[Queen of Orcs 03] - Royal Destiny (9 page)

After Jvar-yat left, Dar examined the tray. It held a little brush, a piece of cloth, and two small vessels. The latter were carved from the same dark stone as the tray. They gave the impression of being very old. Dar lifted the top of one. Inside was a paste that matched the blue-green of fir trees. “That’s for your nipples,” said Nir-yat.

Dar touched the paste. It felt like greasy clay. “When do I wear this?”

“Always,” replied Nir-yat. Then she added, “Unless you’re nursing.”

Dar thought the last comment was irrelevant. She applied the paste, then wiped her fingers on the small cloth that accompanied the tray. Afterward, she opened the second vessel. It contained a thick liquid the same color as the paste. “That’s for your claws,” said Nir-yat. She gazed at Dar’s fingernails, then took the brush from the tray. “Let me paint them.”

Dar held out a hand and Nir painted a nail. Instead of coloring its entire surface, she painted only its center so it resembled an orcish claw. “What do you think?”

Dar smiled. “It looks more natural.”

“I think so, too.”

When Dar’s fingernails were painted, Nir-yat painted her toenails in the same manner. Afterward, Thorma-yat was summoned to make Dar’s royal wardrobe. The seamstress stated that kefs of the proper shade would require several days to make because the cloth was woven from specially dyed wool. Producing enough material to make a talmauki cloak would take even longer. Thorma-yat apologized for the delay. “It’s been five winters since queen has lived here. I’ll speak to dyer right away.”

“You can make Muth Mauk’s other garments,” injected Nir-yat. “She need not wait for those.”

“You’re right, of course,” said Thorma-yat, appearing flustered. She bowed to Dar. “I’ll get my samples.”

After Thorma-yat hurried off, Nir-yat spoke. “Sister, let me guide your choices. I’ll praise many fabrics, but when I say, ‘Does this one please you?,’ that is cloth you should select.”

“Why not just choose for me?”

“That would give wrong impression. Great mothers often receive counsel, but they decide.”

Dar appreciated Nir-yat’s subtlety, especially once Thorma-yat returned. When the seamstress had made Dar’s first outfit of orcish clothing, she had brought a few dozen swatches. On this occasion, she was overburdened with all kinds of material. Dar had never seen such a variety of cloth. There was a wide range of colors and patterns, and the material also varied in many other ways. Besides the familiar wool, there was cloth that Dar had never encountered before. The samples ran from sheer to weighty, and the weaves differed greatly.

Thorma-yat presented the plethora of choices without expressing any opinions, but Nir-yat helped Dar without being obvious. She eschewed bright colors and strong patterns, steering Dar toward a rich but understated look. She preferred textured weaves, soft greens and blues, and warm earth tones. Toward the end of the fabric showing, Dar perceived that Nir-yat’s recommendations fit together to create a harmonious look. Having grown up wearing a single homespun shift until it became a rag, the idea of coordinating outfits was novel to her. If it hadn’t been for Nir-yat, Dar would have selected only a few fabrics. Instead, she chose dozens. When the selection was over, Thorma-yat surveyed the pile of cloth. “What garments shall I make from these?”

Dar thought quickly and answered. “I wish to look at them awhile. We’ll speak tomorrow.” As the seamstress gathered up the rejected fabrics, Dar said, “You have pleased me, Thorma-yat.”

After Thorma-yat bowed and departed, Dar turned to her sister. “Why don’t you like red?”

Nir-yat made a face. “Only sons wear that color. You’re Muth Mauk now, not some pashi farmer.”

“Queen Girta has red robes.”

“And she’s washavoki. It proves my point.”

Dar recalled the gaudy fashions she had seen in King Kregant’s court. Their bright, contrasting colors and gold embroidery differed markedly from the fabrics destined for her wardrobe.
My clothes will look plain in comparison.

Nir-yat spoke as though she had read Dar’s thoughts. “You’re everyone’s muthuri,” she said. “You should appear serene.” She held up a piece of cloth, the color of willows in a fog. “Look at this weaving. Three different threads were twisted to make this color. This is elegant work. Discerning eyes are mark of wisdom.”

“Among washavokis, only powerful ones could wear bright colors.”

“Here, every mother can choose anything from Thorma-yat’s stores, as long as it’s not talmauki. She can have her neva made from this or that ghastly blue-and-yellow pattern you fancied.” Nir-yat grinned. “You thought I didn’t notice, but I did.”

“I like butterflies,” said Dar.

“Then let them fly on your sleeping cloak, not on your neva. Speaking of nevas, we’ll discuss them next. You should be prepared when Thorma-yat returns.”

The concept of fashion was new to Dar, and Nir-yat’s discussion of clothes seemed in another language. Dar knew the skirtlike garment was called a “neva,” and the paired capes “kefs,” but the rest of the terms were new to her. Dar found the topic dull, but calming. The immediacy of deciding on the cut and hem length for a neva kept darker matters at bay. Moreover, it cheered up Nir-yat, who was clearly interested in the subject and quite opinionated. The two planned Dar’s royal wardrobe until time for the evening meal. Dar sent sons to fetch it, glad that she would not eat alone.

Murdant Kol had forgotten when he had eaten last or whether it was day or night. Racked by fever, he was delirious. His entire body ached and burned, but the festering wound below his shoulder hurt the worst. It felt as though a hot poker were pushing into his flesh. He no longer knew where he was. Instead of a dingy room in a shabby inn, he thought he was astride Thunder, whirling his whip as he galloped toward Dar.

He relived the moment again and again, each time thinking it would end differently. He saw the orc queen by Dar’s side, too feeble to flee. He watched Sevren fighting the soldiers, outnumbered and preoccupied. Everything happened at a slowed pace. Dar turned, looking panicked. She groped for the dagger slung at her waist.
Where did she get a weapon?
Dar turned the dagger in her hand, grasping it by the blade. Then she threw it. The dagger moved through the air so slowly that Kol could watch it gracefully flip so its point was forward. His horse traveled just as slowly.
I need only move and it’ll miss me.
It didn’t, and Kol was just as shocked—and enraged—as he was the first time. The events that followed were a haze to the murdant’s fever-stricken brain.
Something about orcs.
There were muddled impressions of an escape and a growing pain. Then Kol was astride Thunder again, galloping toward Dar.

Two men sat on the room’s other bed, strangers as disreputable as their surroundings. They watched Kol, waiting for him to die. “Can’t be long, now,” said one. “He’s out of his head.”

“His stink’s more tellin’,” said the other. “Like rotten meat.”

“Maybe we could hurry him along.”

His companion eyed a recent bloodstain on the dirty wooden floor. “And get what that other fella got? That’s a hard one there, dyin’ or not. Let’s bide our time.”

“Hope it’s worth the wait.”

“Well, he sold that horse.”

The other man laughed. “To a cheatin’ bastard.”

“Aye, the innkeep’s a sharp one, and this fella was half-dead when he came.”

“From where, do you suppose?”

“Taiben, most like. It’s all stirred up.”

Kol was rolling on his sweat-soaked mattress, trying to dodge Dar’s blade, when the door opened. The innkeeper, a rat-faced man, entered and spoke. “Clear out, the both of ye. This room’s been let.”

“To us!” said one of the men watching Kol.

“It’s been let again. Ye can move to the stables, or best this man’s offer.”

The men regarded the gray-eyed stranger who had joined the innkeeper. He had an intimidating look, despite his youthful face. Moreover, his clothes marked him as someone with means. Rather than protest further, the men followed the innkeeper out of the room. As they entered the hallway, they noticed a Wise Woman standing there, clutching her bag of healing herbs. The stranger who had usurped their room spoke to her. “Come. This is the one.” The Wise Woman entered the room and the door closed.

One of the men turned to the innkeeper. “Who was that fella?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“Well, we had interests in that dyin’ bloke. Interests ye pissed away.”

His larger companion pushed the innkeeper against the wall. “Aye, pissed away. So, we’ll have our money back.”

The innkeeper attempted a nervous smile. “Why not take it back as drink and sleep in the stable for free?”

The two men grinned at each other. “We’ll do that,” said one.

“Seems our luck has changed,” said his comrade. He glanced toward the closed door. “And not just ours.”

Eleven

Nir-yat renewed the discussion of Dar’s wardrobe first thing next morning, picking up where she had left off the previous evening. By then, Dar had learned there were many other garments besides nevas, kefs, and cloaks. All of them had names, and all their parts had names also. Dar even remembered a few of them. She surveyed the carefully arranged piles of fabrics that covered the floor of her hanmuthi, each pile destined for a different garment. “Nir, this is never going to work. I can’t remember what’s supposed to be what.”

“It’s simple, really. Those gabaiuks are for your sukefas. They have two sides so they’re paired with tuug that…”

“Enough, Nir! You’ll have to tell Thorma-yat what to make.”

“But…”

“Secret of wisdom is recognizing it in others. I can’t do everything myself. Should I grow my own brak and pashi? If I cooked my feasts would you want to eat them?”

Nir-yat grinned, recalling Dar’s ineptness in the kitchen. “Thwa.”

“So I’ll rely on your wisdom when it comes to clothes.”

“You must tell Thorma-yat something.”

“Then tell me what to say. Something brief.”

“Tell her your nevas are to be long and fit tightly,” said Nir-yat.

“For what reason?”

“Because you’ll always sit on stool or throne, never on cushion. Also tell Thorma-yat your kefs should taper to point below your waist. That’s most elegant.”

“I can manage that,” said Dar. “I’ll send for Thorma-yat. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

After the seamstress arrived, she stayed most of the morning. Dar repeated what Nir-yat had told her, then asked her sister to describe how each item was to be made. While Thorma-yat and Nir-yat talked, Dar only half listened. Finally, the seamstress gathered up the fabric samples and bowed to Dar. “I know what must be done, Muth Mauk.”

“You’ve pleased me, Thorma-yat.” Dar waited until she was alone with Nir-yat before curling back her lips in a broad orcish grin. “Sister, you’ve pleased me also. I’m certain I’ll look grand.”

Nir-yat returned Dar’s smile. “You will!”

Dar was encouraged by Nir-yat’s self-assurance, for it was a sign that her sister hadn’t been cowed by their muthuri. Nir-yat had handled ordering the clothes skillfully, and Dar expected she would be helpful in many other ways.
She learned more from her grandmother than she realizes
, thought Dar.
She knows how a queen’s hanmuthi runs.
Indeed, Nir-yat’s thoughts were already on the next task. “Before you speak to Gar-yat about feasts, we should get hanmuthi list from lorekeeper.”

“One that says which families are high and which are humble?”

“Hai. It can be delicate matter.” Nir-yat explained that, though many Yat clan members lived in the surrounding countryside, hanmuthis within the clan hall were coveted. There were only thirty-three. Since there was no room on the mountaintop to build more, deciding which families occupied them and which mother headed each hanmuthi was a complicated and often contentious matter. It was largely based on ancestry, but other factors came into play. Hanmuthis changed hands as the standing of families rose or fell, and the lorekeeper recorded all the changes. Thus, the order in which the hanmuthis were feasted would be carefully noted.

That afternoon, Nir-yat led Dar to the lorechamber. It was in the old part of the hall, and resembled a hanmuthi in its design, except that the adjoining rooms were not sleeping chambers. Instead, they were filled with shelves that were stacked with thin wooden boards, each approximately an arm’s length and a palm’s width. Dar had the impression that she had entered a carpenter’s storeroom, not a repository of knowledge. The center chamber was filled with tables, and these were also piled with boards. The lorekeeper was seated on a stool next to the central hearth, like a muthuri in her hanmuthi. She was gazing intently at a board on her lap and was startled when Dar spoke. “May Muth la bless you, Yev-yat.”

The mother immediately rose and bowed. “Shashav, Muth Mauk.”

Dar was surprised that a mother who looked only slightly older than Nir-yat was the lorekeeper. Yev-yat had exotic features. Her thin face made her green eyes look especially large, and her thick hair was jet-black, an unusual color among orcs. Lightly built, she was only Dar’s height. A brass object dangled from a cord about her neck. Dar, having never encountered a key before, assumed it was a pendant.