Chapter 9
The heady scent of roses floated around the baize doors of the bathhouse, despite her efforts the women of the court still shunned her thanks to the General’s slights. They thought her rude and haughty, but today she would befriend them and all would be well. Thalia had gleamed priceless information from their trip into the market, the people supported her wholeheartedly and merely tolerated the General. It gave an explanation for his sudden kindness, he’d not forced her, and he didn’t even taunt her as much, he even scolded any slight remark that was made about her. Well of course he did, he needed her. But perhaps she didn’t need him, not once she was settled. “It will be fine, we have wine, fruit, and cakes.” Thalia held her tray aloft. “They’ll love you.”
It was like marching to battle as she entered the bathhouse, quietly changing into her robe as Thalia scoped the baths, the ladies were gathered in the steam pools and apparently it was quite a gathering. As princess, or queen-in-waiting as she liked to think of herself, she needn’t beg for friends but it seemed she was wading into the unknown. Perhaps she would leave her jewels on, an extra layer of protection.
Attendants were fanning the pool with long feathers, gauzy curtains were draped around the room to give privacy to the bathers, for all her complaints of the palace this place was rather spectacular. The conversation died as the approached the pool, something stopped her from removing her robe.
“It’s lovely here.” She spoke to Narin, the woman she’d slighted.
No one replied.
“Is it vanilla in the water?” She tried again.
“Rosemary.” Gisella, a sister of one of the General’s friends replied with a smile.
“Come ladies, I’m too hot.” Narin snapped her fingers, and her attendant stepped forward with her robe. “I’m sure the princess wants privacy.”
“You could stay, I have wine.” She nodded for Thalia to offer Narin a cup.
“Too sweet.” Narin placed the cup back on the tray, pulling a face of disgust.
The women filed out the steps of the pool, each pulling on a linen robe more sumptuous than the last, only Gisella remained with a look of hesitancy.
“Gisella, now.” Helena snapped and Gisella left too.
Oh well. It took time to win allies, that’s what Kari would say. But Kari had left her here without a single word to guide her, she didn’t even know if this was the right path and there was no protection if it went wrong. She disrobed and stepped into a scented pool, it wouldn’t be so bad if she couldn’t hear the giggles floating from the other room, she could hear them imitate her accent, laugh at her pronunciation, even mock her offering of wine. But she didn’t rise to it, instead she sank into the pool and ignored the tears prickling at her eyes. It was the steam, perhaps the rosemary didn’t agree with her.
“Thalia, why don’t you join me?” She didn’t have to be alone, she had a friend.
“I’m not allowed, as a s-“
“I am a princess, I should be the queen.” She hissed. “If I say join me, no other would dare question it.”
“Don’t cry Alina, please don’t let them make you cry.” Thalia sat beside her, placing the tray on the ledge by their heads. “In time, they will like you.”
“In time I shall fade away, I speak to none but you, I see no friendly face but yours, I’m a shadow haunting the palace and I fear what happens when he no longer needs me.” Tears fell faster. “Kari will return and see me alive, his promise fulfilled, but when he returns no more. Then what will happen?”
“I don’t know, please don’t cry.” Thalia’s voice cracked. “Don’t give up.”
***
A servant had reported the incident in the bathhouse within hours, probably more from love to her than any respect the felt towards him. But it couldn’t be allowed to stand, even if he needed to drag every woman to her room by the hair and force an apology. His first port of call was to reduce the number of rooms he allowed them to hold, followed by a summons to their husbands to explain their behaviour. They may be his friends, but they’d feared him during the war and they would fear him after. Finally he decided to instruct visors to plan for the coronation, she was the very thing keeping his rule in check and if those closest rejected her then he was in danger.
He found her in the gardens below their room, technically she had free reign but she so rarely ventured beyond their little area, her eyes were red and puffy yet she still greeted him with a careful smile. Since their visit to the temple her demeaner towards him had warmed, she still shied away from him, and he didn’t press matters, but she seemed to be trying. Truthfully she seemed to be a somewhat simple girl, she wasn’t stupid only incredibly sheltered, the people liked her and in turn tolerated him, the slaves were loyal and reported anything untoward to him, the only matter was her brother who had more skins than a chameleon. She spoke of him with a childish naiveite, regaling him of stories of her brothers triumphs that ignored all the unspeakable cruelty he had enacted on the people. She spoke of cities falling with Kari’s strong words, and not the fact he’d strung up five hundred males over the age of twelve as a warning.
“Any news from your brother?” He sat beside her on the bench, it was a touch too chilly for her to be out here.
“He hasn’t written to you?” The way she through the question back at him was always a little strange. “I fear he’s forgotten me.”
“Is that why you’re crying?” He pulled a pouch from his pocket, sweets always made her chatty.
“I’m unwell, may I be excused from dinner?” She didn’t even crack a smile at the sweets.
“Is it your head or chills this time?” The usual excuses, all wheeled out each night when he tried to kiss her cheek. The weeks she bled was extra cause for celebration, she’d have his things waiting on the bed ready for him to find sleep elsewhere.
“My chest, the pain is deep.” Gods she was dramatic.
“I have some letters, give me some advice?” He played with a curl, only for her to snatch it back with a scowl. The no touching rule was still in full force. “Come on you little peach-“
“Don’t call me a fruit.” She never liked his pet names, which made him use them more.
“Take my arm, we’ll have dinner in our rooms.” Gods he was touch starved, but he couldn’t risk a bastard.
“I think I will sleep, no dinner.” She took his arm, watching him with hopeful eyes.
“You’ll have dinner.” He ruled, noticing the small smile. “You like duck, we’ll have that.”
If she was anything useful she was well versed in diplomacy, by the final course of their dinner he had penned a perfect reply to the King of Kesh and even included a gift for the birth of his twin sons. He’d invited him to the coronation and opened a new branch of diplomacy with him, it was something that seemed so simple but to the mind of a soldier was unthinkable. A few kind words, the sharing of some news, things that seemed so pointless but she assured him would work in their favour. This would be her trial, he would judge the weight of her opinion of the reply received.
“Do you like me?” She played with the hem of her sleeve, her brows were creased in a way that probably meant she was trying to translate her thoughts.
“Yes.” He enjoyed her quiet company, she was pretty to look at, there wasn’t much not to like.
“Others, they don’t like me.” Her tongue peeked out as she wet her lip, whatever she was about to say weighed heavily on her mind.
“Who?” It was the bathhouse, she was going to confess.
“Some people, they laugh at me and my accent.” She didn’t look at him, probably as he often did the same. “They say I sound like a goat, that I’m no better than a dancing slave girl.”
“Who said that?” The first part was hilarious, the second unacceptable.
“Just some persons.” Her voice cracked.
In that moment two things became abundantly clear, firstly that her true favour was probably going to be the easiest thing it the world to gain, and mor concerningly that those in his closest circle did not respect him in the way they ought to. To refer to his wife as a dancing slave girl, his wife, made him no better than a common soldier who’d taken a fancy to a war prize. The insult may have been uttered towards her, but the slight was fully on his shoulders. It was proof they didn’t believe in who he truly was.
“Give me a name.” If she gave him a name then he could be sure of her transparency, not completely sure but a little more than he was.
“Narin, Aura, Helena, I don’t know all the names.” A fresh set of tears broke over her lashes, for a moment he wondered if she felt as out of place as he did. “I wanted to make friends, and they laughed at me.”
“No one laughs at my wife, dry those tears princess.” Gods this room was stifling. “Ge3t your cloak, we’re going out.”
“Out?” She looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “It’s night.”
“And the city is alive.”
Truthfully he missed battle, he missed the thrill, the power, the desperate prayers as you crouched in your tent waiting for the sun to rise, the belief that something greater was just a dawn away. But dawn had broken, and he was lost. The chariot thundered across the ground as they sped towards the market, the freedom of the chase settled his brewing doubts. This was his destiny, there could be no other way. Alina shouted something up at him but it was lost to the wind, he’d forgotten she was here.
“What?” He pulled the horses to a slow.
“No, faster!” She shook the leather loops he’d attached to help her feel more secure, as if that movement would have any effect on the speed. “Fast, faster!”
“Okay.” If she wanted to go faster, he’d go faster.
Her screams of delight echoed throughout the night as he raced the chariot along the cobbles, it was such a simple, stupid thing to enjoy but she was acting as though this was the greatest gift she’d ever received. Even he was laughing as her pulled the chariot to a stop, the night was young, the air clear, the moon bright, everything felt possible.
“We are in disguise, me I have no crown and you no helmet.” She shuffled around to face him, eyes ablaze. They obviously weren’t in disguise, everyone knew who they were, but he’d indulge it.
“Very much so.” He nodded solemnly.
“I want to drink beer, I hear stories of people drinking beer and having fun.” Perhaps he should have bought the slave girl, her grasp on the language was still not up to scratch. “We can have fun.”
“Too much beer and we’ll have to walk home.” It probably wouldn’t do to kill his wife in a drunken chariot accident, not when she was the only thing stopping her brother from attacking.
“Just one cup?” She was looking at him in that way, round eyes and a hopeful smile. He’d never been easily swayed, but sometimes he found her a little hard to deny.
“Go on then.”
This trip wasn’t as spontaneous as it seemed, tonight was a festival to the goddess of harvest and he needed a bloody harvest. The last one had failed and they were importing grain to meet demand, one of the reasons he’d needed her gold, and to make matters worse they were midway through the rainy season and the rain had been sporadic at best. The lack of rain to compliment the usual cold was blighting the crops, one more failed harvest and he’d be done for. When you rebelled, when you broke a system, it simply proved it could be done again.
It wasn’t that he was necessarily a pious man, but he did revere the will of the gods, it was that very will that had put him a hairsbreadth away from the throne, a vision given to him on the battlefield that had spurned all this. But what the gods gave, they could take.
“What’s wrong?” A timid hand touched his forearm.
“Nothing, all is well.” He shook any doubts from his mind. “We’ll go to the temple first, I need to place an offering for the harvest.”
And to plead with the gods to keep his rule steady, just long enough for him to achieve something. He couldn’t die like every other soldier, a nameless number on the battlefield, he wanted to be remembered, sung about in ballads, whispered about for all eternity. His name should live on even when his body decayed, that’s what he wanted.
“Me too.” At least she was trying to join their customs.
His offering was waiting, an ox to be slaughtered, but she hung around a small stall as she tried to pick something special. For the better part of half an hour she inspected bottles of oils, jars of honey, jugs of wine, but she seemed no closer to picking something that when she’d started.
“Alina, hurry up.” He kept his tone patient, especially when she was standing so close before him that he could feel her warmth.
“Gen-Tom,” she still called him General, it was odd. She looked around to see if their disguise had been rumbled before beckoning him to drop his head, stretching on her toes to whisper in his ear. “Ask her what costs three coins, it’s all I have.”
“You’re my wife, it’s my duty to buy your things.” Although, it did remind him to check he had actually told his visors that she could order things. As long as it passed through him. “You did know that?”
“I thought…” She trailed off, not daring to mention their rather unpleasant start. “Maybe I don’t understand, oh well. Silly me.” She shrugged, pretending there was nothing more to it. “Honey is good?”
“Honey will be a good offering.” He waited for her to pick a jar before handing over the coins, but when she tried to carry the jar he pulled it from her hand. He was a soldier not a savage, it was his job to carry things. “Anything else?”
“No.” She shook her head, studying his face.
“Nothing for you?” Since she was being so lovely he wouldn’t be opposed to buying her a treat.
“I think the temple is important, we should go now?” Her eyes flickered towards a stall selling bolts of silk, but she said nothing. “You tell me what to do?”
They were noticed by almost everyone, but the soldiers he had sent on ahead had warned the people not to say anything, that the princess wanted to mingle with the people, so they stood in the queue and she tried to make small talk with the women in front who were near star-struck to be in her presence.
“I think my accent is so bad.” She touched his arm as the woman stuttered a reply. “No one understands me.”
“Keep practicing.” He was stuck talking to a farmer, one who was using the time to not-so-subtly petition him.
The line moved slowly as they inched towards the alter, at some point they’d gravitated back to each other, and she was listening intently as he pointed out things around the temple. She had this way of listening which made you seem like the only person in the world, it was no wonder most people liked her.
“Did you visit temples at home?” He motioned for her to remove her sandals as they readied to approach the alter.
“Me? No, never. Not allowed.” She laughed lightly. “But in my room I had an alter for the moon goddess, it was my grandmothers, then my mothers, then my si-”
“Take the jar, place it on the alter and make your prayers.” He took his own platter of meet from a priest. “Do you want to go first?”
“Together?” Even that suggestion had her cheeks pale, outside of the palace walls she didn’t want to be more than a few inches from him.
“Of course.” It would make quite a statement.
If the gods were real, if the visions shown to him were the truth and not some trick to entertain them, then they would bring the rain, he would slaughter two-dozen fat ox’s if it rained, he’d walk from the palace to the temple with a jar of myrrh if it rained. If they gave him a sign, any sign, that what he was doing wasn’t in vain then he’d gift his own horses to the princess beside him. There wasn’t much he wouldn’t do. He just needed a sign, any sign.
Whatever she was praying for she was praying desperately, even her brows were knitted together as she whispered furiously at the jar of honey. It was the perfect picture of a pious queen, whispers of approval floated around the temple as the line behind them watched. He needed that coronation, sooner rather than later, he needed to ride her popularity to the throne. They loved her and they would love him the same way, they must. So he waited for her to finish, only standing when she looked at him for confirmation, she took his hand more from fear of being lost but the people who saw would think it a sign of love.
“Beer?” She whispered, but he was more concerned that her hand felt like ice.
“Soon.” There was one stop he needed to make, a little treat for her charming the people.
The silks in this shop were exquisite, in fact most had been imported from her home, they ranged from the lightest whispers to the heaviest brocades and he wanted to see her in each. They had been married for some time, just over three months, and she’d filled out wonderfully, it was cruel to share a bed with one so lovely but be unable to even touch her. He could demand it, he had before, it was well within his rights as her husband, but somehow she was making herself rather dear to him and he wanted her to welcome him. To treat him as someone worthwhile and not the villain in her bed, it was just a little tricky.
“For you, I make a tunic.” She held up a rich blue silk with a raised leaf design, it was extravagant but he wanted it. “Tunic, maybe a jacket with a high neck?”
“Alina, you have picked five fabrics for me and none for yourself.” He took a stern tone, just enough for her to pay attention. “I want to buy you some silk.”
“You pick.”
Bloody hell. It was an impossible task. If he dared pick the wrong fabric there was no question in his mind that she would mock him endlessly with her slave girl. Now that was a way in, he could pick something for that slave girl too. There was a bolt of silk so perfectly transparent that he had to pick it, the colour reminded him of dawn, a rosy pink with the tiniest splash of amber, then for the slave girl there was a thicker brocade. He’d honestly rather buy cotton for the slave girl, but they were here now and it would seem rude if he asked for something cheaper.
“This one.” He wouldn’t ask if she liked it, he’d rather not face the humiliation. “This for your girl.”
“It’s pretty, I’ll make-“
“I’ll have a dress made up for you.” That’s what he’d done before, surely she didn’t need to sew her own.
“Thank you, Tom.” She stared at him for a moment before taking a careful step forward. He didn’t move.
She hugged him, very stiffly if he was being honest, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her cheek against his stomach. It was perhaps the first real contact she’d ever initiated, but even better it was in public for others to see.
“Let’s pick another.” If that was the reaction, he’d buy the whole shop.
The packages were sent ahead of them as he approached a tavern, thankfully he’d whispered instructions to a priest in the temple to send someone to clear out any troublemakers and send in some guards. It was still rather rowdy with some dancers performing in the middle, thankfully these had been clothed, but it would be an experience. People were looking but trying not to, she was gawking at everything, and he needed to keep a hand on her shoulder to stop her from wandering off.
“What this?” She pointed at a tray of fried pork stuffed flatbreads, a usual snack for this type of establishment.
“What is this, not ‘what this’.” He couldn’t help but correct her. “I’ll get some.” But he’d ask for a fresh one, that could have been sat there for hours. “Two beers, one cut with water, and two pork flatbreads cooked fresh.”
“Of course, my lord.” The man ducked his head, but his eyes were on the princess. “We have lovely wine-“
“She wants to try beer, make it weak.” His fingers tightened on her shoulder, just in case something happened. “Bring it to the table.”
Even if the beer was weak it seemed to be going to her head, she clapped along to the dancing, tried to speak with their neighbours on the table, giggled endlessly over something he couldn’t quite place. It was probably against some sort of rule, this was no place for a princess or a king, but it was actually quite enjoyable and he spoke to some people who didn’t seem to despise him.
“We have to go.” She held her cup tightly, it was still half full. “Look Tom, rain!”
“Rain?” Thank the gods, thank every single god who knew he could do this.
“The rain, it’s strong. We will get cold on the chariot.” She didn’t realise how great this was, it was a fucking miracle.
“I’m sure we can find someone with a wagon to take us back.” He should be here, celebrating with his people. It was a good look. “Or are you tired? “
“No, my beer is full and I didn’t finish this.” She looked a little tipsy, perhaps head ask for juice with a foam head next time. “Who we ask?”
“I have a wagon, it’s covered.” The man beside him offered, almost pleading for the honour.
“What’s your name?” He leant back in his chair, clicking for service.
“Astor, my lord.” The man ducked his head again.
“I’ll see you rewarded.” He turned to the tavern worker. “Beer for all, for the rest of the night.”