Banner of the Damned by Sherwood Smith Read Free Book Online Page B

laugh trailed behind.
    The courtiers watched him, gazes cold as glass, fans at Life’s Ironies as they bowed, but he only had eyes for Princess Lasva.

     
    My next assignment was to learn the bewildering series of chambers, alcoves, halls, and intersections in use by the courtiers, then practice moving through them without attracting notice.
    The palace was built in squares, the serving corridors winding laboriously around, through, and sometimes under the chambers used by the nobles. Servants popped in and out of discreet doors. We scribes (and the heralds) were often on call, which meant using the same halls as the courtiers. We must know how to move without catching eye or ear.
    The first official event of the royal day has been called the Rising for centuries. It was an ancient Sartoran practice, the heralds say, a custom that sounds awkward and disagreeable now, specifically the king or queen’s rising from bed. Sartoran history says that the day began in the royal bedroom, crowded with the chief courtiers, each with a grand-sounding title centered around the ritual of dressing the monarch. Awkward indeed, but a fine way to leash aristocrats who might otherwise be out stirring up rebellion, as this was the only time for private converse with the monarch. The rest of the day was conducted in public.
    The Rising was now held in the Conservatory, the coolest place in the palace, and as the queen walked along the carefully tended stream, the courtiers could advance and request private converse. In Sartor, we’re told the Rising means the Rising of the Sun. In Colend, during the courtly season, the Rising did not occur until the Hour of Stone, the hour before Midday—before the heat of summer set in, but accommodating to late-sleeping courtiers.
    Since I knew court would all be gathered in the Conservatory, I used that time to practice moving through their territory.
    On my second foray, I was startled by the sound of voices as I approached the enormous gold and marble royal gallery. I paused, peered around a leaf-carved marble column, and was so surprised to discover Princess Lasva and King Jurac there that I froze in place.
    “Ah-ye, like this and this. Keep your weight on this foot. It’s only a brush with the other.” Princess Lasva swept up her filmy robes to reveal her ribbon-tied slippers as she demonstrated the basic step of the complicated line dances.
    The king of the Chwahir was absorbed in trying to get his feet to move in a way they obviously never had. When he hopped and caught the marble balustrade to keep from falling, he blushed.
    Her laugh was soft, his a painful bray. “It’s tricky, but do try to just brush the free foot as you turn on the other. Do not step. See? See? Now pivot on that same foot, and you’re ready to start off in any direction. The free foot crosses behind. That frees your left. See? Then cross behind. If you can get that much, you can do a turn, or a dip, or cross over and behind, but it is always the same basic step.”
    “I think I see it,” he said. “Like this?”
    “Yes! Yes, that is it. Now, we’re going to try the waltz. You steady yourself here at my waist, I steady myself at your shoulder, we take hands here—and we’re off! Step two three, step two three, ah-ye-di, ah-ye-di, always turning—”
    I knew I should not have been there, but I was so astounded to find a princess secretly teaching a king to dance, I watched them waltz along the gallery as her ancestors gazed down—among them her ancestor who had fought his on this very site. When they reached the end and turned back I recollected myself and fled.
    The next day I dined in the staff hall with friends from a mix of services. Kaleri, who had been promoted from kitchen page to guest wing page, came in very late, her face flushed. I had long since made friends with her, after begging her forgiveness for my affront at Tif’s Name Daygathering. Kaleri was round, fair, and loved to be happy. She could never