The Archshade

Nineteen

Alone in the Archshade's chambers, the afternoon wears on into evening as I scrub away at dishes and cups which are already clean. Standing over the water basin in the kitchen alcove, I work a rag around the rim of a pot, catching my own reflection in the dishwater. Scouring tableware in a lavish choli with my entire figure embroidered and bejeweled, I look like a duchess who hit her head and woke up believing herself to be a palace servant. I slowly lower the pot back into the water, staring at my hands beneath the surface. The silence presses on me.

Prince Daynar does not return.

While I work, thoughts of escape flit through my mind just as they did in Aaru-Sheol, and as always, I meet the same obstacles. Simply taking off running is out of the question. It would take weeks to reach Vayssar, and the desert would kill me. Three days without water is all it takes which means I need to steal provisions. Water is easy enough to get, but without food, I'll never be strong enough to make the journey. Plus, there's always the question of what to do once I get there. Vayssar is a much colder, mountainous country; I would need furs and something to start a fire if I hope to stave off the elements. And there's wolves and other wild beasts who would be happy to have me as a main course. I'd need a weapon...

As with my other escape plans, my list of necessities grows longer and longer. Every scenario I dream up ends in horrible tragedy, with death being the least of my problems and thrall hunters being the most.

It's late in the evening when I hear a knock at the chamber door. Removing the washing linen from around my waist, I brush off my gown as I leave the kitchen alcove, padding softly down the hall. My chest clenches with both relief and disappointment as I realize it can't be Daynar. He wouldn't bother to knock on his own chamber door. Grasping hold of the handle, I half expect to see the Thrall Keeper on the other side, ready to drag me away to a dark cell for a day of no rations.

But instead, I see Syris.

"My lady." He bows low.

I return his gesture with my own stiff bow. "Uh... ambassador?"

Straightening up, Syris calmly adjusts the collar of his extravagant tunic. He's decorated in a floor-length russet cloak, fitted trousers, and thick leather boots—all made from the finest quality materials with expensive adornments.

"It would be my privilege to escort you to the feast in the Hall of Honor," he proclaims.

We stand there, blinking at each other.

"What?"

Syris repeats his invitation. "May I escort you to the celebration feast?"

Though I hate the thought of stomaching a large room of drunken dignitaries, I sense the request is not optional.

"Like this?" I ask, gesturing to the choli I'm wearing. "Or do I need five hours to put on another costume?"

Syris laughs and shakes his head. "In a perfect world, yes, you should change to an evening gown for the feast. But we do not have the time, and Aria is helping in the kitchens." He extends the crook of his arm to me. "Come along. I am sure you will be the center of conversations regardless of what you wear."

He shoots me a teasing smile, and I relent with a huff. Closing the chamber door behind me, I wrap my fingers around his arm and allow him to lead me through the palace corridors.

The sound of tipsy revelry and the scent of searing meats grows stronger until we reach the place where I was first presented to the Arcadian court, but the hall which before seemed massive and regal is now packed with people in a wild mess of merriment. Reflecting the copious dancing and drinking, the walls echo with sweet music and wine-strengthened laughter. A whole manner of meats, cheeses, fruits, nuts, pastries, breads, and cakes fly through the room on plates and platters balanced in the hands of thralls. The solemn hall of gold where I first beheld Arcadia has transformed into barely restrained madness with no expense spared. Even Prince Darcron himself, seated on his throne upon the raised dais, gulps from a flagon. Lounging on velvet cushions at the base of his throne, Tali and the prince's other companions glint and shimmer—masterpieces of flesh and gossamer fabric.