Georgette, despite her dislike for Veriboldans, proved to have some inside line on the appropriate garb for each day’s events. The next morning she laid out ordinary trousers and a bell-sleeved linen shirt in North blue, along with Fiona’s favorite pair of ankle boots. “I’m told you aren’t to participate in the challenge,” she said with a sniff, her only comment on how she felt about her mistress being excluded from any part of the Veriboldan ceremonies. Fiona dressed herself in relief.
She and Sebastian had discussed the Election on the way to Haizea until they were sick of the whole thing, and now she knew more about Veriboldan government than she’d ever wanted, even when she was still married to Roderick and wanted to show him up with her knowledge of their laws. Each of the five challenges tested some aspect of character Veriboldans believed was essential to the perfect human being. While they didn’t expect their ruler to be perfect, candidates were expected to come closer to the ideal than ordinary men and women.
Today was the challenge of knowledge. It was the one the envoys had the least part in, a series of tests evaluating the candidates’ knowledge of history, mathematics, literature, philosophy, and a handful of other topics Fiona knew nothing about. She had trouble believing that knowing when a famous poet had died made you a better ruler, but it wasn’t her government. Maybe it was superior to having rule passed down hereditarily, like some kind of communicable disease. It was nothing she’d ever have to worry about.
Sebastian, dressed much as she was, waited for her in the sitting room. “Mitxel sent a message, informing me that a servant would meet us on the bridge to take us to the place they hold the challenge,” he said. “Prepare to be bored.”
“I don’t see the point of us being present for what’s essentially an hours-long test,” Fiona said. “Maybe we can talk to the other envoys. Or I can talk to the other envoys. Sorry.”
“I don’t mind not being able to talk to Morten. He looks at me like he’s planning a one-man invasion of Tremontane, to rid the country of useless nobles like me.” He grinned. “Though that Stannin is certainly a looker. I almost wish I were attracted to men.”
“He’s too beautiful to be real. I wonder what he thinks of all this. He certainly behaves like it’s the best entertainment he’s had in his life.”
“I’m glad you think he’s too beautiful, because I was prepared to be jealous.” A knock sounded at the door, giving Fiona an excuse not to look at him and hide her flaming cheeks. “And it’s time to go.”
Their carriage deposited them at the end of the same bridge they’d crossed on foot the night before. This time, the waiting servant was a woman dressed in ivory linen a few shades paler than her skin. Her light brown hair was cut short in the style of the Irantzen priestesses. Fiona didn’t think she was actually a priestess, since the woman didn’t seem angry with them…though that might be because she was too low in the hierarchy to be privy to all the Temple’s secrets. At any rate, the woman bowed to them politely and led the way across the bridge in silence.
For once, there were other people on the streets of the Jaixante, most of them wearing the gauzy over-robes and body suits of high-ranking functionaries, like the costumes the officials at the customs house wore. Some of them were carried in litters with fluttering drapes borne by muscular men all the same height. None of the Veriboldans acknowledged Fiona and Sebastian at all, making Fiona feel as if she were invisible. Despite her discomfort at being in the Jaixante, it wasn’t a nice feeling. It wasn’t so much that she was being ignored, she discovered, as that she felt like the Veriboldans had erased her from their awareness.
Their guide led them down the canyonlike streets that felt more open in the daylight, or maybe that was just Fiona’s memory of fleeing through them in the darkness, not knowing where she was going or how she would escape the Jaixante guards. Open-feeling or not, the buildings still looked like sheer white identical cliffs with black slabs of oak for doors, or white ones that fitted so closely to the walls they were visible only as hair-fine cracks, geometric and perfect.
Fiona couldn’t help comparing the Jaixante to the rest of Haizea, or even to the slums of Dusktown. If this was how the landholders lived, no wonder they were so different from the average Veriboldan. It also explained some of what she’d learned in studying Veriboldan law, how so much of their legal code had nothing to do with anything ordinary people did or experienced. But she wasn’t here to criticize the Veriboldan government, just watch how it dealt with transition. Still, it made her grateful for her own government.
That thought startled her. Was Tremontane’s government really that much better? Queen Genevieve had blackmailed her and Sebastian into criminal activity not for the sake of the country, but for the sake of her own rule. She’d protected Douglas North from the consequences of his careless actions—that was the same as letting a rapist go free. All right, maybe the Norths losing the Crown would cause civil unrest, but that didn’t mean the Queen hadn’t acted selfishly. And that wasn’t so different from the Veriboldans isolating their ruling class on an island and making laws that benefited them more than the common folk.
She realized she’d lagged behind when Sebastian turned and said her name questioningly. She hurried to catch up and accepted his arm, feeling the need for something solid and real that had nothing to do with politics.
Their guide abruptly veered to the left, heading for a cliff face Fiona couldn’t remember passing before, and pressed her hand against one of the rectangles outlined by those faint dark lines. Unlike what Fiona now thought of as the palace, whose halls had been comfortingly dim, the door swung open on a hall brightly lit by Devices almost enough to compete with the sunlight. Fiona and Sebastian followed the woman down the hall, which was painted a rich cream that matched their guide’s clothing. If Fiona looked at her out of the corner of her eye, the woman blended with the walls and appeared to be nothing but a head and hands bobbing along. It was as unsettling an image as the nearly invisible doors had been.
The hall ended in a pair of wooden doors carved all over with the sort of abstract art Fiona identified as peculiarly Veriboldan. They had no handles, but their guide pushed gently on them and they swung noiselessly inward. “Enter,” the guide said, bowing.
They found themselves on a balcony which ran the full circumference of the round chamber. It had no stairs that would allow access to the main floor some twenty feet below, just an ornate wooden rail supported by balusters carved to look like people. The figures were elongated, but still recognizably human. Fiona was sure, based on her knowledge of Veriboldans, that each was unique, though she didn’t feel like examining all of them to prove this. Maybe if she were bored enough, she’d change her mind.
The room was comfortably cool, with a draft coming from waving fans mounted in the ceiling. The moving air carried with it the scent of cinnamon, a popular fragrance in Veribold. Fiona liked the smell and hoped she wouldn’t get sick of it before they left.
In the center of the ceiling, a clear glass dome let in the early morning light, illuminating the floor below. Fiona let go of Sebastian’s arm and walked to the railing. She couldn’t see the whole room below, because the balcony jutted out over it, concealing the walls. What she could see were four pedestals with wide, flat tops and a single Veriboldan basin-chair. A woman in the white of an Irantzen priestess sat cross-legged in it, her eyes closed, her hands resting loosely on her thighs as if in meditation. The four candidates stood at the pedestals, all of them writing on sheets of paper piled half an inch thick on the pedestals’ wide tops.
Fiona’s eye went instantly to Gizane. The woman had just dipped her pen in her inkwell and resumed writing a line of script Fiona was too far away to read. She seemed so normal. They all did. They looked like a bunch of overgrown children copying out their lessons in a strange round schoolroom presided over by a silent mistress.
Fiona examined all the other candidates in turn, wondering if they were conscious of being observed. They had to know there were witnesses; it was part of the challenge. The Eskandelic envoys and a handful of Veriboldan landholders were already present. Nikani and Salena, elegant in cool silk robes over white trousers and shirts that were subtly different from their Veriboldan counterparts, drifted over to meet them. “It is dull, isn’t it?” Salena said in a low voice.
Sebastian shrugged. “I understand it’s more interesting when the oral recitations begin. Not that I’d understand that either.”
“They use us as monitors, to prevent cheating,” Nikani said. “It is difficult to falsify the exam when one has observers in the rafters, so to speak.”
Fiona wasn’t sure about that. True, it would be impossible to smuggle in a list of answers without being seen, but nothing said a candidate couldn’t somehow get a copy of the exam beforehand and memorize the answers. Queen Genevieve had said Gizane had manipulated the election; that might be one of the things she’d done. Briefly, Fiona wished for an inherent magic that would let her read someone’s thoughts, though it wasn’t as if she could have done anything with the knowledge if she did.
She heard the slightest creak as the doors swung open again, and turned to see who had entered. To her dismay, it was a group of white-clad priestesses led by Hien. They spread out like a seed pod bursting, drifting silently in all directions. Hien, on the other hand, stood still just inside the door, forcing the other women to step wide around her. She had her eyes fixed on some point directly opposite the doors. Fiona looked in that direction, but saw no one and nothing of interest, at least to her.
When she turned back, Hien was a few steps away and approaching rapidly. Fiona swallowed hard to rid herself of the lump in her throat. Her hand closed tightly on Sebastian’s sleeve. “Fiona?” he said. “Is—”
“Prince Sebastian North,” Hien said from behind him, making him jump. “Lady Fiona North. Welcome to the Election.” Her voice was flat, uninviting. She might as well have cursed their names instead.
“Thank you,” Sebastian said, turning to face her and bringing Fiona, her hand still on his sleeve, with him. “It’s an honor to be invited.”
“Walk with me,” Hien said. “I wish to know your opinion of the proceedings.”
Fiona didn’t dare look at Nikani and Salena to see what they thought of this. Well, it wasn’t as if Hien could have them executed in the middle of the challenge of knowledge. Probably.
Hien made a little gesture indicating that they should precede her. Since Fiona had no idea where they should go, this made her nervous, but Sebastian nodded to the Eskandelics and strode off along the curve of the balcony. Fiona was just as happy to let him set the pace, but she wished she could see Hien. Having the woman at her back made her even more nervous.
They made it about a third of the way around the room, passing priestesses who looked at them curiously, before Hien said, “Stop here.” Sebastian and Fiona stopped. From where they stood, the priestess overseeing the challenge was visible only as the top of a dark head, and the exam papers of the candidates closest to her, Alazne and Bixhor, were white blotches against the pale blue stone of the pedestals.
“Why are you here?” Hien said after a silence Fiona was afraid to break.
“We’re representatives of Tremontane,” Sebastian began.
Hien cut him off with, “Then you are who you say you are. This time.”
Fiona winced at the sarcasm in her voice. Sebastian said, “I don’t know what you mean.” Time to brazen it out.
“You deny having come to us under false identities before?”
“We have never used false identities. We may not have been forthcoming about our entire identities.”
“Then you are a doctor, your Highness?” Hien’s voice sharpened. “And Lady North is fatally ill?”
Sebastian didn’t flinch. “A ruse to protect our true identities.”
“To deceive us.”
“For privacy’s sake.” Sebastian was doing well. He hadn’t lied at all yet.
“And to steal from us.”
“We never stole from the Irantzen Temple.”
“A theft occurred. You fled in the night. We are not supposed to take that as an admission of guilt?”
“You have no proof that we stole anything. Personal circumstances required us to leave the festival early.”
Hien let out a hiss of exasperation. “You, Fiona Cooper who is now Fiona North,” she said. “Why did you come to the festival?”
Damn. There wasn’t a way out of answering that question, was there? “I can’t tell you,” Fiona said, clinging to the hope that she might yet avoid compounding her guilt.
“Then you are guilty.”
“Sebastian told the truth. We did not steal from the Irantzen Temple.”
“And from Gizane of the Araton?”
Fiona closed her eyes. She wished Hien weren’t standing behind her, armed with who knew what kind of weapons, even if they were only words. “Are you allowed to harass the representatives of a foreign government?” she said. “If you have proof of your allegations, present it. Otherwise, stop trying to put words in our mouths.”
Silence, again, for the space of several breaths. Then Hien said, “If you were innocent, you would answer my questions.”
“That’s an invalid assumption,” Sebastian said. “Someone innocent of a crime who can’t prove that innocence might as well be guilty as far as the law is concerned.”
“I have said nothing about the law. I simply want answers.”
“Which we’ve given you.” Sebastian turned around, bringing Fiona with him. “What was stolen?”
Hien’s lips compressed into a tight line. “You know very well, even if you will not admit it.”
“Then you have no proof it was us,” Fiona said. “And we’re not going to admit to a crime we didn’t commit.”
Hien’s eyes came to rest on Fiona, and Fiona managed not to flinch. “I trusted you,” she said. “You deserved to be at the festival. I am ashamed of both of us that you failed to discover why that was.”
Fiona opened her mouth to speak, but words failed her. Hien turned on her heel and walked away rapidly, forcing another priestess to step back or be mown down. Sebastian said, “That went better than I’d hoped.”
“So she either can’t or won’t come out and accuse us of theft,” Fiona said. “I’m leaning toward ‘can’t’. I feel awful, Sebastian.”
“You know why we’re here,” Sebastian said. “Achieving that is our primary purpose. Everything else has to wait.”
Fiona said nothing. She watched Hien exit through the carved doors, walking stiffly, as if her back pained her. “But it matters to her,” she said in a low voice.
“Not to sound callous, but should that be important to us, how Hien feels?”
Fiona shook her head. “Maybe. I don’t know. Keeping Veribold from falling into chaos must be at least as important as…the other thing.” She didn’t know how far sound carried in this room, though their footsteps, at least, were muffled by the thick carpet. Not speaking their secrets even in semi-privacy seemed the best course of action.
She looked down again at Gizane and her heart beat once, painfully hard, when she saw the woman looking up at her. Gizane’s eyebrows rose. Then she smiled, amused the way a parent might be at a child’s first steps. It chilled Fiona, as if Gizane could read her thoughts and knew Fiona was no threat. Well, let her go on believing that. Fiona turned her back on her enemy. Gizane might know all the rules of this alien society Fiona had been thrust into, but if she thought Fiona was harmless, she was in for a nasty surprise.