City of Blaze (The Fireblade Array) (12 page)

Artemi suppressed a grimace. She needed to change the subject quickly. “I’ll always be here for you. No idiot boy is going to take me from you. Now, I have to get to the castle. I’m expected to help with the first service.”

Her father looked a little sad. She utterly disliked leaving him to return to that old house alone, so she made sure to give her father a fierce and warm hug. “I’ll come and see you again soon.”

“See that you do. Beware of that lecherous old king.”

Artemi grinned and nodded. She pushed her way through the crowds to a gently sloping road and followed it to the level below. The lamps burned with their warm glow of orange as she walked toward the black of the castle, whose malevolent walls loomed through gaps in the green of the buildings and streets. These sub-roads were unusually quiet with everyone assembled above. She pulled her old, brown cloak in close around her; the chill of the autumn had already set into the stones of the city.

As she drew closer to the castle, the houses became grander and the incline of the roads lessened. Artemi ambled down a long, winding street, running her hand along the rail until she reached the very bottom. A huge mouth filled with iron teeth bulged from the castle wall and a broad drawbridge protruded like a tongue. She traversed the wooden bridge slowly and raised one of her sleeves. Marked on her arm beneath, in dark green ink, was an image of a sword upon feathers, the symbol of Calidell. Once the guard at the entrance had seen it, he motioned for her to pass.

The gateway led to a huge courtyard, big enough for most of Cadra’s army to fit in. It was only here that you could appreciate the size of the castle proper that surrounded it. Everything was on such a vast and improbable scale, though some fool had managed to hang gold streamers between the high windows. Only a brave climber could achieve such a feat. More wreaths were strung between the poles set into the courtyard ground, and Artemi marvelled at the decorations only for a moment before she walked to one of the courtyard exits. One of the other exits could have brought her to her destination more quickly, but she had never used them before and would probably just become lost in any case.

The cool darkness of the tunnels enveloped her as she redrew her cloak. Artemi followed twists, slopes and worn step after gritty step to reach her goal - the kitchens. They sat beneath the Malachite Hall, lit only by the rows of fires used to cook for the inhabitants of the castle. The noise was incredible. Hundreds of voices yelled between hisses of steam and thumps of knives, while cooks sweated heavily over roiling pots and heaved large, skinned carcasses of animals onto braziers. Great, vaulted arches supported the ceiling and runner pipes swung between them, pouring water wherever it was needed. Helpers ran busily about the place, looking flustered and red whilst carrying trays of drinks or meat. Artemi ventured into the fray and sought out a woman with white hair. Sindra, as she was known, was in charge of directing the linen girls to wait upon the hall above.

Sindra was a handsome woman, very tall and with high cheekbones. Her hair was so pale and her skin tanned that it looked as if she had lain all day in the sun. Artemi approached her quietly. From the wildness in Sindra’s eyes, the woman appeared to be somewhat overwhelmed by her duties. “Ah, you’ve come to help us serve. Good! Drop your cloak over there and get your hands dirty. Well, not too dirty, we don’t want to put the nobles off their food!” Sindra turned to another young-looking female servant and started waving her hands frantically, pointing in all manner of directions.

Artemi unlaced her cloak and walked towards the burgeoning clothing racks as Sindra had indicated. She folded her mantle up neatly and stowed it next to the others in vain hope that she might find it again. The powerful smell of stewed beef prodded at her nose as she headed back towards the other servants.

The blonde-haired woman said, “Your job this evening is to keep taking trays from here up to the hall. Do not serve the food directly to the guests. You must place the tray neatly on the tables and leave, taking any empties back here with you. Used trays go on this shelf here.” Sindra pointed to a pile of pewter. “There are a lot of tables up there so mind they’re kept tidy. Olivin will direct you as to which food should go where.” Artemi nodded and went to collect the nearest tray. It was heavy, not to mention hot. She gritted her teeth and shifted her hands as close to the edges as was possible.

The steps that led to the back of the Malachite Hall were unnecessarily steep, as well as busy with people rushing past. Artemi struggled to keep the tray level as a particularly broad male servant nudged her into the wall and ran past. At last light began to pour into the stairway above, and a great swell of string music wrapped around her as she stepped into the glow of the paraffin lamps. The sound was vigorous and strong, like a fighter made of notes.

A solo player drew the bow across his instrument with such speed and force that the strings seemed close to rupture. Artemi felt her skin tingle at the fullness of the sound, but her attention was reluctantly dragged back to the task she had been charged with. A line of tables extended from the stairwell to the other side of the hall, which seemed so far away it almost dissolved into a mist of people and steaming food.

The food appeared to be organised in terms of meats, pastries, fruit and sweets. She raised the tray above her head and made her way carefully to the appropriate section of the table, her feet touching the ground in time with the music. A portly brown-haired man, Olivin, was marching proudly up and down the table rows, directing waiters to distribute smaller trays of food to the revellers. He eyed Artemi as she placed her tray somewhat timidly onto the surface. “Girl, I want you to wipe down the top of these four tables. You’ll have to work around the trays as they’re removed and set. Quickly, now!”

Artemi curtseyed, noting a collection of cleaning equipment against the back wall. She took a cloth and dipped it in the soapy water of a half barrel.

The table surface was well-worn, and food appeared to have worked its way deep into the grain. Artemi gave it a hard scrub in the time she had available. She was strong enough to have a noticeable effect, but not quite fast enough to complete the work to her usual standard. The music quietened suddenly, drawing her attention to the room around her. All the guests in the hall ceased their chatter. The servants slowed their bustling around the trays.

Artemi had an excellent view from her position behind the table. She could see a man sat upon a dais, holding a stringed instrument almost as large as his body. He began to draw deep, rich sounds from it that echoed around the vast hall. The great stone doors at the opposite end swept open and gave issue to a colourful procession. The bearded man at the head wore a silver crown and deep blue, velvet robes. His beautiful benay-gosa pooled around him in an assortment of red dresses, most of them scandalously cut. The crowd maintained its silence, except for the rustle of fabric as some fell to their knees or bowed. Behind him was Morghiad, accompanied only by four of his guards. He wore a green coat this time, emblazoned with the sword and plumes of Cadra in white embroidery. His polished brown boots reached over his knees before giving way to some rather tightly fitted black leather trousers. His face bore its usual complete lack of emotion.

The musician brought his piece to a gentle close as King Acher took the hand of a blonde benay-gosa and separated himself from the group. The string players at the other end of the hall shuffled about and re-tuned their instruments, preparing for the next theme. Then, a dark-haired lady stepped out from the crowd. She strode directly to the kahr, whispered something in his ear and bowed deeply. She was by far the most beautiful woman Artemi had ever seen.

Thick, chestnut curls of hair framed her face and flowed down the centre of her back. Her features were dark, punctuated by full, red lips while her gown of gold silk had been made specifically to highlight her impossible waist.

The kahr maintained his stony posture for a moment and then nodded, his face displaying neither pleasure nor disdain. He took her hand and led her to stand opposite his father. The king boomed, “My son will dance with the Lady di Certa!” He motioned to the band to begin, where soft notes rose from their instruments and both men were obligated to draw their partners close.

Artemi’s eyes remained entirely on Morghiad and Lady di Certa as they stepped about the floor. For all the man looked like a pile of immovable rocks, he could move gracefully as a river. The music flowed between slow waves and fast attacks. With each quickening of pace the pair would come close, Morghiad pulling her waist against his hips. When the strings slowed she would glide around him in a rather predatory manner, sometimes arching her back while she leaned from his hand. The lady matched his steps well, though she did not quite have the same discipline as he. The dance was hypnotic and curiously passionate in its apparent modesty. Artemi privately wished that she could do the same, though the idea seemed utterly ridiculous.

When the music came to a close both couples bowed and the crowd around began a rapturous applause. Lady di Certa appeared to be breathing quite heavily following her exertion. Morghiad, as usual, was utterly unreadable. The band struck up again and most people in the hall resumed their chatter. A few of the bolder nobles began to dance themselves, which only served to obscure Artemi’s view of the royals. She looked back down at the table. Her cloth had made a small pool of water where she had held it aloft for so long. She wiped it up, hoping that no one else had noticed, but a blue-clad woman immediately slapped a tray down and almost crushed Artemi’s hands in the process. It was time to move onto the next table, which appeared to be even grubbier than the first. She got stuck into its surface with renewed vigour.

“Follocking apples! Why would I want a bloody apple?” came from the nearby crowd. A waiter carrying a tray of fruit stood aghast. Before him, an orange-haired guard swayed and gesticulated.

“Where’s the booze, man?” He leaned towards the servant. “Too much fruit gives me the fear! I demand to have some wine. There must be some here...” The guard staggered over to a table covered in glasses of tanno wine. He knocked a few over as he reached for his desired vessel. Artemi swallowed, realising his coat bore the four green slashes of a lieutenant. Was this behaviour really acceptable for an officer of Calidell? The lieutenant downed his glass with gusto and then eyed the servants lining the tables. His eyes came to rest on Artemi.

A slow sneer worked its way across his ruddy face. He stumbled towards her and wavered upon unsteady feet. “Well, hello there. Did it burn when you rose from the fires of Achellon?” He belched horrifically. And then winked.

Artemi withdrew towards the wall, unsure of how she should respond.

He continued to slur, “My name is Beetan. You’re the sweetest thing I’ve seen all week. Not that I’m allowed to have you.”

Artemi stiffened – surely he couldn’t know?

The orange-haired man went on, “The captain says we’re not allowed casual women anymore. Not that there’s anything casual about you. Arf!”

Artemi smiled weakly and curtseyed.
He did not know.
“Thank you, Lord Beetan. You are too kind but I’m afraid I must continue with my... less-than-casual duties here.”

The man swayed for a bit and then leaned towards her, hands hitting the table in front of him. “Oh you do, do you?”

Just then, another black-coated guard caught his arm. “I think we’ve had enough, don’t you? Let’s leave the poor girl alone, eh?” It was Lord Forllan. Artemi actually felt relief at the sight of him.

Beetan screwed his face up, took a final, appreciative leer at Artemi and then wandered off into the cloud of guests. The blond lieutenant gave a small bow and gripped the hilt of his sword. “Good to see you again, Artemi. I hope my friend has not offended you. He can be a little... coarse, but he is well-meaning once you get to know him.” The lord displayed one of his winning smiles. It made Artemi’s stomach feel light, but Olivin grabbed her arm at that moment.

She pulled it away instinctively, sharply even, and his mood did not improve with her reaction. “Stop idling, girl, and get back to work. You’ve been standing here like a bowl of melon soup for nigh on five minutes! Don’t think I haven’t noticed!”

Lord Forllan coughed softly. “Actually, I was just engaging the young lady in conversation. I see these tables are well-attended. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind if I borrowed her from you for a short while?”

Olivin’s round face reddened considerably. “Of course not, my lord. Forgive me for not observing you there.” He bowed profusely and backed away from Artemi as if she were a heavily armed foe, and promptly resumed his frantic orders.

“Will you step out from behind there for a moment? I should like to speak with you, if I may.” Lord Forllan’s eyes seemed to burn into her.

Artemi was anxious. She knew that he was not kanaala, but she also knew that whatever conversation they were about to have could not end well. He was terribly pretty, though. Devastatingly so.

“I’ll meet you at the end, there.” She gestured to the last table.

Lord Forllan inclined his head and began to walk, level with her, to the other side of the room. There were numerous obstacles to navigate on both sides: he encountered large clumps of somewhat inebriated guests while she had to dodge wild servants and blazing hot trays. At last they met at the far wall.

“You moved round those people with much grace, my lady. I am most impressed with your agility.” He bent his left elbow so that it stuck out sideways from his trunk, still holding his hand behind his back. “Will you take my arm, Artemi?”

Did he want her to cut it off? “I’m not sure I follow...”

His brow furrowed a little. Then he nodded to a couple standing a few yards from them.

“Oh,” she said with some embarrassment. Artemi placed her right hand in the crook of his arm and they began to walk along the back of the hall.

He examined her as they meandered through the gaps in the crowd. “You have never been in the Malachite Hall before?”