A knock on the door woke Kaveri instantly.
Behind her, Tyrel said, in Enodian, “Yes?”
“We’ll need to leave soon.” That sounded like Hermia. “Come to the courtyard when you’re dressed, pleased.”
“We’ll be quick,” Kaveri said.
“Thank you.” She heard footsteps, then another knock that must be on Mirren and Madoc’s door.
“At least getting dressed will be faster,” Tyrel said, rolling out of bed.
It took Kaveri a little longer than it took him, since she had a breastband to wrap in place to give her small breasts some support and protection, to go with the basic loincloth. She could not, for the life of her, figure out how to wrap the wider ribbon across her chest the same way Hermia and the others did, and gave up, spending the time instead on braiding her hair back as smoothly as possible.
She couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be to keep real textiles of this brilliant white from being soiled constantly. Conversely, if they were bleaching it somehow, how did the deep green bands along the edges, three fingers wide and absolutely straight and clean-edged, stay so vivid?
Not her problem.
Kaveri wound her weighted belt around her waist twice and tied it, then added her own weapons belt more loosely. On one side she did have a knife of moderate length but, more importantly, the other had her short club. She’d cut it herself, a heavy chunk of wood not much longer than her forearm, from the great branch of an ancient oak, after it landed on the shelter they’d improvised to wait out a severe storm; she’d taken care to include the massive knot at one end. Over time, she had whittled it into a hard smooth knob nearly the size of her fist, with a comfortable secure grip, and a balance that would allow her to throw it when hunting, and had polished and oiled it. Some people underestimated it. Tyrel and Madoc and Mirren, even though they preferred sharp metal, did not.
“That feels much better,” she said, stretching. “I can actually move.”
“I’d rather have my own clothes,” Tyrel said. “But having proper weapons in reach is a big step in the right direction. Shall we?”
Tyrel and Madoc had found ways, over time, to replace the relatively heavy and soft bronze of their original weapons with versions in lighter, harder steel. Tyrel had both of his katars, of course, and along with the three throwing knives and short dagger always hidden crosswise at the small of his back, he had adapted the crisscrossed green bands to run from shoulder to opposite hip and support more throwing knives in plain sight. Kaveri hoped that would be considered acceptable. The range on a throwing knife couldn’t approach that of an arrow, but in Tyrel’s hands, could certainly keep an opponent from getting close enough to land a blow with a melee weapon or even the odds against serious inequalities in reach.
The door of every room on this floor opened onto a roofed, open-sided walkway that ringed the courtyard, even on the street-facing side that was simply a wall, which made sense from a convenience perspective and perhaps even a safety one. The two stairways, on opposite sides, were under cover but open to the courtyard. This floor seemed to be largely bedrooms, although on the back wall Kaveri saw two sets of double doors flanking a trio of unexpectedly large windows shielded by what might be curtains.
They had to go to the ground floor to reach the bathroom that had been pointed out to them, which was yet another example of the marvels of Enodian engineering. Water was brought in by a clever series of aqueducts and pipes, channelling it directly to wealthier houses as well as to many public fountains. There were astonishingly easy and hygienic ways to dispose of waste and to keep one’s person clean. Tyrel used wet fingers to comb his hair back out of the way and tie it at the back of his neck.
They ran into Mirren and Madoc just outside the bathroom, and waited for them before they all went in search of Hermia.
The courtyard somewhat resembled the roof, furnished with chairs and couches woven of wicker and with more plants, though the greenery here was sometimes in much larger built-in beds and grew accordingly; a few could only be called small trees. Kaveri assumed they must have found or bred shade-tolerant vegetation, because the courtyard was unlikely to get much direct light except for a few hours at the height of the sun, but it felt cool and refreshing, not gloomy. The floor was tiled in a precise and tightly-fitted repeating pattern of white and a soft mossy green, but Kaveri spotted a couple of discreet drains at the bases of the large planters. A long sturdy marble-topped table suggested that at least some work was done here in the courtyard instead of indoors, although she hesitated to guess at what kind. Several rooms on this floor appeared to have broad sets of double doors, windows onto the courtyard, or both, perhaps maximizing fresh air and light when conditions were right.
Something the size of a large insect whipped past them, and before either could evaluate, two small four-footed shapes streaked after it in pursuit. Kaveri spun to track them, not exactly alarmed but alert.
They certainly looked like housecats in form, if somewhat longer of limb and slimmer of body, but she’d never seen cats coloured like that: their bodies were a light beige, but feet, tail, ears and face were all a very dark brown. One managed a final burst of speed to pass the other and pounce on the target; the other veered off.
“Oh! I’m very sorry, milady, milord, I wouldn’t have thrown that treat this way if I’d known...”
Kaveri smiled reassuringly at the young woman in white and green who was approaching them hesitantly. “It’s all right. They’re beautiful, and very fast. I’m Kaveri. This is Tyrel. You are...?”
“Oenone, milady. I’m one of the maids.” She laid her free hand over her heart and leaned briefly forward in a quick shallow bow.
Oenone, who looked like she might be in her late teens, was on the tall side for an Enodian woman, both her build and the lines of her face lean and somewhat angular. She had her tunic bloused out over the loose-weave green scarf she wore as a belt with the long fringes draping down over her slim hips. Much of her hair was gathered up and secured with green and white ribbon, but artful ringlets had been left loose in front of her ears to frame her face; she had her eyes lined dark, and her lips had a hint of red that, while subtle, was very unlikely to be natural.
“What are you throwing?” Tyrel asked, gesturing to the bowl in her hand.
“The cats get restless when there are no mice to hunt. They have more fun when they can chase their meal, and it keeps them healthier. They get food in bowls, too, but Acantha, our cook, got the recipe for these from an animal physician, and they love them. So we make sure to take time at least once a day to play with them. They have toys to play with, too, once we finish the treats.” She switched the bowl to her other hand to display the object that had been hidden beneath, which appeared to be a small fabric bag attached to a string along with three or four brown-and-white contour feathers, partly firm and partly fluffy.
What would these cats, Kaveri wondered, think of Mirren in her feline form?
“Sounds like they live like royalty themselves,” Tyrel said. “Don’t let us stop you.”
Mirren and Madoc emerged before much longer; Oenone was still in sight, still tossing treats, though the natural flow of the game had taken her farther away. Kaveri laid a hand on Mirren’s arm and pointed.
“No time now, but maybe you can make friends later.”
Mirren chuckled. “Oh, they’re gorgeous. And look at them go!”
“Unfortunately,” Tyrel said, “right now we have a job to do.”
Madoc’s steel sica was longer than his old bronze one by more than the width of a hand, without being significantly heavier, which he loved; it wasn't dramatically longer than the straight knives Hermia and her cohort wore, but the 45-degree bend midway made it a very different weapon both to use and to counter. A newer and improved version of his old clawed glove, this one with thick linen padding covering the back of hand and arm, stronger lighter steel plates over that, and claws on the knuckles as well as on the fingers, swung from the opposite side of his belt. While it did take him a moment to get it on, it worked surprisingly well to deflect attacks as well as inflicting damage. The combination tended to have an intimidating psychological effect as well, especially after someone had seen Madoc in action with them, fierce and feline and lethally skillful.
Mirren had taken to more in-depth fighting lessons from the brothers with enthusiasm. Kaveri had seen her hide her slender straight short sword, slung low, under a long skirt with no one the wiser, accessible via an overlapped slit, the hilt of two flattened crescents back-to-back much less bulky than many they'd seen while still a firm comfortable grip. She wore it openly now, with a matching dagger half its length on the other side.
Apparently Mirren had no better luck than Kaveri had in figuring out the crisscrossing wide chest ribbons.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Hermia and Melanippe were on chairs flanking a small wooden-topped table that bore a basket of fresh fruit, one of bread in neat thick slices, three pitchers that would be wine and water and oil, and a small stack of those little dipping bowls along with another stack of small steep-sided plates. For such an advanced culture, the Enodian diet was surprisingly simple and consistent, though likely quite healthy.
Hermia looked them over, and did her best to hide a sigh as she stood up. “Here, like this.” She deftly wrapped and tied the wide green ribbons over Kaveri’s shoulders and crossed between her breasts and around her ribs just under them. “You don’t want the back coming up onto your neck, it would be uncomfortable and might interfere with movement.” She turned to Mirren and repeated it.
“Is there a reason for it?” Mirren asked.
“It’s distinctive and it’s often some help in keeping breastbands in place during...” Kaveri missed the last word.
“Sorry,” Kaveri said. “We’re still learning some Enodian. We pick up languages quickly but vocabulary takes time to build. During what?”
“Vigorous motion. The word is exertion.” She said it more slowly, and repeated it a second time.
“Exertion. Right.”
Hermia contemplated Tyrel and Madoc. “Since there is no established male version, that works well enough. You are all very obviously foreigners, so I suppose there’s little point to complaining about long or untidy hair. However, please remember that while you wear that uniform, your appearance and behaviour reflect on Her Gracious Serenity’s household. Since Her Serenity is generous to her household, we have the luxury of two tubs for bathing that are separate from her own bathing room. When there is no time for heating water and bathing, there is ample sweet oil for getting clean, and if you can tolerate moderately cool water, we have a very new invention that will shower water over you like very controlled rain to rinse off after scraping off the oil—it’s also very useful for washing hair. Just... try to stay clean and reasonably tidy.”
“Is there something we should be doing?” Mirren asked. “We don’t mind changes. Haircuts or whatever.” It was, after all, impossible to make any genuinely long-term alterations to how they looked. Brief modifications were of little concern.
Hermia heaved a sigh. “Time is limited right now for anything significant. We can discuss it later. Eat. Her Serenity will be downstairs soon to go to the hospital. One thing needs to be absolutely clear, however.”
Talir and Sanur were both around half, though going in opposite directions; Lirit was well on the way to full, the same night as Talir, but that was still a few days off. Food was a good idea.
“What needs to be clear?” Tyrel asked. Kaveri, like the other two, stayed where she was, not reaching for the bread or fruit yet.
“Her Serenity insists that you have status somewhere between guests and bodyguards. That isn’t my choice to make, and I have to accept your presence. But her safety is my responsibility and has been for several years now. I’m deeply grateful that she and His Serenity are still alive, and so are Phaidra and Thaleia, but I do not know enough about you to trust your intentions. I have at least some reason to believe you genuinely have skills and information that will be useful. When you are acting as Her Serenity’s guards, you are under my authority, and Melanippe after me. You will do as I tell you.”
“You sound,” Tyrel said mildly, “like you’re expecting an argument about that. You know the ground and the job better than we do, and caution is understandable. We’ll learn as fast as we can, but that’ll still take a little time. We can follow orders—with one exception.”
“Yes?” Hermia said warily.
“Some spirit-creatures are invisible to humans, or might not be obviously spirit-creatures. If we see a threat like that, we’re going to act even if it means disobeying a direct order.”
Hermia said nothing for a moment, then nodded. “That would be difficult to argue against. Those are threats I can’t assess properly.”
“Then I think we understand each other,” Tyrel said, only then stepping forward to help himself to the table’s contents. “We have the same goal: to keep that remarkable princess of yours and her cousin safe so they can keep doing what they do best. I’m sure combining your skills and ours will mean we can do that very well. We’d be happy to include you after moonrise when we’re sparring, so you can get some sense of how we fight. And we’ll try not to scandalize anyone in public.” Kaveri let Madoc and Mirren help themselves, before seeking her own.
“You can try. There is already scandal, over the attack yesterday and over your presence here. Acantha, our cook, sent two of the maids out this morning to the market, and they heard quite a lot. They were stopped several times by people demanding answers to questions the girls could not have answered even if they were willing to gossip.”
“I take it they won’t?”
Hermia regarded Tyrel thoughtfully, then shook her head. “No one in this house tells tales to outsiders. Everyone working here is loyal to Her Gracious Serenity and His Serenity. Reasons differ and are not your concern, but are real and sincere.”
Kaveri sighed. “That is such a mouthful. Don’t you ever just call them by name?”
“No.” That didn’t sound like it was open to negotiation at all. “At informal moments, milady or milord is acceptable. What they choose to allow you to do in private is not my concern, but the household guards should always refer to them respectfully.”
Civilized cultures really were ridiculous sometimes. But then, with so many people so close together all the time, she figured they probably needed the titles so they could keep track of who they were supposed to respect. Or treat with respect, at least, since it just wasn’t possible to earn one-on-one personal respect from tens of thousands of people. Narcissa probably deserved it more than many, but how many of her people could she possibly have met individually?
“We’ll remember,” Tyrel assured her. “Kaveri’s not good at titles but she’ll go along with it. Right?”
“Yes, of course,” Kaveri said, careful to keep the exasperation from creeping into her voice.
“So, could you give us a...” Tyrel paused. “I don’t know the word. Tell us what we should be expecting and what you’re expecting.”
“Give you a briefing?” Hermia said. “That’s what you’re describing.”
“Briefing. Got it. Could you give us a briefing while we eat? Just the important points. We’ve done bodyguard work before and we’re good at improvising.”
Hermia took a sip of wine, delaying her reply, but finally nodded. “Time is limited and I’ll accept your word for now.”
They perched on the nearest chairs, and Kaveri, like her family, did her best to absorb everything Hermia said, paying little attention to the best breakfast they’d had in Enodia.
Narcissa and Evander emerged into the courtyard from the nearer flight of stairs, and with them was the maid Iole who had been so distressed yesterday.
Iole was as neatly dressed in white and green as the prior day, but her dark loose curls had been drawn back with a couple of sticks with elaborate silver heads, otherwise falling free, and Kaveri saw no other jewellery. Possibly she’d managed to use cosmetics to minimize, though not entirely conceal, the redness of her eyes, but nothing else. She had a basket similar to yesterday’s over one arm, though it was less full.
Narcissa was in icy white with a band near the hems of intricate crimson, adorned with a wealth of gold jewellery, every hair perfectly in place, and over it all a mantle richly decorated with crimson. Evander, as he had yesterday, wore an unusually long tunic with an open-fronted sleeveless robe over it, in a soft mellow creamy white with equally elaborate decoration but in a gentler rich lavender.
“I hope you slept well,” Narcissa said.
“Very well,” Mirren said. “It’s much more comfortable here than at the inn we could afford. The food’s much better too.”
“I certainly hope so. I see no reason why the rest of my household should be uncomfortable or eat poorer food than mine. For the moment, if you’ve eaten...”
Unwilling to simply tell them that it was time to go, Kaveri thought, either too gracious or not quite comfortable yet with her new bodyguards.
“All done,” Mirren said, getting up and dusting crumbs off her hands. The others followed suit quickly.
Hermia lingered while the rest went out, and locked the door behind them with a bronze key threaded onto a green and white ribbon; she settled the latter around her neck and tucked the key securely down the front of her tunic before catching up.
The hospital, fortunately, wasn’t far, but even in that span, they had to stop two different individuals from accosting Narcissa. One became quite insulting about foreigners.
Evander paused and turned to look at that one.
“What’s your name?”
“Why?”
“Because if you wish to speak to Her Gracious Serenity, I’m the person you need to convince.”
“Straton Euripos. Responsible citizen, successful businessman, and head of a large respectable household.”
Kaveri could think of several other descriptive terms he’d left out.
Evander nodded. “Straton Euripos, the language you are using towards Her Gracious Serenity’s household has convinced me only that you are unlikely to have anything to say that is worth Her Gracious Serenity’s valuable and limited time. If you persist, I will have you arrested and charged with harassment. As you have both a business and a household, I’m sure you can find a more productive use for your own time before I am forced to do anything so unpleasant.” As unshakably calm as he had been thoughout the entire encounter, he turned away and lengthened his strides so he could fall back into step beside Narcissa.
“You heard His Serenity,” Melanippe said to the stranger. “It’s your call.”
Straton Euripos snarled something, of which Kaveri understood not a single syllable despite the intention being abundantly clear from the tone, and turned his back on them to walk away.
“Rude,” Mirren muttered.
“Probably nothing more,” Melanippe said. “Not that it matters.”
“Your Serenity,” Hermia said. “I suggest we enter the hospital through one of the side doors. There’s less chance of interference if we draw less attention.”
Narcissa shook her head. “No. We cannot give any impression of fear. That can be read all too easily as shame or guilt, and that could undermine support for the hospitals. I will not allow any deviation from what we would otherwise do—with the exception, obviously, of precautions like the presence of three times the bodyguards we would normally have with us for a simple day of work.”
Hermia had enough control that she didn’t sigh out loud, but Kaveri could practically see it anyway. “Yes, Your Serenity. We’ll just have to stay particularly alert near the doors.” She shot a look at each of the four moonblood in turn, making sure they were paying attention.