Our procession heads uphill. We live on the rumpled skirts of the Queen’s Hill, too high to be Common and too low to have any pretension toward highborn status. After we cross the saddle between the two hills, we climb higher on the King’s Hill than I have ever been in my life. Modest compounds like ours give way to lush gardens and spacious courtyards. How beautiful the sea looks from up here and how lovely the harbor with its masts and colorfully painted ships. Out on the water, sails flash like wings atop the waves. Their easy grace makes me think of my mother and sisters. Tears seep down my cheeks.
Where will they go? What will they do?
The brass-striped gates of Garon Palace loom in front of me as the carriage halts. My lips are dusty and my eyes sting. Lord Gargaron steps down and to my horror he walks right up to me. The scent of cardamom and myrrh wafts off him, the perfume of rich men who wear fragrant oils to cover the smell of sweat and dust. I hold my ground like a soldier.
“Let me be clear, Jessamy. Do not for an instant believe you are here as a hostage for your father’s good behavior. A man like him cannot help but reach for the victory tower. He fights to win regardless of your fate. You are worth nothing to me except as an adversary. I have taken on considerable debts in order to bring your father into my household. If you do not pass muster at the stable, I will have you sold into servitude to make up some of what I have paid out. A tall, strong girl like you would be welcome in the gold mines. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, my lord.” My voice is little more than a scrape.
He beckons over a stout woman dressed in the leggings and tunic worn by adversaries. She cannot possibly run competitively because she is missing one hand. The stump is shiny. She is the only Commoner I have seen among the Garon Palace servants. “Tana, if she does not pass muster, return her to my stewards and they will dispose of her.”
“Yes, my lord.”
He climbs back into the carriage. The grand front gate opens and the carriage, servants, and guards proceed in to the palace. Beyond the open gate I see pavilions, gardens, and courtyards stairstepped up the hillside, as beautiful as a painting.
“Girl! Stop daydreaming and come with me!”
The woman leads me down the lane to a smaller gate, also painted with the horned and winged fire dog mascot of Garon Palace. The gate stands open, flanked by a pair of guards who give me a bored look like they’ve seen a hundred fledglings walk in hopeful and walk out rejected.
Inside, a Fives court takes up most of a huge central courtyard. An elderly Patron man is running youths and men through the traditional form known as “menageries,” a formal pattern dance meant to imbue adversaries with the mental discipline necessary to succeed on the court. Four women are warming up on a set of posts set to different heights, a standard beginner’s configuration of Trees. To my surprise, one is a young Patron woman with her hair clubbed up in the style of the old country. I have never seen a Patron woman running the Fives.
Tana leads me past a kitchen with an open dining shelter where the midday meal is cooking. My mouth waters. She ushers me into the dim confines of a bathhouse built into the wall that separates the stable from the palace. The front space has benches for changing.
She gestures at my shroud. “I didn’t know people still wore those. While you wash I’ll get you clothes for today. If you pass muster, you’ll be measured for an off-duty tunic and sandals, two sets of Fives gear, and palace livery for formal occasions. You aren’t in your bleeding, are you?”
“No.”
“They’ll explain about that, if you stay,” she says as I tug off the shroud. “Don’t go in the hot room or pool; just use the washroom. Take a towel from the shelf.” She gives my naked body a stare from top to toe. “You look strong. Where did Lord Gargaron get you?”
“He picked me out of some rubbish that was thrown away.”
Mother always says that bitterness is poison but I am swimming in it.
She gives me a long look, measuring the secrets behind my eyes, then shrugs and leaves. The entry curtain slaps down behind her.
The floor of the changing room has not a speck of dirt except from my grimy feet. I venture into the washroom, which is magnificently set up with a trough in which to stand, sieved basins hung from the ceiling, and pitchers, cups, and sponges lined up on shelves. Pipes bring water, with levers to start and stop the flow. Because there is no one around I creep into the hot room just to see what it looks like. Steam hisses over stones. In the room beyond lies a tiled rectangular pool. Voices echo through the chamber, people on the other side of the wall using a palace bathhouse that shares the same plumbing system. I scramble back to the washroom.
