As Zara led the way down the cool stone hallway, Alia forced her arms to stay at her sides instead of creeping around to cover all of her exposed skin. Spine tall, breathing normal, bare feet one after the other on the coarse rug that lined the floor. It was woven of something. Straw, rushes maybe.
Her legs brushed against one another with each step in an alien way. Alia wondered if all skin was this soft under the hair. If Kit's skin was this soft.
She sucked in a deep breath, laced with exotic floral perfume, and tried to still her echoing heartbeat.
Zara passed a few doorways, some dark and empty, two with colorful silks blocking the doorway. Alia anxiously tried to keep track of the way to Kit's room. She needed to know the way alone if she was... If she was going tonight.
She was.
It turned out not to be so far - just down the hall and then, once it turned a corner, the door on the left.
Alia could hear the soft rumble of Kit's voice. She tried to memorize the turn, the number of doors, to prepare herself to slip down this hallway tonight, and then behind the red door tapestry that fluttered faintly in the gentle breezes. And then into his bed. But that was enough trepidation for now. She needed to worry about this moment. Later would... be later.
She braced herself, trying to smile, to quell the panic in her gut, to be somehow ready for Kit's eyes on her bare arms and legs. What would he say? Would he like it? Surely this was enough bare skin to shock him, to be somehow enticing.
She caught her lip between her teeth, feeling her pulse thud through her entire body. Was he talking to his own servant? Was it also a woman? She thought she heard a female voice alternating with Kit's.
Zara pulled the tapestry to the side and motioned Alia forward. Something in the other woman's smile still seemed faintly mocking, but Alia ignored it and stepped forward, trying to channel confidence. A chill went up her bare arms.
Inside, there was a small hall, and beyond it the visible edge of a round bed, much like the one in her own room. The air here smelled less floral and more of a deeper, muskier scent. Alia took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, and strode the few steps down the hall, Kit's name ready on her lips.
But when she entered his room proper, lit by the flickering gleam of multiple lamps, it died back. Another white-garbed servant stood quietly next to Kit and a woman, reclined on red, ornately embroidered cushions and holding finely-hammered metal goblets. They laughed together, and Kit only glanced at Alia when he saw her, nodding impassively.
She froze awkwardly, suddenly feeling very small.
The other servant, Zara's equivalent, appeared at her side on delicately silent footsteps, proffering another brass goblet filled with something vaguely viscous. Alia took the cup. Whatever it held was cold, leaving icy condensation against her hand.
She took a nervous sip, feeling small blobs of something slimy brush against her lips. She froze and peered more carefully into the goblet. Seeds, maybe. Not insects, which had been her fear for a moment. Bracing against the strange texture, she took a full drink and was relieved to find it sweet, vaguely tangy, and actually quite pleasant.
Kit motioned to the cushions beside him, continuing his conversation. "...but she wouldn't, of course."
The other woman laughed, a full, rich sound. Alia peered at her more closely, trying and failing to sit down on cushions in a graceful manner. With skirts this short, how did anyone ever sit comfortably?
The other woman had her legs draped to the side, weight balanced on a bent elbow, and dark eyes directed wholly at Kit. "Of course," she said, with the rounded vowels of a Scypian.
Alia tried to imitate her posture, feeling the plush cushions shift under her, and finally settled on something that was only vaguely similar but at least didn't allow a look straight up her skirt. Her bare armpits had broken into a nervous sweat and were suddenly much less comfortable. She tried to prop herself up without spilling the cool drink in her hand.
"Greetings," said the other woman, looking levelly at Alia. "I am honored to be Taquiri Sohraba Kali te'Diida." She smiled, inclining her head, and Alia blinked, suddenly realizing that her hair was cropped off near the skull like a man's.
"Um, greetings," Alia said. "Alia. Um, of the Book. Of Beldara?" She'd forgotten every single thing Kit had told her about names in Scypia.
Kit finally looked her way, but it was only to glare and enunciate as he said "As the Taqua, Sohraba is the Asha's right hand. Especially when it comes to information."
He still hadn't seemed to notice what she was wearing. Alia felt exposed and deflated. "So Taquiri--"
Kit winced, clenching his jaw.
"Taquiri Sohraba!" Alia corrected, "you're rather like... a librarian?"
The other woman smiled, thankfully looking unoffended. "You may call me Sohraba," she said gently, "and I will call you Alia, yes?"
"Oh. Yes." Alia's cheeks flushed hot.
"Do not worry," Sohraba said. Her dark eyes gleamed in amusement. "Our customs are different and I understand our naming conventions are complex compared to yours. But I am not so concerned about etiquette."
"Thank you," said Alia, feeling her cheeks heat even further. Kit looked bored and irritated, swirling his goblet.
"You are correct that I am somewhat like a librarian," continued Sohraba. "But I have greater skills than most simple librarians. I handle also the gathering of intelligence and advising for the Asha, and I keep the scrolls. The ancient history and the modern records, all are overseen by me. So I am skilled at many things beyond languages and the scrolls. But indeed, should you have a question, I will most likely have an answer."
"Ah," said Alia awkwardly, reminded again how many skills she lacked. Still just a servant, but one in an absurd outfit, trying to conversate with royal advisors. She felt a dull queasiness settle in her stomach. If only she could get Kit away from these Scypians and have a while alone with him to recover her sense of daring. Or better yet, to be home sweeping the halls and dreaming and far away from all these adventures. If home was even there.
Two men, draped in all white, entered the room. "The Asha will see you now," said the one on the left, crowned with curly gray hair and speaking through full lips. The other inclined his shaved head silently.
Kit sprang up, graceful and lithe as ever, and Sohraba stood with a fluid motion. Alia fumbled, not sure where to set her goblet or how to stand without stepping on the ornate cushions. The occupants of the room waited quietly as at last she got to her feet and tried to brush the wrinkles off her loose top and skirt. She was startled to realize that Sohraba was even shorter than she was - something about the woman's self-possession made her appear tall. The Scypian woman also wore a collared, sleeveless shirt, draped over a short loose skirt, but hers was all white except for intricate, dazzling beading. It made the tan muscles of her legs stand out even more against Alia's pale scrawniness.
As they made their way down the maze of hallways, past rooms echoing with chiming music and splashing fountains, Kit and Sohraba murmured quietly in Scypian.
Alia was quite certain they were talking about her. What sort of mistakes had she already made?
Occasionally, they laughed, but as the group descended down a flight of stairs and generally inward in a great spiral, their voices grew more serious.
Why, why had Kit not taught her any Scypian?
Suddenly, he dropped back to stride next to her, smelling of warm leather and something spicy. "Alia," he said urgently.
"Yes?" she answered, feeling her breathing speed up and her insides melt.
"The Asha," he said. "Just... don't speak. The servants will introduce you. If you must address her, it is Ashara Sudabeh and nothing else. Please."
He didn't even wait for a response before striding ahead to Sohraba's side again.
Feeling like a chastised child, Alia took a long, deep breath and trudged forward.
Kit... She would worry about him later. She was here for Beldara, first and foremost. And if Sohraba could answer questions, maybe she could help with the Book. Maybe the Asha could help.
She clung to that hope as they entered an inner courtyard that twittered with birdsong and was redolent with the scent of dozens of flowers. Fountains splashed on every side. Alia peered up, and up, and up, and realized this central courtyard reached through the entire pyramid of the palace up to the open sky.
At the very center of the gardens, the warm yellow stone was hewn into giant steps and crowned with a small, ornate room. Or at least it appeared small - as they climbed up the low stairs and entered, Alia realized it was small only in comparison with the massive gardens. Once inside, it echoed on every side, sparkling with marble and lapis under the gleam of rows of oil lamps. At the very center of the room, on a raised dais, a striking woman sat swathed in layers of diaphanous white veils. As they approached, Alia went hot in horror and embarrassment as she realized the woman's upper body was only lightly veiled. A glorious head of black, lustrous curls draped across her shoulders, barely restrained by a golden chain studded with small gemstones, and below those curls were two very round, very bare breasts. They were much larger and much more tan than Alia's, the color of caramel, capped with dark rose-brown nipples that tented the light veil outward. Alia's costume, her bare arms, were nothing compared to this.
Oh, gods, where to look? She tried not to stare and to keep her feet steady on the ground before her, barely noticing that Sohraba and Kit had come to a stop before she ran into their backs.
Sohraba stepped to the side, eyes intent on the woman - the Asha, of course, Alia realized suddenly - and the two male servants strode forward.
Another man she hadn't seen stepped from the side of the Asha to the steps. "Ashara Sudabeh Mayanti il-Banu Hamazan, barethrishva te hamaa, noh hacaaiti, noh berexhdaiti, noh tarshtaiti." His words had a ritual intonation, though Alia had no idea what they meant, and the flames of the lamps gleamed off his golden collar and bare oiled chest. Alia felt almost faint with all the bare skin. Nowhere was safe to look. Suddenly, she thought of how Darine might react to all these shirtless Scypians, and an absurd giggle bubbled up in her throat. She swallowed it down, trying to look solemn.
Kit bowed deeply. "Ashara Sudabeh, ashavazangh, tzbai hacāmi, tzbai berexhdami, tzbai tarshtami," he replied.
The Asha smiled and stood up, striding toward them. Her eyes met Alia's, and she panicked, wondering if she was meant to say something in this ritual. Ashara Sudabeh, Kit had said. These were the names she was supposed to repeat. But the woman stayed there at the base of her dais, waiting for something else, not acknowledging Alia. The outline of her torso was limned by the gold-orange light of the lamps on the dais, shimmering through the sheer fabric that draped over her chest.
After an interminable moment, more servants strode forward from the sides of the room. Alia hadn't even seen them, standing frozen by the corners of the dais, until they moved. Each held an ornate stone bowl cupped in their hands.
First, a bowl was proffered to the Asha, who took the stone in her hands and drank deeply, face quirked in a faint smile all the while. Then the two servants on each side of Alia and Kit stepped forward with smaller bowls. Alia took the vessel into her hands, surprised by how heavy it was, and stared doubtfully at the milky white fluid that rippled in the bottom of it. But the last Scypian beverage had been good, and anyway, this didn't seem to be an optional part of this ceremonial greeting. Reluctantly, she tipped the round-rimmed bowl to her mouth, smelling something pungent and yeasty.
When the liquid entered her mouth, Alia almost spat it out by reflex. It was slimy on her tongue, room temperature, and sour like something midway between spoiled milk and beer. As she swallowed, nearly choking, she realized below the fermented flavor were complex notes of resinous herbs and unfamiliar spices.
"Enough with the formalities," said the Asha in flawless, musical Beldaran. "Kit." She sounded amused, but there was an iron edge to her tone. "You are overdue."
He handed the bowl off and stepped forward with a slight swagger. "So you are especially happy to see me, then?"
Alia blinked, startled by the exchange. This is not how she would have expected him to interact with a foreign ruler.
The Asha laughed, rich peals that echoed in the chamber around them. "That remains to be seen on what excuses you have to make for yourself, I suppose," she said. Her draped, transparent top fluttered around here, pulling tight against her frame in an especially scandalous way. Alia tried again not to stare, and moreover, not to see if Kit was staring or not.
He drew closer to the Scypian ruler with measured steps until only a handbreadth separated their bodies. "I believe you will be satisfied, my Asha," he said in a low voice that dripped with something. The tension was thick enough that Alia shifted from foot to foot, glancing at Sohraba at her side. The other woman had her lips pressed together tight, looking as uncomfortable as Alia felt.
The Asha stepped back, spine suddenly straight. "Enough," she spat. Alia jumped. There was no negotiating with a command like that. "I have endless patience for you, my troublesome Beldaran. But you begin to reach even the limits of my indulgence. Tell me now and quickly why I continue to receive notification of new debts while you neglect your duties."
"Sudabeh," Kit said quietly, sounding more serious. "I beg your pardons. But I meant you will be especially intrigued by what has held me in Beldara. I have very, very important news. The kingdom is in turmoil."
Turmoil. Such an empty word for the blood and flames and yelling and terror that still reverberated in the back of Alia's head.
The Asha snorted. "This is no news to me. We have heard from dozens of lips what you take months to tell me. You had better have something greater than that to offer me."
Kit stood up straight, never glancing back at Alia, though she tried to channel all her questions and concerns at the back of his head so strongly that he must feel it, must consult her before telling the Scypians whatever lie or half-truth he had settled on.
"Their Book has disintegrated," he said. "I have firsthand accounts for you, Ashara Sudabeh, of how the magic fell, what preceded and what followed. And with me, I have the girl who witnessed it and the artifact we found in the remnants of the Book. She may have the skill to repair it."
Panic seared through Alia. "Kit!" she cried out, dropping her bowl, taking a few stumbling steps forward. "What are you-- How could you-- What of Beldara?" She was half conscious of the liquid splashed across her feet, the murmuring servants drawn close around her, but consumed by a sudden terror for her country, her family, and her friends. Would the Scypians now invade? When they had no defense? Their great weakness just spilled out in front of the highest echelons of the Scypian government.
The room was blurry now with tears and Alia stumbled over the uneven cobblestones. "Asha," she pleaded, "Ashara. Sudabeh. Please, I--"
"Peace, girl," said the Asha coming to stand closer. Dimly, Alia clutched her shaking hands together and tried to focus on the woman's face. She had pale eyes, green or blue, striking in her dark face. "Kit," she said over her shoulder, looking amused, "Does she not know?"
Kit turned toward them, not meeting Alia's eyes. She stared at him beseechingly, but he didn't waver. "No," he said, sounding almost rueful. "I am sworn to secrecy, if you recall. Under threat of very serious consequences."
"Girl," said the Asha.
"Alia," she blurted, a tiny, wavering flame of anger growing in the depths of her stomach.
"Alia, then. Peace. I have no interest in your small land. If I wanted it, we would have taken it long since. We have our own magics and far greater forces than yours. But there would be little advantage to me in holding a tiny sliver of your continent. Better to have your small, peaceful nation there, a safe trade ally on our nearest coast, than some unfriendly power threatening us from across the gulf. I have as much interest in seeing your magic restored as you do."
Alia blinked, trying to gather her spinning head. "But, Kit..." she stuttered.
He didn't look at her, but she could see his stern profile, that sharp nose, illuminated by the lamps. The Asha pulled close to him again, peering closely at him, and when he didn't incline his head, the royal woman cupped his cheek in her hand and made him look at her.
"Kitrell," she said throatily. "I would hear it all and we will see then if I am satisfied, yes?"
There was a thudding in Alia's ears so massive that it seemed to shake the walls. She didn't understand what was happening. She didn't understand anything.
The Asha took a few steps briskly toward them, lusciously pert breasts bouncing under the veil in a way that was hard not to stare at, and tipped her head toward the librarian woman. "Sohraba, you will take her to your scrolls, my dear, and collect that sort of detail? I'm sure we will have something helpful. We'll talk later." As she issued commands, she absentmindedly looped an ebony curl around her finger. "Attendants," she continued, "you have served well. I will not need you until supper." Finally, she turned toward Kit, regally extending a small, slender hand. "And Kitrell, I will have it all out of you in my chambers."
Kit took her hand and raised it to his lips and all at once the pounding in Alia's ears went silent. She understood. This one thing, at least, she understood in the most painful way.