She dug deep into her heart, remembering the brigands, the curved blades, the blood soaking into the red dust, but all she found was grief. What did her mother’s murder have to do with this hook-nosed, sad-eyed boy who probably drew the short straw and had to stand here all night? He was nothing to her, least of all an enemy. He wasn’t the one who’d made her life miserable, who’d destroyed every possibility of happiness, every semblance of home for her.
No, her quarrel was solely with her father. The Seragians had nothing to do with it.
Finally, a key turned in the lock and the door opened. “Come in,” a voice said.
Melia stepped over the threshold, leaving the boy guard behind. It was the first time she set foot on the Seragian soil, butthere wasn’t much to see: a dark corridor and one of Aratea’s ladies holding an oil lamp.
“It is you,” the lady said, her Amrian slightly accented. “I thought it was a trick.”
“No tricks,” Melia said. “Just me.”
She followed the lady through several maze-like passages, climbing narrow stairs that smelled of pine and dust. They emerged in a set of rooms which, even in the weak light, looked perfectly strange.
There were no tapestries on the walls; instead they were painted with the most complex, colorful floral and geometric ornaments. The floors were covered in soft carpets and there were no chairs, only cushions, low sofas, and little exquisitely carved tables. The smell of caramelized sugar and cloves permeated the air.
“We must search you, my lady, I hope you understand.”
Melia nodded as two more women dressed in soft gray shirts and trousers, with daggers at their waists, appeared from the shadows. Their hands were gentle but relentless as they searched through the layers of Melia’s clothes and the corners of her body. They finished with washing her scratched hands in lemon-scented water that stung her damaged skin, and then rubbed some soothing lotion onto them.
“The carevna will see you now,” the lady said.
Melia walked through a carved door into a lavishly furnished room, with an untouched bed in the corner, two shuttered windows, and no personal belongings strewn about. It was lit by a single lamp placed on a low table. The emperor’s daughter sat on a cushion, writing a letter, alone. No musicians, no ladies, not even the ambassadress to keep her company.
Aratea’s hair was tightly braided and covered with a dark scarf; she’d taken off the exquisite wedding nightgown and was dressed in sensible Seragian clothes—wide pants gathered atthe ankle and a soft silk blouse the color of ripe plums. In the shifting light, with a quill in her hand, she looked serious and composed, like a chronicler noting down the events that had happened many years ago.
The carevna lifted her pale eyes to Melia. “I could feign surprise, but that would be insulting for both of us, I think,” she said.
Melia swallowed hard and nodded. Her planned opening words disappeared from her head.
“Please sit down.” Aratea motioned at the pile of cushions on the floor. “Did your father send you? Is he ready to negotiate?”
Melia crashed down on a pillow with an embarrassing lack of grace. Too cowardly to ask what the carevna knew about her father, she said, “No, I came here all by myself to beg you to reconsider your marriage to the crown prince. He was not himself tonight, because of me, because my father poisoned him.”
“Oh, that?” Aratea did seem a little surprised now, her auburn eyebrows shooting up. “That’s irrelevant. Already forgotten.”
“So you’re not going to ask for an annulment over it?”
The carevna shook her head, a faint shadow of a smile appearing on her lips. “You are a great lord’s daughter, a prince’s wife, you should know how those things work. Do you think that’s possible? An annulment because of your husband’s treatment of you?”
Amron had never treated her roughly, but if he had, there would have been nothing for her to do, except maybe talk to the queen and ask her to intervene.
“Believe me, that was not the worst thing that happened to me during the wedding, nor the worst thing I expected to find here.”
Melia had already felt like a fool when she realized how her father had used her, now she felt like a bigger one. Of course none of his plans had been aimed at the annulment,it was just a distraction. She nodded. “There are worse things coming, though. The crowd surrounding the embassy—that’s not spontaneous, that’s my father’s work. He’s rebelling against the king, and he’s accusing you for everything that happened. He will not stop until we’re at war with each other again.”
Aratea acknowledged her words with a light nod. “Tea?” she offered.
“Thank you.”
Melia watched as Aratea poured the dark liquid from a painted teapot into a translucent cup and accepted it, breathing in the fragrant aroma. They both sipped in silence for a little while.
“I know very little about politics, and most of what I know is wrong,” Melia said. “But am I a fool to sit here and think I have no reason to hate you? Does my opinion matter at all, or are we just pieces on a board, moved by some invisible and infinitely powerful hands?”
The carevna smiled into her cup. “Big questions for small hours. May I tell you a story?”
“Please do.” Although the night wasn’t cold, Melia enjoyed the warmth of the tea spreading through her limbs. It calmed her burning nerves.
“There was once a girl born to every imaginable luxury: the most beautiful surroundings, superb care, the best teachers. Yet, as it often happens, the girl took all those brilliant things for granted and soon she got bored with her golden cage and its exquisite amusements. While her brothers went out into the world, she could only read about faraway places and daydream about visiting them.
