Empire of Ashes

Chapter LXXI - Other Tongues

By the time I returned to my chambers, someone had drawn me a bath. Hot, steaming water with scented oils. I waited only long enough to peel off my travelling clothes before sinking myself into the bath, letting the water lap at my neck where the king had left a handprint of bruises. The scar on my thigh itched in the water, and I ran my thumb over it the hardened ridge of flesh, remembering Duskos.

Another castle. Another time. Another game to play. We had won that game — we had won Melia. But there had been a we then. Now I was alone, and the game I was playing was much harder, with higher stakes and twice as many players.

I used the soap to scour away the river smell, avoiding the tender patches on my left arm. When that was done, I soaked my hair. It seemed to take an age to tease out the tangles and knots, but it was worth it in the end. By the time I had climbed out and wrapped a robe around myself, I felt truly clean for the first time in weeks.

It was then that I heard a timid knock at the door and saw a pale face peer around the frame. The maid. She was sixteen, maybe, with fiery ginger hair and a smattering of freckles. She wore the same simple-cut charcoal grey tunic as every other servant in the keep.

I beckoned her in. She seemed to know what was expected of her — she sat me down in a chair and combed my hair out, drying it as she went. Once that was done, she wove intricate twists and braids into my hair and fastened it up. There was kohl to line my eyes and a red paste for my lips, and I was not stupid enough to argue. The girl did not say a word, and I did not feel like talking, so the silence suited both of us.

When she was done making me beautiful, she fetched my change of clothing from a chest. It was a dress of deep red — blood red, Anglian red — and patterned with onyx thread. I had never seen anything so fine in my life, let alone worn it. But I need only look at the thing, draped over the girl's arm, to understand the game Herox was playing.

She laid it on the table before me and turned her back while I dressed. When I was done, marvelling at how smooth the fabric felt against my skin, I went to look in the mirror. The cut was low across my chest, dipping in the middle further than could be considered respectable. It was not full length, so it did not quite reach my ankles, and it hung around me in a way that showed off my figure but left plenty to the imagination.

Gods, the king knew exactly what he was doing. This had been a deliberate choice on his part. There were no sleeves, simply wide bands over my shoulders, so the slave brand was on full display.

Perhaps I should have felt uncomfortable wearing the dress while I knew its purpose, but I did not. Quite the opposite. That silken garment was an unusual kind of weapon — but a weapon nonetheless. And whatever the king intended, I would be the one to wield it.

The girl was staring at me with wide eyes. It took me a moment to realise it was not the dress which had captured her attention so thoroughly, but rather the slave brand on my arm. I suppressed a smile: she was used to waiting on high-born ladies, not common filth like me.

"What is your name?" I asked, wanting to thank her.

She did not answer me, instead pressing a finger to her lips and pointing at herself. She then shrugged apologetically. She was not quiet. She was mute.

Another deliberate choice. The king had chosen a servant who would not be able to talk to me, who could not be befriended or used to pass messages. I was to be isolated. And with any other prisoner, that would have worked, but I had some talents of the unusual variety.

I contained my excitement for the time being — I didn't know if I could trust her, and I didn't want to play my best card on someone who would show it to the king. "Born or made?"