Chapter 22

Sara Wesek paused a moment, brushed the dried, crushed soma-tea leaves from her hands. She stood anxiously in the private chamber of the great lord - her lord, her lover - Iosoan Lei. As was her accustomed chore whenever a foreign dignitary was granted audience at the palace, she prepared the great lord's finest tea for host and guest alike; sixteen cups she had gathered, fire hot and water set to boil. Her eyes searched the room, seeking some thing which might cause her delay. She normally delighted in her work, delighted in her lord's orders, in her service - recently in his gentle touch - but as she stood over the tea, she did not wish to return to the council chamber. Iosoan's brother-in-law, the great lord Ramad Menadin, had been near bursting with anger. Tension in the still air had been too thick to breath. Against her will, bubbles rose to the surface in the large silver pot, and she cast in the crushed leaves.

The young servant paced the room, touching the things she saw, touching without cleaning. It was still a new experience: her modesty prevented her from interfering with what she did not own. But since that day - the day she would never forget - she had become more than a servant. She had not slept in the bed in her adjoining personal chamber in over a week, and she came to think of Iosoan's larger chambers, in a small way, as hers. She looked and saw her old bed: one day another servant girl would come to claim that bed. Then, she turned her green eyes on the bed Iosoan had opened to her: that bed she would claim for herself, and suffer no other to share it.

She saw the antique clock, walked to stand beside it. Such a beautiful thing, the glittering heirloom. Like rings about a planet, the three golden rings sat about a silver sphere, each of them notched in quarters, and in quarters again: seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, years. Slowly and silently the golden counterweights twirled, ceaselessly moving except during the timeless void of Eno-Eia. Sara tilted her head to the side and saw her reflection, warped by the globe of hammered silver, stretched by the slanting base of black marble. The pendant which marked month from month was ever nearing the end of its yearly journey: in just over two weeks, every clock on the planet would stop; Eno-Eia would take hold, the old year ended, the new year waiting breathless for the first rising of the constellation Cirus, the guardian.

Time: it seemed to crawl by so slowly, and yet slip away into memory with frightening speed. Sara had been born to a farmer who already had enough sons, and a mother who had herself been a palace servant to the great lord Iordan III. So, when she reached her adolescence at age eight, her parents gave her a life better than the frontier, and sent her into the service of the lord Iosoan. She spent half her life in personal service to the legendary peacemaker himself, a claim few others could make; most of the girls slept in the servant quarters and answered the call of the palace; she alone waited on the great lord, Mia and Mikka on the prince, and Wihi on the princess before she had left for the University. Then, after living half her life taking care of the man who had mourned two wives long ago, the young Sara at last drew hope that she might soon become the third.

As she watched the pendant for minutes pass sixty-four to mark the start of a new hour, Sara rubbed a hand over her flat stomach, imagining the swell that would begin in two months' time. Four weeks it would be until Eno-Eia, perhaps four days then until the new year, three weeks until her coming of age at sixteen, one more week until the first sign of her pregnancy became apparent, and four months more until she birthed an heir to the house of Lei. She closed her eyes, shook her head, embarrassed at her thought. The child would not ever claim the throne, but its heart would beat with royal blood all the same. She wondered for a moment how it would be accepted by the prince and princess: their mother had been of royal blood as well, not a mere servant girl. Then, she wondered about a name...

Her mind spun; it all seemed to go by so quickly. Half her life as a servant; many long hours she had spent among the Hai Lei's finest teachers, learning more than any farmer's daughter would ever be able, and living among the noblest of the noble-born. It was a good life, satisfying and comfortable, and in the hands of her lord and lover, pleasurable as well. Yet it was about to end. The San-school conditioning, for messenger boys and servant girls alike, ended with coming of age, and they were released from their service. Sara was both eager and troubled; a part of her could barely contain itself in anticipation of a birthday of such importance, another part dreaded the end of her known world. For five and a half weeks yet she held claim to the chamber as a servant. She had, therefore, to ensure that she still held claim to a bed of marriage afterward. She would become the Lady Lei, and the next girl to occupy the adjoining chamber would serve her as well. Yet, hope and doubt both swirled through her mind.

Sara crossed back to the fire, absorbed the warmth for a moment, and stooped to examine the brew. Flames licked the underside of the stone pedestal as she stirred the brew with a silver ladle and inhaled the sweet fragrance.

"You smell yummy," she said to the bubbling soma-tea. She sighed. Soon she would bear a child, and at times she still felt like a child herself.

Her hands trembled slightly as she returned the ladle. Hardly ever did she fight her conditioning. Since her eighth birthday, she had loved the man she served; to her, obedience was nothing more or less than a form of affection. But the lord Ramad had frightened her in the council chamber; affection would have been enough to make her return had Iosoan asked it of her, but she had hidden her fright, and Iosoan had merely asked for tea, not explicitly voiced his desire for her to return. So she came to a quandary with her instructions: she wanted to please Iosoan, but did not want to face Ramad. And as always happens at such times, the San-school conditioning took over to point her in the right direction, to help her complete her orders as given. Despite her fear, she was glad of the conditioning: otherwise she might have hidden beneath the covers of the bed, leaving the tea to burn.

Sara paced the room again. She glanced at the clock once more: sixty-four seconds passed away, another minute gone by. She approached the open window and laid her hands on the polished sill. Facing North, the edge of the forest was visible, and the trees did not grow at the very walls of the palace as they did on the other faces. There were but a few sparse yews, mallorns, and oaks, thinning into rugged hills littered with gray boulders. The Mahlner foothills lay just beyond, and the sheer faces of the mountains veiled behind low clouds. Twice before, from the same window, she had seen glimpses of the great Cloud City on clear days. One day she might chance to walk its streets as the Lady of the house of Lei. She let out a long sigh into the morning air, the sigh of a hopeless romantic.

Another minute slipped by. Another. The tea was ready. Sara ladled the dark green brew into the delicate ceramic cups, one by one, and lined them on a silver tray. Calming slightly as she held the teacups steady, she closed the heavy chamber door and started down the long hallway. The tea would stop boiling by the time she reached the council; down a wide staircase and along another hall she went, stepping smoothly and carefully. Her lip trembled still, the last sign of her anxiety; even that she would master by the time she reached her destination. Another hall, three doors on the left, and she lifted her small hand to give the correct knock: loud enough only for the servant girl waiting inside to hear and open the door. She entered the chamber bearing the tray, her face again an emotionless mask. Her first steps into the room took all of her conditioning and every last ounce of her own self-will.

Sharp, early morning light splashed across the room through an array of wide windows. Iosoan sat on one side of a long table of mahogany inlaid with ebony, the prince on his left and the princess to the left again, the mysterious dark-haired ambassador on his right, a captain she did not recognize, and three advisers. Sara laid cups before the hosts first, beginning with the great lord; as she passed his chair, she paused, waiting to catch his eye. But he made no acknowledgment, still in tense dialog with the lord Ramad.

"Wait... No! Just wait, Ramad. The tea's just arrived," Iosoan was saying.

"I don't see why you can't just answer my question!" came Ramad's angry reply.

As Sara extended her arm to set a cup in front of the ambassador, she was surprised when the woman reached to take to cup in midair. The dark hair spun as the ambassador turned to face her, and she found herself shocked by the young woman's unworldly beauty, more shocked still when the brown eyes met her own and the woman whispered her thanks.

"This council is civil," Iosoan shot back. "If you're going to sit at my table, you'll be civil too. And follow my rules."

"Are you going to throw your own brother-in-law out of your house now? And then what? Will you close your borders to me?" Ramad backed his seat away from the table and stood.

"No, I'm not going to throw you out. Sit down!" He waited. but Ramad did not sit. "But if you want your questions answered, it will come at the right time."

Sara stood frozen, a teacup hovering above the table in front of one of the advisers. The whole room seemed to hold its breath.

"Ramad, sit down," said Iosoan again.

"This may be your house, but you can't give orders to a sovereign great lord," said Ramad, still standing. "No! Not even the legendary lord Iosoan himself."

"Boys, boys!" cried the ambassador, standing as well; she stood a head shorter than either of the men, and her posture signaled, if anything, the absence of a threat. There was laughter in her voice, and the room breathed again as if broken from a spell by the sound. "We all want the same things here! Lord Ramad, please sit back down. I'll be happy to answer your questions."

Sara breathed deeply, finally setting the cup down. A thought crept into her mind, unbidden: Iosoan would take the beautiful ambassador as his lover, and she would share his bed no more. Though she did not know what caused such a thought, she at once felt sharp pangs of jealousy toward her imagined rival, and it took her great force of will to circle the table and approach the guests. But as she stood opposite Iosoan, facing him, he caught her eye and put to rest all her doubts. The look in those eyes spoke volumes to her, and a weak-kneed step almost sent a cup of hot tea onto one of the lord Ramad's guards. She recovered; Iosoan just smiled.

"My cities are falling apart behind me," said Ramad, "I've still not seen my men, and now who is this girl who speaks to me like a child? Am I to assume this is the great Ambassador Anna?" He did not sound impressed. "Sit down, girl. You need to learn your place."

"Yes, this is Anna," said Iosoan, putting a hand on the prince's shoulder to keep him seated. "Her place is here, and she has every right to speak to you like a child when that's how you've decided to act."

"That's right. My name's Anna, and I'm here as an ambassador to both of you. I..."

"Ambassadors don't steal armies," said Ramad, "ambassadors don't..." he paused as if he had lost his thought. "And if you really are this Anna, then I have a claim on your life."

"Like hell you do!" shot the prince Iordan, rising to his feet against his father's heavy hand.

"My son," said Iosoan, "that's no way to talk to your uncle." And he pushed the prince back down into the chair. "Take a hint from your sister."

The princess Jaide smiled from where she sat, said nothing.

"Uncle or not," said Iordan, "if you lay a hand on her..."

"Boys!" Anna shouted again, still laughing. "Settle down! Thank you, Iordan. But you should know I can take care of myself." She smiled a smile impossible to resist, said: "There's no reason to take sides here. So let's just all sit down and enjoy our tea... mmm... this is really good!"

The ambassador sank to her seat as if the discussion was ended and the argument over. So confident was she, and so definite, that none around the table could find their voice and silence settled on the room. Iosoan and Ramad each sank into their chairs as well, the former sipping from his teacup, the latter merely glaring across the table.

For Sara, the silence brought relief, though she could still feel the tension. The strong words of her lover and the calm, carefree words of the strange ambassador - no longer a rival - served to ease her worry, and she moved to take her place two paces behind Iosoan's high-backed chair. The young servant received another surprise when Iosoan summoned her forward with a subtle wave of his hand and held his teacup out to her. She took the cup in two hands, meaning to hold it; but Iosoan lifted the cup higher, toward her small mouth, in a signal for her to drink. Sara judged from the looks around the table that she was not the only one surprised by the gesture, but when he nodded and smiled at her, she took a sip from her lover's cup. It was an odd time and place for such a mating ritual, and an odd drink as well, but Sara recalled one more unusual: at the banquette three nights past, she had witnessed the princess and the ambassador share wine from the same goblet when they thought no one was watching.

"I wanted you to taste it," said Iosoan in a quiet voice. "Since you worked so hard on it."

"You're the one who made this?" asked Anna, her voice much louder. The sharp contrast in volume caused more than one person to jump. To Sara's nod, she said, "It's very good."

"Thank you, miliana," said Sara, a blush spreading across her cheeks.

"It really is. I've never had anything like it. Will you tell me how you made it?"

Sara cast a nervous glance at Iosoan, who nodded. "It's made from crushed soma-tea leaves, blended with balia extract and..."

"Hold on, there," said Anna, interrupting. She must have seen Sara's face fall, because the smile she flashed was dazzling. "I don't know what any of those things are. Maybe you could show me later on?"

The servant girl beamed, but still waited for her lover's approval before saying, "Miliana, it would be an honor."

"That's sweet of you. What's your name, honey?"

"Sara."

"Sara... It's so nice to hear a name that sounds familiar."

Sara's smile widened, her eyes flicked down to the floor, and her blush turned from pink to deep crimson. She moved to return the teacup clasped in her hands, but Iosoan held his palm outward, for her to keep it: if the great lord was finished, then the council would begin. Ramad coughed his impatience. But before Sara could step back, Iosoan inverted his hand and, with a single finger, tipped the cup slightly upward. The collective gasp that circled the room was sharp, leaving only silence afterward: Iosoan wanted the young servant to finish the cup, not merely hold it; a ritual of such gravity could not be ignored, no matter how innocent the premise. And for Sara, the rest of the room melted away, leaving only the man seated before her; she lifted the delicate ceramic to her delicate lips, felt the sweet liquid wash down her throat.

"Then, are we ready?" said Ramad. He appeared, if anything, even less pleased about his station than before the tea arrived; he had not touched his cup, only staring forward in an unmistakable posture of defiance.

"Only the willing man will take what's given him, eh?" said Iosoan.