, if only to apologize and explain myself. I cannot banish you from my thoughts and no longer want to. Until then, F.
I realize only when Ma’ati holds out her hand for the second note that I am covering my mouth, barely breathing. I had not thought to hear from him ever again.
A rebellious anger stirs in my breast and I set my mouth in a grim smile. I will not attend. He can wait all night. I’ll not do him the honor of playing to his whims, nor will I ever again give him opportunity to unsettle me like he did that night in his room.
“Open the package!” Ma’ati demands, still eyeing the note I have not yet passed to her. I tuck it into my dressing robe instead, and undo the ribbon. It takes both of us to pry the lid free, but when we do neither of us can find words for what we see.
Five
I WEAR THE SINGLE MOST BEAUTIFUL DRESS I have ever seen in my life. Set against the brilliant scarlet material, crystals are sewn down the neckline and across the bodice in a dizzying pattern. The skirts hang with a gauzy lightness that feels like a dream on my legs. It’s sleeveless, in the fashionable cut of the season, with a sash over my shoulders.
“You’ll look like a fire-petal, dancing in that,” Ma’ati whispers, referencing the flowers that bloom in the high heat of summer all over Melei, turning the hillsides into a violent riot of red.
Spirits take that rotten Finn. I didn’t have the strength in me to say no to this dress. And the shoes, delicate black heels, fit perfectly with the gartered stockings. As though these details were not enough to win me over, a silver hair comb with the same red crystal accents as my dress was included and is now tucked into my twisted bun.
