Jala's Mask (2 page)

“She's a fine girl,” Jala's mother said, “with a good head to help you lead the islands and good hips to bear both our families' children.”

“How old is she?” asked the man who'd introduced the king. There was some haggling between the two families, with Jala's mother making a case for her niece and the king's family criticizing. Soon the other girl was called, and Marjani after that.

“Why does this one look so sullen?” Jala heard the same man say. “Is this the best that the blood of the Bardo can present to the king of the Five-and-One Islands?”

“Surely there is more to a queen than looks,” Jala's mother said, but there was an edge to her voice, and Jala hoped Marjani wouldn't get lectured later. She scowled to hear them talking about Marjani like that, even if exaggerated criticism was expected. Jala's mother made her case for Marjani for another minute, then moved on. “But if she is not to the king's liking, then may I present my own daughter, Jala.”

Jala took a breath and then walked out into the manor's greeting hall. Her aunts and uncles stood along both sides of the wall on one end of the hall, the king's guards on the other. Her parents waited with the king at the center. All eyes were on Jala. Her palms were sweaty. She hoped he wouldn't notice if he took her hand.

Soon she was by her mother's side, standing in front of the king. He looked different than she had expected. Beneath the layers of finery was a boy only a year older than herself. A wicked scar cut across his shaved head, stopping just above his left eye. It was a raised, ugly, pinkish thing that stood out from his black skin. Yet the effect it had on him wasn't ugliness. Instead, it made him look dangerous, fierce. He stood still and silent, almost rigid, as he watched her approach. Jala tried to keep her breathing even.

This was not quite the king she had imagined. Jala had met his brother, Jin, the boy who had been in line for the throne. Jin had smiled easily and liked to flirt. He put everyone at ease. But Jin had died, and this younger brother had taken his place.

“My king,” Jala said. She realized she was staring and bowed her head.

“Hello,” the king said. He said nothing for a moment, still watching her.

Jala's cheeks warmed under his gaze. She felt stupid staring at his feet, but she was suddenly nervous about meeting those dark eyes again. Nothing ventured . . .

She let her eyes wander over his lean arms, then higher. Her gaze lingered on his lips, and she was suddenly thinking about how soft they looked.

Her mother was talking again, but Jala wasn't listening. She needed to say something, to break through this monotonous ceremony. Something clever or funny, maybe? But her mind was busy wondering what it would be like to kiss the king. How could she be speechless? She and Marjani had spent the last week thinking of little else. She knew they'd come up with a thousand things for Jala to say when she met him.

Jala met his eyes and saw he was already distracted, his gaze darting to the man standing beside him, the one who'd insulted Marjani. Thinking of Marjani's reluctance, she realized just how many times he must have seen this exact scene played before him. If she was nervous, might he be nervous, too? Or was he just bored? One thing was clear, his mind was already moving on, probably wondering what her family was serving for dessert.

“We're having spice cake,” she said.

The king blinked and looked back at her, as though he was seeing her for the first time. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“I said we're having spice cake for dessert tonight. You looked like you'd rather be eating right now, and honestly so would I. I thought I'd let you know, in case you don't like spice cake.”

“Jala!” her mother said. But she didn't seem to know what to do. She couldn't yell in front of the king and his family, not without making Jala's rudeness worse. Jala wasn't sure if she was being rude or flirting. Possibly a little of both. But she had his attention now.

“I do, in fact, like spice cake,” he said, and there was a hint of a smile on his face now. “So, Jala. What are your feelings on spice cake? Or if that's too personal, your thoughts on dessert in general.”

It was completely ridiculous to be talking about cake right now, but of course it wasn't about cake. It was about saying anything to keep the moment from ending. She wanted to talk to him again, even as part of her wanted to run and hide. This wasn't at all the way her mother said she was supposed to behave, but it didn't matter. She was talking to the king, and she wanted him to keep looking at her the way he was now. That look that was halfway between amused and arrested. Neither of them looked away.

“I like cake well enough,” she said. “But I like dancing more. Well, actually it depends on the cake . . . and on the dancing partner. There's a dance tonight, of course, and we have the best drummers you've ever heard. If you think you can keep up, you should ask me to dance.”

The king smiled widely now. “I think I will.”

The king was led away to his quarters, with his family trailing behind. Then the Bardo family's calm order dissolved, and everyone rushed to prepare for the dance. Jala stood in the center of it all, taking in sweet, slow breaths. In the middle of the floor, several large circles were being drawn. A little girl laughed as she helped to throw chalk onto the floor. It hung in the air and made Jala cough.

The commotion was like the distant wind, the chatter and cries of her family like the surf. She heard it one moment and forgot about it the next. Yes, it was true, the king always chose one daughter from each island to dance with. But he wanted to dance with her. She had seen it in his smile, in his voice, in those brown eyes that had watched her so intently.

“Come
on
.” Marjani pulled her out of the hall and up to their rooms. “We have to get you into something you can dance in. I can't believe you did that. What did your mother say?”

“She hasn't said anything yet. I'm sure it's going to depend on whether I fall on my face during the dance.”

Marjani helped Jala into a simpler dress, a strip of silk pulled low around her chest and a skirt decorated with bright flowers from the Bluesun Peninsula. She slipped a hoop of gold through Jala's left ear; the other Jala kept free.

Jala's mother arrived, looked her over, and nodded her approval. She leaned in close to Jala's ear. “Your little game has worked for now, but don't be a fool and think you've won. He clearly finds you charming, but the uncle, Lord Inas, is not happy the boy asked you to dance. He'll be watching you closely. If the king asks you to walk alone with him, be sure to hesitate before accepting. If he kisses you, you must push him away, but not too hard. Otherwise he'll think you don't find him attractive. You must leave him wanting more.”

“I know. I practiced with Marjani.” Jala wasn't sure she wanted to do any such thing. She didn't like the thought of being that way herself. And why should she hide what she thought or what she wanted? He might be a king, but Jala wanted to be a queen. It was a good thing her mother couldn't watch her too closely tonight. There were other guests to look after.

Her mother whisked her out of the room and back to the main hall, with Marjani trailing after. Jala could hear the murmur of the guests waiting for the dance to begin. A few stray beats reverberated through the brick walls as the drummers warmed up.

She sat down at the head table, while her parents and Marjani took their places on the other side of the table. King Azi was seated next to Jala, and his sleeve brushed against her arm as he sat. Like her father, the king was now dressed in a simple robe that hung loosely over his body. He wore golden rings around his wrists and ankles.

From across the table, Marjani batted her eyes at Jala and puckered her lips like a fish. Jala choked on a laugh and kicked her friend under the table. At least, she
hoped
that was Marjani's leg. She faced the king, but she still saw Marjani making faces from the corner of her eye. Deep breaths. Giggling uncontrollably was not going to make a good impression. Marjani was going to pay for this later.

“Will you be competing in the wind-dance, my king?” Jala asked.

The king nodded, his smile widening. “I've heard your father is a tough man to beat. I'm looking forward to it. Though to be honest, it may not be much of a show. I haven't had a chance to wind-dance since Jin . . . since I was called off ship.”

Jala winced.
Nice work. I'm sure you're the first girl that tried to charm him by reminding him of his dead brother.

The king looked over at Jala's father. “I hope you won't embarrass me too much, Lord Mosi.”

Jala's father grinned. “There's nothing embarrassing about losing to a master.”

Servants set pitchers of palm wine on the tables, along with more exotic drinks: grape wine in two colors, beer made from barley and ginger, and liquor made from peppers that one of the ships had stumbled onto in the Autumn Lands.

“Be careful with it, my lord,” Jala's father told the king's uncle, Lord Inas, pointing at the green-hued pepper liquor. “It's like drinking the fire mountain's piss. It burns your throat, then your belly, then your brain. You feel like a god and walk like a fish.” He stood. “Bardo and Kayet, welcome. Today we celebrate the rise of a new king and, I hope, the rise of our two families as one. By the king's will, together our two families will lead the Five-and-One ahead to days of even greater splendor. And now, my friends, let's eat and dance!”

It was just like her father to start with something so presumptuous. The Bardo cheered and began to eat, but she saw Lord Inas scowl. The king offered Jala half of an orange, and she took it, glad to have something to keep her hands busy. Just the smell of the pepper liquor made Jala's eyes water, so she stuck to white wine.

The center of the floor had been cleared for dancing once everyone had eaten, but for now a storyteller took to the center. She bowed first to the king, then to Jala's parents. But when she spoke, she smiled broadly and turned in place, including all the guests. “What story shall we hear? The wedding of Ipo of the Bardo and the hurricane Inok that would have washed away all the islands if not for their love?”

“Ipo was Kayet, not Bardo,” one of the Kayet guests called out good-naturedly.

“Then everyone has heard the story wrong,” the storyteller said with a slight bow. “But if that doesn't please you, what about the meeting of Baya and Kai, who would later sail across the Great Ocean in the first grayship? Perhaps I could tell of one of the Three Nights of King Badru and the sailor Jamil?”

This last caused a few laughs and giggles. The Three Nights were bittersweet and erotic, and would have been more appropriate at a wedding or repeated between friends or lovers. She'd heard two of three nights told by her older cousins, and had thought about them more than once lying awake at night. She snuck a glance at the king and was glad there was no way for him to see how hot her face felt. Maybe the wine wasn't a good idea. Maybe sitting so close to him wasn't a good idea. That story was definitely not a good idea.

People shouted out their favorite from the options the teller had given, and others she hadn't mentioned. But Lord Inas's voice silenced them. “Tell us of the Lone Isle and the Fire Mountain, and the family whose name no teller can tell.”

Heads turned, and more than one whisper could be heard over the drum. The stories of the Three Nights might be a little risqué, but after all, the king was supposed to be picking a wife, so it was only a little presumptuous. The story Lord Inas had asked for was old and dark and bloody, and had no place at a feast like this.

But the teller showed no surprise or hesitation. Lord Inas and the Kayet were guests, and the choice was theirs if they insisted on it. “Very well, my lord,” she said, and began to speak of a time before the families had united the Five-and-One Islands under a king and queen. A time when there were six families instead of five, and they warred amongst themselves.

“The fire mountain was known then as the Green Mountain, for it was lush with trees, and on these trees grew every fruit from every land in all the world. Every fruit but the fruit of life that makes a man immortal, for that can no longer be found in the living world.

“Though no reef grew around the Lone Isle even then, and the Sixth Family had no ships with which to raid the mainland or make war on the other families, they were left alone in peace. Because there was one more fruit that grew on the mountain: the fruit of secrets, a fruit sweet as wine and bitter as roots, and when they ate from it they heard the whispers of fire and wind and water and learned the ways of sorcery and magic. They called down storms and raised great waves. They saw far-off places and heard the songs of whales beneath the Great Ocean. It's even said they gave the birds of the Five-and-One the tongues of men and women so they could repeat our words.