The Grass King’s Concubine (38 page)

They could talk to Marcellan. He taught them more and more words, one by one, until their heads seemed full of them, jostling. “So many,” Julana wondered.

“Man shape needs them,” Yelena said. “No whiskers. No tails. Flat ears and stiff bodies.”

“Poor men,” said Julana, and nuzzled her way into the crook of Marcellan’s arm.

He petted them and fed them, let them distract him from his work of writing. He took time to teach them and watch them, turning down offers from bannermen and clerks to walk in the gardens or watch drills or dances.

At the end of one day he bestowed on them something they had never before possessed: names.

They had never had need of names before this. They were who they were, twins, fitch-women, sisters. They knew each other by scent, by taste, and it had never occurred to them that anyone else might want to distinguish between them. The Grass King knew them, perhaps; they did not know. To everyone else they were a two, a pair, a them. Even to themselves they had always been more
we
than
I
. They did not think of others in terms of names, for that matter. They made their distinctions by scent, by motion and shape and timbre of voice. Their world was layered, and names were but small things within it.

They had, of course, observed, that human shape tended toward a love of labels. Courtiers and servants had names or, at least, labels.
Nineteenth Undergroom.
Lady of the Red-Beaded Sleeves.
Overseer of Small Fruits. Clerk to the Chambers of the Lesser Concubines.
Such labels held little meaning for the twins, save insofar as they dictated where a given individual might be expected to be found and what they might be doing. For themselves, they had neither specific place, nor specific duties. “We sleep and we run,” said Julana, “we inquire and we hide.”

“We listen.”

“We loiter.”

“We taste and test.”

“Gnaw and nibble.”

“We steal. We borrow.”

“We bite.”

They were a scurry, an impulse, a flurry. They were the twinkle in the Grass King’s eye and the riffle in the arras, the shadow under the chest and the flash of teeth in the darkened corner, the scourge of the granary keepers and pantry masters. They were themselves, and that had always been sufficient.

And yet…In their new flesh, their new form, they found themselves isolated, cut off from their subtle language of smell and twitch and texture. Man shape defined itself via sight and voice. In Marcellan’s mirror, they examined their new bodies, the scrawny limbs and sallow skins, the dense brushy hair and feral eyes. Julana bared her square new teeth at herself and spat. “Not sharp. Not scary.” She turned to her sister and saw her concern reflected back at her. Saw, not scented. She said, “Clumsy. Limited.” They did not look like the courtiers with their loam-warm complexions and lush shining hair. They did not look like the bannermen, compact and active and tinged by the elements of their banners. They did not look like the Grass King, who was square and strong, his skin like the richest earth, his eyes full of the age of stone. They were raw and angular and new. Side by side, gazing into the mirror, they were identical and yet different, themselves translated. “Yelena,” said Marcellan, from behind them, “and Julana.”

They turned to look at him, black eyes meeting his, furrows forming between their strong identical brows. He said, “There are two of you, like the moons. You belong together; you each define the other, like Mothmoon and Handmoon.”

The twins barely knew the moons, though they had seen them remote in the night sky when they had traveled with the Grass King to WorldAbove. The moons’ light did not filter through into WorldBelow. They belonged to another
sphere, to WorldOver and the Emperor of Air. Yelena said, “Not moons. Moons don’t belong to the Grass King.”

“No,” Marcellan said.

“We are not like moons,” Julana said.

“No,” said Marcellan again, “and yes.” The twins put their heads to one side, watching him. He continued, “You are not like the moons. You are small and dark, you live in earth. But there are two of you, like the moons. You are more than you seem. You are something I don’t know.”

The twins did not understand. They stared at him. Julana’s fingers curled and uncurled. Yelena gnawed on her underlip. Marcellan said, “There are men in my world who study the moons, watch them. And they say that the moons have two sides, the one we can see and another, a hidden one, and that each side needs the other. They call those sides the
yelen
and the
julan
, the seen and the unseen. Two moons, two sides, always together. Like you two.”

The twins looked at one another. Two. Two of them. Two natures. Two sides. Slowly, Yelena nodded. “Yelena,” she said, tasting the name. It fit her tongue, rolling smooth and clean across it.

Her sister hesitated. The words caught at her, prickled her skin, ruffling its fine dark hairs. Her tongue felt heavy and strange as she tried out the shape. “Julana.” It was thick and rich, rounded. Her hand folded into Yelena’s, seeking comfort and found her twin steady and calm. Julana straightened, smiled. “Julana.”

The Courtyard of the Cadre

“T
HIS IS NOT YOUR PLACE, HUMAN THING.”

Aude released the door handle and turned. The knife was solid and reassuring at her waist. She lifted her chin and said, “I don’t care to be addressed that way. I thought I’d told you.”

“I’m not concerned with your preferences.” Sujien stood maybe three feet away, unveiled, hand on his sword hilt. His eyes were narrowed, his mouth set.

“Well, I am.” She had a door at her back, the warrior statues to either side. If he chose to come at her, she could duck behind them. If she could open the door…He had reach and doubtless many years of experience. She would not dwell on that. It would not help. She said, “My rooms are boring. I decided to explore.”

“That isn’t your right.”

“Your colleagues didn’t seem to think so.” It was not perhaps the truth. It would do. If the Cadre began to disagree, that could be turned to her advantage. “They were perfectly happy for me to leave my courtyard.”

“It is not,” said Sujien, “your courtyard.”

“Ah, yes. Your Concubine’s Courtyard.” Aude made herself smile at him, as she would at a social nuisance. He bared his teeth at her. “I imagine she was allowed out. I thought I’d emulate her.”

He released his sword hilt and made a grab for her. She
sidestepped into the space behind one of the statues and drew her knife. If she could keep him close, if she kept to this cramped area, his sword would be too long, too clumsy. She said, “Perhaps you’d like to show me around. Liyan gave me a tour of his workshop.”

A tic twitched in Sujien’s cheek. His hands balled. Aude swallowed and tightened her hold on her knife. He said, “Liyan is insane.”

He might be right about that. She could not imagine it would help her to agree with him. Instead she said, “So it isn’t insane to keep trying to kill someone?”

His face worked. Then, abruptly, he folded his arms and stepped back. “I’m not trying to kill you.”

“You could’ve fooled me.”

“It’s not your place to question me. To wander around.”

“Why not?” Still gripping her knife, she stepped out from her alcove. “You take me captive without reason, you abuse me and lock me up. You won’t explain. I haven’t seen a…” What was it that became of captives? She was not sure. “A senior officer or a list of offenses or any of my family.” Her reading had not taken in the details of justice in the two cities. When the Vicomte de Malvoix had crossed the regent two years ago, he had been banished to his country estates. Those who fell into debt were imprisoned until their relatives stepped forward to redeem them. Those who stole from their employers in the Brass City were whipped or branded and imprisoned. What became of the Eschappés if they were caught? She did not know, and the pamphlets spoke only of dark abuses and deprivations. She had walked past the heavy smoke-black walls of the Grand Silence, the massive prison that stood on the left bank of the lower arm of the river in the depths of the Brass City. She had never thought to ask what passed behind its defenses. She had assumed that those within merited their captivity, had she thought about it at all. She had certainly assumed that they would have rights, as she had in the Silver City.

Jehan would know. She ought to have asked him. He would defend her if he were here with her. He would know
how to use the knife. She looked at Sujien and said, “I don’t understand what you want.”

“I told you. Restoration.”

“I don’t know what that means. I haven’t taken anything.”

“You stole our water.”

“What?” Surprise brought her forward, hands dropping to her sides. “But I’ve never been here before. That’s stupid.”

His hand snaked out, grasping her right wrist, clamping down. The knife began to slide as her fingers trembled. He stepped in close and she flung up her other hand between them and he seized that, too. Into her face, he said, “Enough.” His breath was hot and dry. She struggled, pulling backward, and he shook his head. When she tried to kick, he sidestepped and transferred both her wrists into one of his hands. With the other, he gathered her knife, tucking it into his tunic, and then opened the door. “Come.”

She hooked a foot behind the doorframe, leaning all her weight back and away from him. He shook her. Around her wrists, his grip was ice-cold. It took him just one sharp tug to break her hold, dragging her staggering after him into the room. It was some kind of gallery, long and low, with an arched ceiling. A series of niches studded both of the long sides. Her feet skidded and slipped on the tiled floor. Yard by yard he dragged her, past stone guards and alabaster vases, carved benches and tall cabinets. Halfway along, she stumbled and dropped heavily to her knees. Pain jarred through her, and she set her teeth against a cry. He yanked her to her feet and shook her again. “Stop fighting.”

“Let go of me.”

He shook his head, glaring at her. Then he took her wrists once again in both hands, pulling her in front of him. For an instant, he let the left one go, and she struggled harder. He jerked her right arm up behind her back, and this time she did cry out. Before she could recover, her left one was recaptured and likewise twisted and held. He shoved her forward, propelling her ahead of him on down the gallery.

It ended in a curtained arch. The beads bounced, stinging her face as he shoved her through. It gave onto a seven-sided chamber, with a deep bathing pool at its center and six further archways leading away. Sujien pushed her through the third arch. Another lash of beads, and she was in a warm square chamber, walls washed blue and pale gray. Cushions sat around a low table; two chests and a low cupboard stood against the walls. A small staircase led upward from one corner. Sujien gave her one last push and released her, sending her sprawling to the floor. Her shoulder slammed into the edge of the table. She lay there, gasping, vision blank with shock and pain.

A cupboard door opened and closed; liquid poured. Then Sujien once again had hold of her, pulling her to her knees. She bit her lip. He pushed something into her hand and stood back. He said, “Drink that.”

She blinked, still shivering with pain. He had handed her a small porcelain cup holding a few mouthfuls of some golden liquid. She sniffed at it, smelled herbs. She did not taste it.

“It’s not poison.” He stared at her for a moment, then sighed. From a fat jar, he poured another cupful and drank it. “See?” He held out the empty cup. “Drink.”

Slowly, reluctantly, she raised the cup to her lips and took a cautious sip. Spirits of some kind, harsh and aromatic on her throat, stronger than she was used to. She coughed and set the cup down on the table.

He sat down opposite her. Taking her knife from inside his tunic, he set it on the table before him. Then he spun it so the hilt faced her, and pushed it across the table. “Keep it. If Liyan chose to give it to you, it isn’t for me to stop him.”

She did not understand. She was trapped in some game he played with his fellows, whether she wanted to be or not. She caught the knife, gripped it tightly to her. He nodded. “You understand,” he said, “that it won’t protect you if I choose otherwise.” He propped his elbows on the table and rested his chin on them. “These are my rooms.”

She was closer to the door than he was. How fast could she run, if it came to it? She did not know the layout of this place. She made herself look at him. “Is that a threat?”

“No.”

“Then why…?”

“You wanted to explore.”

She wanted to escape. There was no chance that she would tell him that. She said nothing. He continued, “You wanted to come into this part of the palace. So here we are. Does this satisfy you?”

She did not understand. She never understood him. She said, “I just want to know what’s going on.”

He studied her in silence for long moments. At last, he said, “You are a human creature. This isn’t your place.”

“I know that.”

“You aren’t supposed to…” He frowned, and she realized that he hunted for words. “It isn’t for you to understand.”