Bride of Kalathan

9: Secret

"I think she has been meeting a man," said Hellis, a week later, as she stood in front of the long mirror in their bedroom, braiding Nuria's hair as she sat on a low stool before it. "What do you think, Rushta?"

"I agree," said Rushta. She was ready for the picnic, in an ankle-length outdoor dress and a pretty tasselled shawl. "Why else has she suddenly begun to be so interested in her hair and her dresses? She is trying to impress someone. I am sure of it."

"Is it Drahm?" asked Hellis, looking at Nuria in the mirror, her eyes narrowing. She pulled the hair she was holding tightly into place.

"Ow," said Nuria. "Of course not, Hellis. You like him. I would never do that."

"Maybe one of his cousins then. Or Argas, the king's cousin? He seemed to like the look of you."

Nuria blushed at the mention of the king, and Hellis pounced. "It is Argas!" she cried. "I knew it!"

"Don't, Hellis," pleaded Nuria. "Please just finish my hair and don't ask me anything more. I don't mean to be secretive, it's just .." She did not know what to tell them. She could not lie; she had been meeting a man, and it was not Argas. Every morning before the midday meal she would slip through the gardens to the secret courtyard to find the king waiting for her, and there would be a precious half an hour to talk before he had to leave. And in the late afternoon, after his daily council meeting, he would return. The bell that called both of them to prepare for dinner was always a disappointment, an end to whatever conversation they had begun.

Hellis finished the braid and Nuria stood up, checking her reflection in the mirror. She looked good; she knew that. She wore a pale peach-coloured dress with wide bell-shaped sleeves that showed off her slim waist and went perfectly with her velvet cape. Hellis had parted her hair in the middle and braided it in two long golden ropes over her shoulders, interweaving a thin strand of tiny pearls into each one. Over her forehead was a delicate headpiece that shone with more tiny pearls and delicately swishing silver beads. He would be at the picnic, for some of it at least, and she was excited for him to see her dressed up like this, for him to look at her and know that she had made herself beautiful for him. He was not, she knew, at leisure to attend every social gathering that happened in the palace; he did, after all, have a kingdom to rule. But he had said, the day before, that he would be looking for her, and that although he would not do more than politely acknowledge her he would see her afterwards in their courtyard.

She endured the picnic, with all its boring small talk and second-rate musicians. The court girls and the young men who had been invited sat around braziers in the barren winter garden, drinking steaming tea from tiny cups, flattering each other and flirting, commenting on the songs and sometimes joining in with the rowdy ones. Hellis and Drahm sat close, his arm around her. The food was delicious, but she was not hungry for cakes and delicate pastries, not hungry for anything except for time with him. He came, near the end, dressed in his smart court clothes. He had been meeting his council of provincial nobles, she heard, as he spoke to someone nearby, but she kept her head down and did not look at him. She could not wait for it to be over, to be in the courtyard with him again, alone.

He had kept his word and not touched her. He asked questions, brought her books to read, complimented her on her dresses, her jewellery, her manners, her beauty. At first, she had been shocked at how quickly it had all happened, and had walked around the palace in a daze, making countless mistakes in her embroidery and unpicking her work three times over before she got it right. She told no one where she was going, and whenever she found herself wondering what would happen next, she shoved the thoughts aside, anticipating only the next meeting, the next conversation, the next time she would find herself laughing at one of his quick-witted comments, the next time she would lose track of time talking about history or old literature, about the court and her home and her family. She even brought her little parcha board and taught him how to play her different, Baskalian version of the game. She looked forward to these secret trysts with an excitement that scared her sometimes. It was disconcerting to find herself so caught up in this man, to feel so much after such a short time.