I stare at her, mouth agape. ‘You would grant me access to this?’
She smiles, all polish and teeth. ‘It is your duty to refine your skill as my priestess. I expect you to study, to practise, to experiment. The library has many secrets to uncover. You are already skilled at herb lore, and treating ailments. My husband suffered greatly; his body slowly devouring itself after it would no longer be satisfied by the food it could get. Nothing was ever enough to satiate him. I want this child to be strong and healthy and full. It must be able to heal itself quickly should anything happen.’
She lingers, and a shiver runs down my spine. How much did Mothers Joca and Lin relay to Her Majesty?
I explore, a child again. I run first my eyes and then my hands over the tomes, barely believing I have access to this wealth of knowledge. I follow the labyrinth, finding staircases that lead to walls, and alcoves with no purpose.
‘It is a strange and wondrous thing, this place. Thank you, Your Majesty.’
The queen rests her hand on her belly again, giving me a look of satisfaction. She appraises me, like a newly commissioned garment. She nods once, approving the Temple Mothers’ choice. I must succeed where the others have failed.
chapter twenty-seven
finlyr
‘Magliyab, the dayof fire,’ I say, with a dramatic flourish. ‘Perfect for blending into the shadows. Time for a drink and some revelry.’
Isagani fidgets with a mask, trying to attach it to their face. ‘Why do they make the eyeholes so small? I can barely see out of this thing.’
Ris tuts and helps them before turning to me. ‘There will be no chaos or drinking tonight. Now help me with this, won’t you?’
She hands me a cloak of midnight blue, and I can smell oranges and embers as I brush against her skin.
‘You look like a fine lady,’ Isagani tells her.
She colours, and I laugh at everyone’s earnestness, something we’ve seen more of in the days after the wedding.
‘You’re in for a spectacle,’ Narra says, patting my hand.
She’s not wrong; as we leave the inn and make our way through the streets to Umasa town square, I’m sure I’ve never seen so many people in one place. We melt into the crowds, the energy vibrating between bodies. Everyone is dressed in costumes of light: stars, moons, candles, and flames bejewel garments, headpieces, and handmade masks. We’ve all favoured masks and cloaks, our laden bags not an uncommon sight among the throng of travellers. In the town square, where mere weeks ago I stood facing down death itself, is abonfire. Nothing to fear from a little fire. If all goes off without a hitch, Magliyab might become my favourite festival.
Market stalls are assembled, packed with wares from every corner of Paranish. Traders with coloured glass beads that catch the firelight, stone weights, and hollowed-out bones for spindle shafts. Ris comes up beside me and eyes the offerings. She points to the boxes of pickled fish and vegetables, some hardy ube root vegetables, which will survive the bumps of the journey. There are dried hard flatbreads and pies and most importantly the palm liquor and home brew. Finally, she indicates a bright pink flower, handling it gently when the vendor gives it to her.
‘Lotus. You can use every part.’
I give her a quizzical look.
‘Aistra, what do they teach you on the seas?’ She pulls me closer, pointing to each part. ‘Roast the seeds. The flower makes tea. Wrap the leaves. The roots have a great crunch.’
‘You’ve been spending time with Ligaya.’
‘You could learn a thing or two from women’s labour. Who do you think puts those clothes on your back?’
Ris turns to the trader and pulls out a skein of golden wool. They do the Nishian dance of haggling: the vendor tries to barter for double what our haul is worth.
‘That doesn’t even cover the time and labour bringing this wool over from Alev,’ she insists. ‘Work with me here.’
The vendor demurs, insisting the vegetables are of the finest quality, before Ris points to a bottle of palm liquor. ‘Throw in another of those, and we’re satisfied.’
The vendor looks at the dusty bottle and then shrugs, packing it into our haul.
Our cargo is modest compared to what I’d like to be sailing off with, but we’re putting to sea under unusual circumstances. Andfrom my recent trip to the dock with Isagani. From the way she sat lower in the waterline, I assumeSaltswept’s already loaded with some basic provisions. Or at least I hope it is.
‘That was impressive,’ I say as we walk away from the stall. ‘Who would’ve thought you’d be bargaining for more liquor?’
‘I’m partial to a drink,’ she says, smiling. ‘Although I suppose you’re more used to stealing than negotiating.’
‘Stealing is negotiating,’ I insist. ‘How much your life is worth.’
