“Would you do us the honor of introducing us?” Aeri asks.
“Of course,” he says. “Our seats are at the same table.”
Pride and status ring in his voice. Aeri rolls her eyes when he can’t see her. I suppress a laugh.
We follow the ambassador as he glad-hands everyone we pass. Aeri and I look around. Because our cover stories have us just arriving in Khitan, we are free to gawk. The fashion here is far simpler than what I wear, so I am stared at more than usual. But it feels different. It’s hard to explain, but there isn’t the hunger, the same feeling of being prey that I’ve grown accustomed to in Yusan. Instead, the crowd is simply curious.
The ambassador relishes the attention. He is Yusanian through and through. They adore attractive courtesans they can use and discard at their leisure. Mikail told me there are no courtesans here in Khitan. Because women can inherit, there’s no need to produce male heirs. Just one rule has shifted an entire society. It makes me wonder what else is possible.
“General,” Ambassador Zeolin says. “May I introduce Yunga and Narissa, both formerly of Yusan.”
She gives us a small smile. “It is nice to meet you both.”
She speaks in perfect Yusanian, although it’s clear from her stiff posture and delivery that she doesn’t love these social events. The general is sharp, too direct for this kind of flattering ball. From far away, she looked slight, but up close, her arms are defined. She’s a woman of action. Mikail said she was the daughter of their naval commander. She rose to outrank her father and relieved him of his duties when she became general of the Khitanese armed forces. Her aura speaks of quiet but unquestioned power.
I part my lips to ask about the queen when someone else calls for her attention.
“I hope you both enjoy the banquet. And I wish you welcome to Khitan,” she says. “Please excuse me.”
Aeri and I bob our curtsies.
That…was it.
We didn’t accomplish much, but we still have the rest of the night. I turn and smile brightly at the ambassador as if I’m thrilled to have met someone so important.
We sit and dine on a meal of goose, califer, which is like caribou, whole spit-roasted boar, and other delicacies. Ambassador Zeolin talks about himself the entire dinner, but I am accustomed to that. Aeri isn’t. She keeps glancing over at me as if to saywill he ever be quiet, and it’s all I can do not to laugh.
I’m glad she told me about what happened to her years ago. There are scars we display, and then there are the ones we don’t want anyone to see. Aeri trusted me with the darkest parts of her story, the deep, ugly wounds, and I think she’s more beautiful for surviving them. The darkness makes me appreciate her light.
Yet as the time passes, I’m getting more and more anxious. I look down the table at the general several times, but she is five people from me and constantly occupied in conversation. There’s no good way to get her attention, no means to get to know her.
After dinner is cleared, desserts are wheeled out and ice wine is distributed in gilded goblets. The musicians start—the instruments, of course, are gilded as well—and dancing begins.
My stomach drops. I still haven’t found a way to have a private conversation with the general. I don’t want to tell the others we failed, but as the night wears on, it’s clear that we’ll need to find another time to speak to General Vikal. Every single person in this room wants her ear.
I try to listen in on her conversations, but the ambassador is on my hearing side and constantly speaking. I catch bits and pieces, though. The nobility inquires about the queen and the prince, and the general firmly reassures them of their good health and safety. The queen is popular, which is surprising, given what Euyn and King Joon think of her. But General Vikal speaks with love and admiration in her tone. I can’t tell if it’s genuine or not.
After dessert, we rise from the table for air, and the ambassador excuses himself to use the bathrooms. I stare out the windows toward the palace and sigh. It would be so much easier if we could just arrange for an audience with the queen directly.
I spot a figure at the top of the palace stairs. Two, actually, protected by the portico and a cadre of guards. I squint because there’s a dash of purple. In Yusan, only the royal family can wear imperial red. Here, it’s any shade of purple.
My heart races in my chest as I realize that must be Queen Quilimar. She’s so close, but also a world away.
She holds the hand of a young child who must be her son. He leans into the skirt of her dress, and she picks him up, raising him in the air. Just from that gesture, that second of affection between them, I suspect that what we were told about Quilimar is wrong—at least about her stealing the throne from her son. This is a woman who loves her child.
So, what else was incorrect? People have a peculiar way of believing the worst about powerful women.
“Come, my dear,” the ambassador says, striding up to me. “Do me the honor of a dance?”
“Of course, my lord,” I say, because he isn’t really asking.
I glance at the palace again, but the stairs are now empty. Disappointment and frustration flow through me, but I smile them away.
The ambassador leads me to the middle of the room and puts his arm around my waist, holding me tighter and closer than necessary.
Music starts again, and the steps are easy enough to follow. Madame Iseul taught us many dances in poison school, as we might need them to charm our victims. We learned to dance in the same way she taught us to be good conversationalists and better listeners. To be knowledgeable about the world, in case more than a pretty face was required.
There were very few instances where more was necessary.
