The Archshade

Thirteen

The woman—Mala?—hisses at me as we walk beneath the archway. "You've got some nerve entering the Imperial Gardens, girl! You're fortunate the old man was there to speak for you." Her nails dig into my arm.

"Who are you?" I ask, pulling against her grip. "Have I done someth—?"

"Insolent and impudent!" The woman scoffs while dragging me down the corridor. "I see why the Emperor forced you on us."

I set my jaw against her insult and focus on keeping pace with her. "But who are you?" I insist.

She clicks her tongue. "I'm the Attendant of the Royal House, but no doubt my formal title is lost on you. All you need to remember is I'm in charge of all living affairs, including courtesans. That means you!"

I stumble over my own feet and have to skip a step to keep up, but the woman just drags me along as if nothing happened.

"You'll refer to me as Lady Mala. Don't forget that." She yanks me around a corner and up a sloping hallway. "I schedule a fitting and bring in my best seamstress, but what do I find when I send a servant to fetch you? No one! Empty! Complete inconvenience!"

I furrow my brow. "Am I allowed to leave the Archshade's chambers?"

"Well... strictly speaking, yes," Lady Mala grumbles. "As a courtesan, you have free reign of the palace." Beneath her breath, she adds, "A rule made against my better judgment."

I open my mouth to protest, but my words are cut off as we spin around another corner and come to a set of lavish doors inlaid with polished mother of pearl. Lady Mala opens them with more force than their artful design should allow and pulls me inside.

Through the doors, an antechamber leads into a large room filled with silks and laces. There are cushions and pillows everywhere, far more than necessary. Fine silks hang from the ceiling and line the edge of the room, muffling any sound. It's a world of red and maroon edged with gold. The lush carpets overlapping on the floor create a collage of soft fibers, and the air is oppressed by rose incense.

When Lady Mala and I enter the room, five other women fix their stares on me. Four of them are dripping in jewelry and gold adornments with gossamer clothing exposing their navels and most of their breasts. They seem more like mosaics than women. The dark kajal rimming their eyes makes their gazes all the more intense, with each one possessing a different iris color.

"I found her!" Lady Mala announces into the room. "And no small feat it was."

The fifth woman, older than the others and much more practically dressed, is seated on a lounging chair with one dainty ankle placed over the other. When we enter, she rises to her feet and nods to Lady Mala.

"Then we can begin."

As if triggered by some unseen switch, the tallest mosaic woman moves beside the seamstress. She stands rigidly straight with her arms held out to the sides while Lady Mala and the seamstress pick her apart with their eyes. They click their tongues like picky birds and scribble down numbers and notes on a sheet of parchment, checking and rechecking the proportions while discussing certain parts of the woman's frame which they believe are too bulky or too sharp or too thin. All the while, the woman remains motionless, her chin high and her gaze unfocused.

I retreat to a corner. It's a useless effort, but I sit on a long lounge chair far from the group, attempting to sink back into that old invisibility I had as a thrall. Yet, the feel of eyes on me is unavoidable. I look toward the other mosaic women. Two of them move their gazes away so quickly that I can't catch them staring, but one keeps her eyes locked on me as if issuing some kind of challenge. Then, with a shrug, she flips her black hair over her shoulder and saunters over to me.