Page 33 of Vows of Sacrifice

“Is something wrong?”

I suddenly lifted my head towards the king, who was smiling benevolently at me. Only a fraction of a second looking in his yellow eyes was enough for me to understand that he, too, was putting on an act.

“Just a little tired, Your Majesty,” I apologized, bowing deferentially.

“Nadrisse! What pitiful hosts we are. Let us take the newlyweds to their rooms and take care of them,” he then called out to everyone. “Lord Dovah told us that he held a ceremony according to the ancient rites of his family, but you’ll understand that the Osacanians demand a real wedding, won’t you?”

So, I was going to have a second ceremony with Dovah. Splendid.

“We understand completely,” I simply replied, still smiling.

Three women dressed in outfits similar to that of the Isamane suddenly rushed towards me. Their shoes, too, were surprising. Just a leather sole with a strap holding their feet. Those I took to be servants were covered in jade and gold jewellery that tinkled with their every movement: bracelets, necklaces, belts, even earrings.

Nadrisse wore nothing but gold, and far more jewellery on her wrists than the chambermaids. A long braid woven with golden threads fell delicately onto her small chest, while her cerulean eyes, made up with a heavy line of kohl, stared at me, like those of a snake contemplating its lunch.

“I will join you very soon, my lady,” said Dovah, smiling kindly at me.

But it was a far cry from the enamoured smile he’d given the king’s sister a few moments earlier. Why did this bother me? I should have rejoiced that his heart was in love with another, especially after he had promised to let me come to him voluntarily! After all, he was my father’s murderer, and I was under no obligation to share his bed. I should have jumped for joy at the thought. Yes. I should have jumped for joy. So why wasn’t that the case?

“I hope to see you at the table for supper,” added Elendur.

It wasn’t a request, but a disguised order. My mistake.

“But with pleasure,” I responded, hoping my smile would be believable enough.

After yet another curtsey, I withdrew to follow the Osacanian chambermaids. I could hear them laughing softly and constantly turning towards me. I spoke Osacanian, which no one could suspect, since the entire conversation with His Majesty had taken place in my native tongue. At the time, I thought it was a good idea to keep this information from them. I felt as though I was in hostile territory, surrounded by enemies, and on the defensive.

“Lady Ashana?” one of them called out to me in Muvarian with a strong accent.

It was the tallest one. Her face was slightly hidden by a long transparent veil, as was her hair. Only her kohl-rimmed eyes were clearly visible. Deep black eyes. I smiled at her.

“Yes?”

She bowed ceremoniously.

“My name is Seitha, and this is Nirgide, and this is Sydhass. We are here to serve you.”

Her Muvarian was far from impeccable, certainly, but Seitha remained understandable. Anything was better than speaking their language, as I preferred to keep this advantage to myself, just in case . . .

“Thank you very much, Seitha.”

I vaguely discerned her smile through the veil.

“Follow us. Let’s enter the castle.”

I nodded.

“Yes, yes, I’m following you.”

The building’s interior was strangely plain. Few tapestries on the walls. Few paintings, too, compared to Carby, our family castle in Muvaria. Our room—Dovah’s and mine—was simply magnificent. In dark tones of purple and gold, it was decorated very much in his image.

“Lord Dovah’s room,” Seitha told me, while Nirgide gently pulled me inside. “We’ll prepare a bath and clothes for you.”

She then addressed the other two servants in Osacanian:

“Come on, come on, hurry up! Otherwise, I’ll have your heads chopped off!”

I did my best not to show how shocked I was. I couldn’t let them guess that I’d understood the meaning of the sentence. After that, everything happened quickly. Other servants, men this time, dressed only in loose pants made of a fabric close to silk and a funny hat that looked like a scarf wound around itself, brought a huge tub of polished and varnished wood which they dutifully filled with steaming water. They didn’t leave until this task was completed. When the three young women offered to wash me, I flatly refused. So, they waited in a corner, observing me and laughing. Finally, I understood that it was my hair—like with others before them—that intrigued them. When Seitha made a move to dry it, I declined with a friendly smile.

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