Kalolin found herself shoved into the back of a crowded wagon, full of art, well-made clothing, and local delicacies. As the wagon began to move she was forced to crawl around on hands and knees, examining all of the fine souvenirs.
It was a breathtaking assortment, all distinctly Hanzo’an made. Otherwise, there was no rhyme or reason to them, as though someone had picked one item at random from each shop in the city. The procession had only arrived that morning, so perhaps someone had.
She knew little about the ‘Prince of Sarnai’, and less about the Kaelkarim Shipping Company he was heir to. The collection of luxury goods didn't tell her anything she didn't already know: Mister Kaelkarim was obscenely rich.
Happening upon a deep-blue, silk shirt, she cast off her (well, her cousin's) button-less jacket onto the wood floor of the wagon and slid the shirt on over her head. The cut was simple, with wide sleeves and a square neckline, but it had a lovely, white, floral pattern on every inch of the fabric.
Such subtle extravagance was popular in Hanzo, though not really to Kalolin's taste. She didn’t generally wear anything she wasn’t allowed to get dirty. She would have to start taking more of an interest in clothing if she was to marry Mister Kaelkarim.
Resting her chin in her hand, she twirled the end of her ponytail around her finger as she thought. It wasn't as though she had expected Mister Kaelkarim to set upon her in the street, but she'd hoped for some sort of reaction. What she had gotten was not very much to work with.
Dark wooden wheels rattled over stone for what must have been hours before they reached the other side of the city. The sun was growing low in the sky and Kalolin trembled, only halfway from the cold. Doubt filled the space around her as the sunlight left it.
She peered cautiously out of the back of the wagon and recognized where they were stopped. The procession had arrived in the wealthiest area of Hanzo, where rich merchants and bankers made their estates and struck deals with one another. Kalolin had only ever seen it from afar.
The Kaelkarim guards, all hired mercenaries, of course, began to set up camp in a perimeter around the wagons, with no better place to store them than out on the street itself.
Mister Kaelkarim and his retinue would stay at the Crimson Deer, an expensive estate made up of a remarkable restaurant and several private houses that often housed wealthy visitors to the city. Many of his employees would find their way back to less expensive lodgings, and those of the lowest ranking might take shelter in the wagons themselves until morning. Kalolin was anxious to discover which she was.
She hopped down onto the smooth cobblestones behind the wagon and snuck round to find the driver of the wagon already gone. One large, cream colored horse was harnessed to the front, and tossed its mane impatiently, waiting to be untethered for the night.
Kalolin clicked her teeth as she approached, careful not to startle the large beast. It was easily four hands taller than Farmer Rhomeili’s cart horse, Rwbi.
“Hey there,” she greeted it, offering out a hand. The horse began to lip around her hand, as though looking for something.
“Do I still smell like apples?” Kalolin chuckled. “If I never see another apple again in my life it’ll still be too many.” She patted the horse’s nose gently with her free hand and sighed. She hadn’t gotten a chance to say goodbye to Rwbi, or any of the barn cats. The only person she’d said goodbye to was her youngest brother, who, like her, was good at keeping secrets. But nostalgia was weakness, so she pushed all regrets aside.
“There you are,” a grumbling voice and a hand on her shoulder made Kalolin jump. She turned around to find the wrinkled assistant massaging his temples. Excessive layers of blue and orange silk did their best to obscure the slight hunch to his back. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, girl,” he sighed.
“Sometimes I don't know how I manage to get everything done with such disorganized subordinates.”
He ushered her along and Kalolin followed the old man silently through the tall, wooden gates of the Crimson Deer estate. Hand carved into a lattice of vining roses, stepping through it felt like an intrusion. The intimidating stone wall that fenced in the estate vanished once inside, masked by a green hedge as though the estate were built in a forest clearing rather than the center of a noisy city. The hedge did some to absorb the sounds and smells of the outside, though not as effectively as it did the sight.
She was surprised when the old man did not lead her to the largest, most extravagant house on the estate, but to a cozy, two story house between the tall hedge and the restaurant. A lush garden of planted roses surrounded the house on three sides.
The revelry inside could be heard some distance away, and the windows of the house were filled with celebratory figures. When they entered, a few of the people inside turned to look at Kalolin, some with mocking, and some with interest, though most seemed unable to see her at all.
They moved through the party to a private dining room at the back of the house. The volume from the rest of the house was still audible here, but the room was more peaceful. A mustached musician in the corner strummed a slow but cheerful tune on a lyre, eyes closed as though he was drifting off into his own world. Two strong armed men stood still and alert on either side of the doorway behind Kalolin.
In the center of the room was a long dining table, laden with a feast of local food from the restaurant next door. Kalolin recognized the smell of sweet, marinated meats and sour, pickled vegetables and prayed for her stomach not to growl.
There were people seated on all sides of the table, but Kalolin lost sight of them as a brick wall of a man stepped in her path, holding a leather-bound book in his hands. “Everything is arranged, Father,” he said. There wasn’t much resemblance between them.
“Thank you, Tareuk,” the old man replied, patting his son on a broad shoulder.
Tareuk frowned. “Excuse me, Father, but…” he pointed wordlessly at Kalolin.
“What?” the old man snapped. He looked Kalolin up and down. “Oh, Er!” He yanked a small piece of paper off the cuff of Kalolin's sleeve. She hadn't even noticed it was there.
“You took this, girl?” he growled.
It took her a second to realize he meant the shirt, and not the paper. “I'm only borrowing it,” she said defensively. Though that was what she had said about Taxhi'a's jacket, as well.
“Perhaps he will not notice.” The man's sigh hissed through gritted teeth.
“Sure. Maybe,” Tareuk offered unconvincingly.
The old man continued past Tareuk, toward the far end of the dining table.
Several beautiful women laughed and gossiped around the table as they ate, their hair decorated with silk ribbons and jeweled chains. Many wore ornate filigree bands around narrow waists or over prominent cleavage, and colorful makeup decorated their playful eyes.
It would be scandalous for any Hanzo’an girl to wear clothing so revealing. Kalolin’s breath caught in her throat and her eyes got stuck on the shapely curves of their bodies. Their smooth, sun-kissed skin looked soft to the touch, and Kalolin could feel her cheeks beginning to flush crimson.
At the head of the table, their employer, Ainjrejeu Kaelkarim, sat, unmoving, his hands clasped together before him. His eyes were locked dead ahead on an empty stretch of wall. With his long hair, youthful face, and sparkling jewelry, he did not look out of place among the beautiful women. The other men in the room looked as though they had trespassed into a fei mound, soon to be eaten alive by the fair creatures that dwelled there.
“I've brought the girl,” the old man announced, tiredness and disinterest in his voice. “Is there anything else you need tonight, sehr?”
“That will be all, Terim,” Ainjrejeu replied evenly. For an instant, his eyes flickered across the room to the musician in the corner, who was smiling broadly to himself.
Kalolin stayed where she stood as Terim and Tareuk excused themselves from the dining room.
“Judgment time,” she heard one of the keptmaids whisper to another, followed by giggling hidden behind their hands. Kalolin felt her shoulders fold in to herself as insecurities bubbled under the surface of her mind. Never before had she felt both so small, and like she was taking up too much space.
Ainjrejeu stood up from the carved wooden chair at the head of the table and turned it so it faced toward the open floor on Kalolin's side of the room. The resemblance of the chair to a throne was not lost on her. He sat back into the chair casually, one foot resting atop the opposite knee, the weight of his upper body draped onto an arm rest.
“Come,” he motioned lazily with his free hand, not yet making eye contact with Kalolin. She shuffled nervously in front of him, and took a deep breath. Her muscles were too tight, preventing her lungs from filling completely.
“Yes, Mister Kaelkarim,” she breathed, a hindered attempt at sultry-ness.
When Ainjrejeu gestured for her to sit, Kalolin knelt down onto the red patterned tile floor in front of him and forced herself to look up into his eyes eagerly.
His hazel eyes were bright, as intense as a hunting dog's. He had them turned away from her, but rather than a soft, meandering gaze, there was tension around his eyes as he held them fixed on an imaginary point, denying himself to look at her. A sea-green silk tunic left his brown arms bare and stopped just above his knees, over loose, cream-colored pants. His feet were bare, with nails just as clean and manicured as those on his elegant fingers.
The man's fiery red hair was the first thing the common folk mentioned when they spread stories about him, and it was a sight to behold. It was thick and lustrous, shining like polished metal. He wore it over his shoulder in something that was not quite a braid, a series of jeweled rings spaced evenly down its length all the way to where it rested lightly on his lap. Kalolin could smell his lavender perfume from where she knelt.
“I've not yet decided what price you should pay for disrupting my passage through the city,” said Ainjrejeu coldly. He bit down gently on the tip of a long thumbnail, thinking with an obviousness that convinced Kalolin he must not be. It seemed more likely a pause for dramatic effect.
“I see fit, perhaps, to show you mercy, since you are clearly unwell. Jumping in front of my procession in such a manner is explained only by a death wish, I should think.”
“And yet I am not dead,” Kalolin rebuked. Ainjrejeu's eyes whipped to her, and Kalolin willed her own black eyes to be unyielding iron.
“The night is young,” he purred. “But let’s be a little more creative, shall we? You specifically requested that I ‘do whatever I want with you'.” He punctuated the words with a sarcastic sneer.
“Is there some problem with that?” Kalolin asked, compressing her nerves into sharp, controlled anger. She knew she was walking a fine line. Maybe it would be better to stick with eager deference, but she could tell that he was playing with her. This was much more than a game to her.
“Perhaps not if it were true,” Ainjrejeu sniffed, “instead of merely the pretense of an overconfident, foolish girl.”
“Whether you believe the truth or not does nothing to change that it is, in fact, the truth,” Kalolin replied, trying to keep her breathing smooth and steady.
“Forgive me if I do not take your word for it.” Ainjrejeu's voice grew lower and darker. His every word was a cold icicle to her spine.
“It is easily proven,” stated Kalolin. “Simply bid me do something, and I shall do it.”
Ainjrejeu moved forward, just enough to rest his elbows on his knees, and yet it was as though he were towering over her.
“Are you aware just how out of standing you are speaking, kriishak?”
Kalolin flinched at the same moment gasps were stifled at the table to their right.
It was an old word that she had heard only a handful of times. It rankled her, invoking old grudges remembered in the bloodlines of their peoples, and sending rage shooting up her spine like lightning. Never had a man his color dared to say it to her face.
As Kalolin’s lips curved into a frown against her will, an arrogant leer spread across Ainjrejeu’s own face, and he sat back into his chair, victorious.
“I'm sure I can find some menial work for you tomorrow,” he waved a hand at her, dismissively. Turning to one of the guards posted at the door, he spoke again. “Find her a room, if we can spare it.”
The guard nodded and Kalolin rose shakily to her feet to follow him upstairs, feeling the prickling of dozens of eyes on her the entire way.
