hanan
Once I have beengiven unfettered access to the library, for weeks I barely go elsewhere in the Bastion. The queen encourages me to spend my time there, and I’m happy hiding away while she throws parties and hosts feasts, filling the palace with people as if she fears being alone.
She promotes my studious nature, and I wonder if she can tell how content I feel there. There is little light in the room, so I must make do with candles and lamps, which are all very well and good except the words are like the footprints of ants, if they are legible at all. It is different from written Nishian, patterns of symbols indicating letters. Painstakingly slow work. Impossible without a key. However, I have been able to find duplicates of some texts I had gathered from the temple library. Thank Aistra for our transcriptions. I have found similar symbols and begun to decode them. I am astonished at how much more I can get done here; those small snatches of time at Aistra were so fleeting.
I stare at myself in the mirror, squinting hard until my face is a soft blur. I imagine my eye in minute detail, looking at the blown-out pupil and the bloodshot whites. I think of my iris like a forest, turning from the hazel of wood bark to the lush green of the leaves. I blink and come back into myself. I look at my eyes again and catch the hints of green seeping away back into hazel. I try again, this time imagining a huge wave crashing over that forest, engulfing it in darkblue. This time I catch my eyes before they fully turn back. It’s a small, useless glamour, more like a game for me. Something less volatile than necromancy.
I go to the window and open the shutters to the day. It’s windy and overcast in Umasa, which will help my flight. I place my hands on the stone of the windowsill, feeling the pattern beneath my fingers. I lean out as far as I dare and let the wind whip my hair as I fix my gaze on a window below. I envision an insect crawling out of my ear and taking flight, down to the window. It slips through the crack between the shutters and finds an on-duty Seaguardian. They swipe at the bug as it passes by their face, and I can hear their heartbeat, their breath. Their hands cause a gust, which throws me against the wall. I’m knocked back from the windowsill and out of my vision.
When I come back to myself, I find the queen standing in the library drinking from a goblet. Her belly is larger, her face round, and her lips full and dark from the drink. She’s dressed in a soft purple gown that hugs her chest and flows loosely from the waist. It reminds me of illustrations I’ve seen of a flower shaped like a bell, which is toxic if it makes contact with the skin.
‘Your Majesty!’ I exclaim, standing and dusting off my dress. ‘What a pleasant surprise.’
She seems amused at my alarm and comes closer, removing some debris from my hair.
‘You are making yourself at home, I see.’ She smiles, only teeth. The gesture doesn’t reach her eyes.
She meanders around the room, fingering open volumes and my scraps of notes as she approaches. She holds out the goblet and I take it, confused.
As I’m about to drink, she puts her hand to the rim, inches between my lips and her skin. ‘Turn this water into palm liquor.’
I hesitate a moment before she lets go. We both stare at the goblet and I think about lambanog, as the common folk call it. The Temple Mothers would drink the imported stuff on occasion and also called it thus. I imagine the water turning cloudy and sweet, trying to anchor the transmutation to an image of the natural world. I think of drawings of coconuts cracking open, the fermented juices pouring out. The liquid changes, and my hand shakes as I return it to the queen. She keeps her eyes on me as she imbibes, licking her lips.
‘You look grave,’ she says, tipping the goblet to my lips. ‘Drink, revive yourself.’
I sip slowly and feel the heat of her gaze on me.
‘Your progress pleases me, Hanan.’
‘Thank you, Your Grace.’ I bow my head. ‘It is my honour to please you.’
She gives an amused laugh and brushes my lips with her finger, wiping away a drop of liquor.
‘Come.’
We walk through the corridors to a part of the Bastion I have never seen, sequestered in the lower passages. We stop before a large room, and she pushes back a wooden screen. Dark green marble tiles cover the walls, the floor, the ceiling, and everything feels close, the atmosphere thick with an aromatic steam of fresh herbs and spices. The queen removes her shoes, and I follow. We proceed barefoot into the tiled room where servants hurry back and forth with jugs of steaming water, filling a tub set in the floor. Sampaguita petals and apple slices float in the water, imports from the Spring and Autumn isles. The water has the same sheen as the queen’s saltwater pearls.
She stands like a doll, arms stiff and away from her sides, and it takes me a moment to realise she is waiting to be undressed. A servant puts down their jug of water and bends down alongside me. Weunlace the layers of fabric, and the queen dutifully moves and steps when asked. Eventually she is dressed only in her skin. She does not colour nor try to hide herself, and I realise the queen has lived her whole life being looked at. She has been bathed and dressed since she herself was a baby. Her skin is smooth and dark, and I grow hot at the sight of her breasts and the hair between her legs. The swell of the baby is less pronounced without the sea of fabric. She has mere weeks to go. The queen stretches out a hand, and I lead her to the bath. She steps down slowly, as if descending her dais, then sinks into the water with a moan. Only her eyes and the top of her head remain, and she looks directly at me. She bobs up, her dark hair slick against her head.
‘Enter, Hanan,’ she commands.
I look around and try to conceal the blush on my cheeks. Near the doorway stands Salvacion, the queen’s tall and brawny Seaguardian. She adjusts her stance, folding her hands in front of her and pointedly not looking at me.
The servant strides over to help me disrobe, and I baulk.
‘Your Grace, surely you would rather bathe alone?’
The queen laughs, the sound echoing off the marble walls.
‘It will do me a world of good to have you bathe with me and use your charms. Besides, they say hot water soothes the body and soul, and you are looking very ill these days. You must not wear yourself out for my sake.’
I wave off the servant and undress quickly, fumbling with the hooks and clasps of my dark gown. I try to fold the clothes neatly in a wooden bench on the corner, but I can feel the queen’s eyes on me. I hurry to the pool and slide in, looking everywhere but her.
‘You have not been eating,’ she observes. I cover my breasts and feel the ribs close to the surface of my skin. Perhaps I have lost trackof time occasionally in the library. ‘I will not have you weak, Hanan. You must maintain your power.’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
‘Come here.’ She finds my hand in the water and interlaces our fingers. I gasp at the touch. I feel something humming and tugging within me, a dull ache in my chest. I close my eyes and touch the talisman at my neck. I feel the queen like a gentle push on a door, the pull on a lock of loose hair. I drop my hand to the water and begin to carve a circle around me. Her nails dig into my other hand.
