Chapter 7 — The Memory of Spice

My hair smelled of citrus from the warm bath and my skin was rubbed with sweet-flag scented oil. The filth of the past day washed away from me, along with the incriminating signs of my deeds. After the bath, I took care in cleaning my mask, making sure that it was the thing that gleamed most about me.

With the gentle swishing of the wide brushed silk skirts, a beautiful violet that tapered up into grey at the bodice that was decorated by brass buttons, I emerged from the room with two of my maidservants trailing after me like inquisitive shadows.

My attempts to engage the maids in conversation didn't get me far. I had to be cautious with how I phrased my questions, and I received only curt replies.

I was allowed to walk unguarded. One of the servants, Miss Biluria, quietly spoke instructions to my ear.

Turn left at the end of the corridor.

Climb the next staircase.

Oil paintings in intricate gold-leaf frames, sculptures of stone and glass, rich carpeting that existed in sweet harmony with window curtains and tapestries—I tried not to get distracted by the beauty of everything as I examined every door and passage on my way to the small dining room where I was to meet Lord Alik Aspertin. I wondered if his wife, Lady Golia, would be there too. I wondered if she was the reason behind Dylana's imprisonment here in the state of Velamia.

On the last staircase that led down to the central hub, Afali caught up with me. She smelled like me, of oranges and flowers, and had changed into a rigid-looking dress of deep green with velvet trim along the neckline and the hem of her skirt. The straight lines stitched in gold embroidery  only served to emphasise her curves. It was the type of feminine plumpness that girls from Thalmina could only dream of. Her mask was the same one she had worn in the morning.

She grasped my elbow, leaning close to me. "Why did you have them burn your dress?" she asked in a low voice.

I continued walking, without halting my pace or looking at her. Obviously, Afali didn't like how I dismissed the servant. She was ready to admit how closely I was being watched and that everything I did was going to be reported to her and questioned.

"It was filthy," I replied, shuddering. "I don't know how you could step into that marketplace without feeling the same..."

A momentary silence confirmed, Afali accepted my answer. Of course she would. The open revulsion the Lords felt for the People was no secret. It was yet another tool to be used.

"When speaking with my father," she continued, "do not bring up your unfortunate detour—"

I stopped walking without warning. Afali had to lean into me to retain her balance. "And if he asks?"

She fidgeted. Was it nerves? "Why would he ask? Do you think there's a way for him to know, Dylana?"

I pressed my lips together, thinking fast. This would be where I was going to fail in my identity if I didn't find the right story to tell.

"Dyalna?" Afali squeezed my arm. My silence was incriminating. "Where exactly did you go this morning and who did you speak with?"

"It wasn't you...it wasn't part of it?" In my mind, the lie unravelled. I licked my lips.

"What are you talking about?"

"The... the girl, with the knife. The one who told me to... to go and—I thought she was part of it."

"You're not speaking clearly, Dylana."

Again, that desperation. Afali wanted what she asked of me too desperately. I filed it at the back of my mind. If there was something more to her plans, or some secret she didn't wish me to know, I could use that for myself—later.

"You took me to that execution to intimidate me, didn't you, Afali?" I didn't look her in the eye. My words were defiant and backing that with a gaze would be intimidating. "Just when the spectres were descending, a girl held a knife to my throat and pulled me aside. She gave me a purse and told me to pay the steward for the burial of..." I swallowed hard, the memory of my parents' bodies discarded like sacks of barley inside a wheelbarrow stabbed through me stomach.

"And the steward—" Afali began.

"He said the burial had already been paid for and asked for my name. I was standing right by those... those..." I shook my head. "So I ran to the edge of the market..."

Afali opened her mouth, clearly to accuse me of trying to escape.

"I was about to get sick," I said, meeting her gaze for the first time. "In front of all those commoners, I wouldn't let them see..."

"What about the purse?"

I assumed an expression of disgust. "I tossed it aside, into the mud. It was... repugnant."

Afali screwed her mouth to the side. She was looking at me expectantly, as if whether I was lying or not would be clear to her in a moment. "Gold is gold, Dylana."

And I let out a humourless chuckle, the kind that only the very bitter could manage. "You don't seriously believe that, Afali?"

***

Like all the richest lords of Vynam, Lord Aspertin was an impressive beacon of health and power.

It was said that the Lords maintained their iridescent beauty with the help of a special serum that cost their weight in gold. Lords lived longer, healthier lives. It was easier to think, when seeing both Afali and her father, that something unnatural was taking place. They almost seemed to glow, and lowly little me was dull in comparison.

But maybe this was just the result of growing in luxury, like a tree nourished from rich soil.

To have it all from the very first wail of life...I was lucky too, but not like that.

He watched us as we made our way through the room. His face was relaxed, giving me the impression his thoughts were elsewhere. I, however, didn't dare look at anything but him. I wanted to examine the room, look at the artwork, asses where I was being watched from and find any hint I could about my position, but I looked only at Lord Aspertin.

He must have been my father's age, and yet his hair was dark as ebony and he wore no beard to hide the plump roundness of his face. He wasn't exactly portly, not in the way Afali's waist expanded showing that hunger had never ruled her life. He was the kind of robust that made me feel frail.

Lord Aspertin was the type of man that ate all that which he hungered for, without question or hesitation.

I was afraid.

"Sit," he commanded us, and Afali and I hurried to the places set on either side of him. The table was long, polished mahogany, but it served just the three of us. Lord Aspertin's wife and son were not present.

We were seated with much space away from one another. I would've thought it was ridiculous, but I was thankful to be so far from the man who had my parents killed.

After we were both settled, there was silence. A servant glided over and placed a small basket of soft white bread rolls before each of us. Another came carrying a crystal decanter with scarlet wine. Our goblets were filled, first the Lord's, then Afali, and finally mine.

"To our new guest," Aspertin announced, raising his goblet. "May her loyalty grow with us."

I watched Afali as she sipped the wine, before bringing the glass to my lips and letting the deep red liquid touch my tongue.

A sparkling wine that tickled my throat, leaving a fruity flavour in its wake with just a tiny hint of something spicy, like the memory of black pepper. Simarida wine. These grapes originated in Taer-Amoran, but my father grew them to make the appreciated wine that was often sold after only two years of ageing.

My stomach contracted over the sip I just drank. This was my father's wine, and Lord Aspertin, he knew—he somehow knew who I was and meant to break me.

"I thought that the occasion was fitting," Lord Aspertin said in a flat voice. "Do you recognise the wine, Lady Tvereman?" He was watching me with narrowed eyes.

I gently put down the goblet, hiding my trembling hands beneath the table and wondering if they could all hear how fast my heart was beating. "I'm afraid not, my lord," I said in a faint voice. My game, whatever it had been, was over, but I continued to play it for minuscule chance that it wasn't. "All wine tastes similar to me."

"It's a 732 Simarida. Dieder's Simarida was the wine he made best, and now he can make no more. Every bottle is worth a small fortune."

732 was the year Marin was born. A coincidence? It couldn't be. "Oh?"

I longed to touch the three knives set on the yellow satin napkin before me, even though they would be no help. I would try to do as much damage as I could while going down.

"Dieder was the man you watched die today, Lady Dylana," Afali offered with a grin. "And he has no heirs. What a terrible waste."

"But why..." Even if I was going to die today, I would ask every question that I could get away with. "Why was he executed?"

My parents were executed to silence any questions that would arise from Marin's disappearance. They hadn't run, they thought they couldn't at their age.

They thought that by staying they were buying me more time to get away. They made me run the only way they could.

By setting me the task of finding Marin.

Aspertin put down his empty goblet, only to have it refilled immediately by a waiting servant. A cart was wheeled in carrying three white porcelain plates with a lace-like design over the rims and a small helping of some poultry thigh swimming in dark gravy. The plates were placed before us.

"It was an opportunity," Aspertin said, his dry manner gaining a jovial note. "Strategic assistance to another Lord who needed this man and his family removed, while I gained financially in the venture." He lifted the smaller fork and a jagged knife, cutting into the dish before him. "It's still a shame. Dieder still had a few good years of wine-making to give. I have enough of his wine in my stores for a hefty profit, but it could've been greater." He pushed a long piece of flesh into his mouth.

It was a goose thigh, I assumed, and the smell of the thick sauce and melted fat reminded me that I hadn't, in fact, eaten a thing since yesterday evening, at the wedding celebration.

I had still been Yael then.

My parents were dressed in their best clothes.

And Marin had run off, back to the house, to nurse her broken heart over the love she lost because of me.

My stomach revolted against the sip of wine. The room spun.

They were killed for profit—I shouldn't have surprised me. But still, Aspertin didn't reveal what he knew about me. He could have been waiting for me to do something.

Or maybe he didn't, in fact, know.

I was going to continue as if both options were true. Watching how Afali ate, I lifted the correct fork and knife and proceeded to cut a fine piece of the duck. Keeping my back straight, I slowly brought it to my mouth.

We sometimes used stencils for decorating masks using ink staining on bright cloth. They were the kinds of masks that people could easily afford, cheaper than embroidery. Stencils had to be accurate, otherwise all the masks decorated with their patterns would be ruined.

Shana, my mistress, had taught me how to create perfect stencils for my mask designs. The key was grace. If I wished to do something gracefully, she told me, I had to do it in slow, fluid movements. Never stopping, but never hurrying. I had to choose a pace my mind could keep up with, so that I had enough time to see and correct my errors before they happened.

That was how I ate, like a noblewoman, more graceful than the glowing Afali. I wasn't allowed to cry now. I couldn't do anything my body wished me to do. The pain in my stomach grew with every morsel. I didn't know whether it was from the gnawing hunger, or what Lord Aspertin had just told me.

"Oh but father. You should have heard how they were speaking at the execution," Afali was saying, laying down her fork for the briefest moments. "The People were absolutely disgraceful."

"So long as it was just whispers, Afali," Aspertin said, still chewing. "There is no harm."

"But they were whispering next to us, father," Afali said.

"You're the one who chose to stand among them. You cannot enter the pigsty and grumble about the filth."

"You should have told me you disapprove," Afali said with open indignation. She wasn't playing her father correctly. Even I could see how he was slowly growing crosser.

"You need to know these things yourself," his voice was low, almost flat, which made it all the more dangerous.

Afali and Lord Aspertin's plates held nothing but bones, the servants whisked them away, along with my half-eaten portion.

"I apologise, father," Afali said in a small voice.

"As for you, Lady Tvereman..." Aspertin looked at me like I was a soldier-piece on a war board. He lifted his goblet and drank deeply before putting it down with a bang. I tried not to shrink under his gaze. "Tell me, what business did you have with my steward today?"

I quickly glanced at Afali.

"We decided to have a little fun, father," she said with an airy laugh that convinced neither of us. Not after what had just occurred. Afali's hold over things proved to be far more scattered that she wanted me to believe. "I hope you don't mind. I dared Dylana to go see the bodies, but we needed a plausible excuse, so we gave her some money for her to offer for their burial. It was all in good humour, father, you needn't look so cross..."

A vein was pulsing in Lord Aspertin's forehead. He was on the verge of losing his composure, and when he spoke next, his low voice made my blood run cold. "Your little charade, Afali, has dimmed the message of that execution. They were to be deserted and disgraced, that was part of the bargain with our ally, it will be fortunate that your game has not cost me—"

"But the steward never accepted the money," I interrupted. I had no loyalty to Afali, but I needed her. Her desperation made her an asset.

"What?"

Lord Aspertin didn't know.

That meant the steward had lied to him.

"He told me that the burial had already been paid for, by a man with a golden Somaer mask."

"Did he, now?"

Surely, the steward would've thought that Lord Aspertin would question me. His lie was only a short diversion from something else. My coming to him had been convenient, but he revealed too much to me.

Or he lied to me as well.

Aspertin signalled for one of the servants standing by the wall to approach. "Please send a runner to Lord Ballar. I require his attendance at once."

"Yes, my lord," the servant bowed deeply and hurried away, just as the wine was changed from red to white and the next course, veal stewed in white sauce with parsnips and leek, was served.

Imitating Afali, I took one of the small, soft bread-rolls in the basket next to me and broke off a small piece, dipping it into the sauce.

It tasted buttery and rich, the bread so soft it melted in my mouth.

I strongly suspected that Lord Ballar would not be found.

The mystery deepened.

Was that man with the Somaer mask the same lord I had seen in the crowd? The way the diamonds had been set into the clefts of the lower rim of his mask spoke of West Genalia—the Somaer, rulers of the state of Delen, came from there.

Masks, however, never spoke the truth. Who was hiding underneath the gold and diamonds—and what were the reasons for his actions?

Another riddle for me to solve. If I could peel away everyone else's deceptions while keeping my own, I would find Marin, take her far away.

And leave devastation in my wake.