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Chapter 9
The Treaty Feast
Femira was not uncomfortable.
She was not uncomfortable being restricted in her dress of tight red silk. She was not uncomfortable being so visible among so many people. She was not uncomfortable that she was a sacrificial lamb that was being paraded about before the slaughter.
She was not uncomfortable with all of this… she was infuriated. So when Jaz leaning against a pillar outside the main feast hall said to her, “You look a tad uncomfortable being here.” her response was.
“No Jaz. I’m not uncomfortable,” she said through gritted teeth.
“No need to be edgy,” he smiled, offering her his arm, “I’ve barely seen you all week… Come on, I’ll be your escort. It’ll be easier to have a guide.” He was right, of course, and the part of her that didn’t feel betrayed was grateful to see a familiar face. Without the barest hint of enthusiasm, she took his arm and they walked inside.
“Frankly, I’m surprised you haven’t made appearances at these yet.”
“What do you mean? King Abhran does this regularly, does he?—Invades a kingdom, captures its highborn and then forces them into a ‘peace’ treaty?”
“Well you’re in a delightful mood this evening,” he countered, “I had meant this,” gesturing toward the hall where highborn danced about in fancy colourful silks, “…feasts, galas, parties. You can’t go a week in Epilas without some lord throwing a gaudy celebration because his cat had a birthday or some nonsense… I’m surprised that you’ve avoided them this far.”
“Not my idea of fun,” she said simply.
“And what is it that you like to do for fun, Annali? Lurk about in the shadows… train with your eradite?” he nodded to her earthstone around her neck. Along with the dress she wore, there had been a silver chain that she could replace her leather cord with waiting for her in her rooms. She had to admit that the silver chain looked a lot better, and smelled a lot better too. The leather cord for some reason had always smelled like potatoes to her. She toyed with it, feeling the links in her fingers. In truth, the chain was the first frill she’d ever owned. Everything in her life had always had a practical use. But she couldn’t bring herself to enjoy it, the chain was a noose—a pretty one—but a noose all the same.
“The Honorswords are here?” Femira asked with apprehension, her eyes scanning the colourful crowd.
“Haven’t seen them. They’re easy enough to spot with that gaudy gold armour and those unsettling eyes… Is that common in your homeland, red eyes?”
“No,” she replied curtly. She knew Jaz was trying to ease her, make her relax and enjoy herself, but she couldn’t shake her nerves.
He wore a more decorative version of his soldier’s uniform with silver and gold embroidered notches. A lot of the military types seemed to do that. She’d spotted Loreli wearing a black bloodshedder’s uniform with gold trim, she hadn’t seen her since the night in the courtyard. She hadn’t seen much of anyone since then, she’d spent most of that time trying to figure out her plan of escape.
“You haven’t been to the sparring yard lately. I hope you haven’t taken a secret lover,”
“Thought you’d love to hear I’m spurning my training,”
“I’d rather you spurned other men,” he said with a smirk. She decided to ignore that comment.
She was having trouble thinking that Aden and Jaz both thought the same about her as Endrin… but then again, was that all part of the act? Aden must surely be suspicious that she wasn’t Annali. He’d taught her how to read common tongue! And he never once questioned why a highborn lady couldn’t read or write common tongue, or why she didn’t understand politics or anything else that a good proper highborn lady should know.
“Is Aden here tonight?” She asked.
“Nah,” Jaz dismissed with a wave, “Aden’s family house isn't very influential. His mother and father might be here, but I highly doubt the invitation would have extended to him… Don’t get me wrong,” he added when he caught her sidelong look, “the guy’s a genius. Smartest in our rank without doubt —and some of us studied at Isoler before being enlisted— but being smart alone doesn’t get you a place here, you need influence and we Reldoni care mostly about bloodlines.
Better bloodlines make better warriors and better leaders… Aden may not be from the most prestigious of houses or have the grit to keep up with the rest of us in the sparring yard but he’ll make it to captain or even general on his brains alone… until then, my dear, it’ll be just us at these gatherings… Care for a dance?” He bowed proffering his hand to her. Even bowing, he was still almost a head taller than her.
“I’m good. I’ve tasks from Garld for tonight,” not that she had any intention of fulfilling them. If Garld was going to use her as a bargaining chip then she wasn’t going to let him squeeze out anything extra than that use out of her. She was repulsed by the large part of her that resisted, that wanted to leap at the chance to prove herself to Garld, to prove herself worthy of knowledge of the bloodshedders.
“That can surely wait, come on, we’re young and in love—”
“—I don’t think you know what love is,”
“I’ll have you know I’m quite the expert… I’ve been in love three times this month.”
“I think you’re confusing love for lust,” Femira smiled, enjoying the light conversation despite trying not to.
“What’s the difference? At the end of the day aren’t we all just bags of meat drifting through the world, slapping against one another,” he slapped his hands limply against each other to emphasise his analogy, “I didn’t realise you were the authority on love.”
“Hah,” she barked, “I’ve not ever been in love.”
“Not even Reselas?” He asked, a cautious hint in his tone. She winced internally and hoped Jaz didn’t notice—Reselas had been Annali’s husband. She’d allowed herself to slip into her true self too much with Jaz and Aden.
Femira had skimmed over all of Annali’s many—many—journal entries dedicated to Reselas. The slightest changes to his mood and the effect that he had on the woman, her entire life seemed to have revolved around her husband.
Not a chance the real Annali would have ever forgiven Landryn for killing her husband. She’d have fought the Reldoni with every breath she had in her. Which was why Femira was here, wearing her name with as much grace as a street dog.
“Sorry,” Jaz fumbled a bit, “you never talk about him… I thought maybe at first it was because it was too painful for you,” he said, his eyes showing genuine concern.
“I barely knew him,” it was a lie as Fermira didn’t know him at all, she only knew the aggrandised version of him that Annali wrote about in her journals.
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“A purely diplomatic marriage then? I can’t imagine that would be any easier… but I must admit I’m glad to hear it,” he gave her a charming smile and the suggestion in it made Femira want to punch his teeth out.
Just as she was about to berate him, she noticed another woman approaching with an enthusiastic bounce to her. The woman had brown curls and one of the biggest smiles Femira had ever seen—not as wide as Happy Jim, who Lichtin had cut a wider smile into his mouth after he’d been caught stealing skaga from the crew house. Femira doubted anyone could smile as wide or as horrifyingly as Happy Jim but this woman made a close second on both accounts.
“Annali!” The woman exclaimed and Femira found herself pulled into a tight embrace. The smell of strawberry and the silk of the woman’s dress smashed against her face. She hung her arms limply, her body rigid inside the arms of this mysterious, vivacious woman.
“Oh! How I’ve worried for you sweet girl,” the arms clasping her eased but the other woman’s face was still uncomfortably close to hers. The woman’s eyes were watery, some might have described them as sparkly in the light of the braziers, but to Femira they were just watery. Soft hands still patted and rubbed at Femira’s head, like a child affectionately stroking a doll, playing at being motherly.
“Have they been kind to you?” She asked with seemingly genuine concern, “the Reldoni have been saying you came here willingly?” She glanced a suspicious look at Jaz who bowed politely, “my lady,” he said and then to Femira, “I hope we can resume our conversation later, you clearly have old acquaintances to catch up with.”
“Er—wait,” Femira said, unfurling herself from the woman’s embrace and grabbing his arm before he could leave.
“This is my friend, Jazerah of House Beranth,” Femira said, introducing him to the strange woman. Femira nodded to the woman encouragingly.
“Ah,” she started, a bit confused, “a pleasure, Sir Jazerah. I am Meline Saredaan of Altarea.”
“My Lady,” Jaz said, inclining his head and giving the woman one his charming smiles, “you are most welcome. You are friends with Vreth?” Femira was still holding Jaz’s arm, she gave it a subtle pinch, “—ah, uhm, Annali, I mean… you are friends?”
“Yes,” the woman said, confusion and scepticism plain on her face, “I would very much like to speak to her privately if you please, sir?”
“Oh, uhm,” he looked back at Femira and she nodded to him that he could go.
I’ve got what I need from you.
“Thank you, Jaz,” she said. He nodded awkwardly and moved away from them. Femira found it a little entertaining, watching Jaz be uncomfortable at the strange interaction.
“Well is it true?” The woman asked as Jaz moved out of earshot, “did you really come here willingly?”
“Of course,” Femira replied, her heart thudding in her chest. The woman looked at her expectantly as if she wanted her elaborate but Femira didn’t trust yet in her ability to be Annali with people who had actually known her.
“You seem different,” the woman’s watery blue eyes boring into her. Femira looked away and took a step back.
“It’s just, being here,” Femira said, “I am different, I guess.”
“Oh my poor sweet girl,” the woman’s face taking on a sickeningly pitiful expression, “I can only imagine what you’ve been going through. Reselas was such a dear friend, I think we’ve all had a lot of adjustments over the past few months. Can you believe the audacity of Karalan Ingel, jumping at the chance to be Highlady. It should have been you, my lady. It is only right, you are rightful—”
“—I support the treaty,” Femira interjected, not liking one bit where this woman was going. Her face dropped, “you support? H-how, why?” Meline stammered, “what have they done to you?”
“Like I said, I’ve changed,” she said and a plan began forming in her mind.
“Indeed, your voice even seems different. They told us you’ve been training with those foul bloodshedders, we couldn’t believe them!”
“I have,” Femira replied, carefully trying to make her accent more neutral. She doubted this woman would really notice that there were twangs of the Altarean streets in her accent, Femira’s accent had always been heavily influenced by Keiran being her first language, she had hoped Annali’s was the same, “I’ve been learning from them. Trying to understand where their strength comes from,” Femira said and was relieved to see that Melina was nodding along with her.
“They overpowered our stormguards so easily,” Melina said, “Father always said that the stormguards were the most elite force in the world. That the Reldoni never posed any real threat to us...”
“I need to understand how they are so powerful,” Femira said.
“Oh my sweet girl,” a look of painfully exaggerated sympathy crossing the woman’s face, “you are so torn with grief… you shouldn’t be here, not with these—these people,” she said distastefully.
Femira didn’t have the time to fully think through a plan here, but this woman could be a key to getting out of this place.
Is that really what I want?
She’d already learned so much from the Bloodshedders, she’d learned to fight and use her earthstone more effectively but they still had so much more left to teach her. The memory of her dagger puffing to dust against Endrin’s chest flashed in her mind.
“How many are with you?” Femira asked, dropping her tone conspiratorially.
“Over a hundred of us were invited to the feast,” Melina said leaning in.
“How many fighters?” Femira asked. Melina raised her hand to mouth, her eyes widening.
Oh calm down, woman.
“Fighters? Annali, we’re highborn, not warriors!”
“Are there no stormguards with you? You all came alone?!”
“Well—of course, Lord Ingel sent a few dozen stormguards for protection… but our numbers I believe are desperately low after the attack.”
“Highlord Ingel,” Femira corrected her. She wasn’t sure why she was still doing what Garld had instructed her to by feigning support for the Reldoni-Altarean treaty.
“I’m not sure the Reldoni will allow me to leave if I try to return with you,” Femira said, still in hushed tones.
“So you are a prisoner!”
“Not exactly… and they have treated me well. But I don’t think that I can return to Altarea,” returning to Altarea would be a stupid decision anyway, she doubted she would last a day before someone figured out she wasn’t Annali.
That’s if Lichtin doesn’t find me first.
Femira was shocked that this woman still hadn’t sussed it yet. She also doubted that Garld would just simply allow her to walk away back to Altarea… No, she needed to figure out a way out that didn’t involve her pretending to be Annali.
“What about your homeland?” Meline asked, “I’ve heard there are Honorswords here, surely they can assist—”
“—No! Not them, I cannot return to Keiran. The Honorswords cannot be trusted,” Melina recoiled from Femira’s expression. “You always said that they were the warriors of Justice in your home,” she said weakly, “do you”—she leaned in close again— “do you think they were somehow involved with the assault on Altarea?” she asked, horrified.
“It’s possible,” Femira replied, not really caring about the political implication she was making there.
“But how—why? The Keiran were our closest allies and they’ve never been overly diplomatic with the Reldoni.” Femira found herself a little surprised by the woman’s knowledge, her bouncy demeanor had led Femira to think that she was some idiotic highborn lady with no real experience in the world, parading through life going to fancy events like this one. Perhaps she has allowed herself to misjudge her too quickly on her appearance and initial demeanour.
“I don’t know,” Femira replied, desperate to make sure that Melina did not try to convince the Honorswords she needed their help, “but please—you must trust me. You cannot involve the Honorswords.”
As if the mention of them had summoned the pair, Femira caught sight of the stark yellow cloaks. The pair of Honorswords stood amongst a mixed group of highborn and Femira felt herself tense, remembering the thunderclap of Honorsword Karas’ massive blade smashing into Sadrian Graves’ skull.
It was only then that Femira took note of how many non-Reldoni people were in attendance. A varied mix of highborn from all over filled the feasting hall, it made Femira think of the the night market at Altarea. Where people from all walks of life poured in from the merchant vessels, only instead of foul-smelling merchants and foul-intented thieves in dirty clothes, these people were just foul people in general but in fancy clothes. A Keiran man, in orange silks approached them, a gaggle of Altarean nobles trailing him.
“My dear cousin, Annali,” he said, bowing his head, “I was so sorry to hear of the death of your husband.” He said, oozing sincerity.
Femira’s heart skipped.